SENIOR INSIGHTS

This Jewish Girl Loves Christmas

by Jewel Littenberg

I LOVE CHRISTMAS! It is one of my favorite holidays. No holiday blahs for me, for Christmas fills me with nostalgia, and happy memories mesh with the present. Never mind that I’m Jewish.

I was born on a dairy farm in Penfield, a small town outside of Rochester in upstate New York. I went to the same one-room schoolhouse as did my father, my older sisters, and brother before me. It was somewhat similar to the homeschooling of today, minus the potbelly stove and separate outhouse in the backyard. Classes began with first grade and ended at grade eight. There were about 20 kids, and the number of students in a class varied. And, since we were all privy to what the others were learning, we absorbed more than most kids. Our playground was a big yard with an old fallen tree trunk that was big enough to crawl into and play. A short distance from the school was a wonderful wooded area where the teacher would take us for walks in spring, and we would pick wildflowers to take home. But I digress....back to Christmas.

As the teacher started to make plans for the holiday festivities, I always looked forward to making the ornaments for the tree, which mostly meant gluing together lots of strips of red and green paper to form the chains that we hung, along with the popcorn that we made and strung. And, of course, there was the grandest event of all: the Christmas party. Along with all of the other families, we sang songs, had refreshments, and looked forward to Santa's appearance. A table, covered with a long tablecloth next to the tree, held presents for all of the students. I still remember the time my curiosity got the best of me when wondering what other surprises might be hidden beneath . . . so, I crawled under it, pulling the tablecloth along with me, and the whole thing came crashing down. That certainly got everybody's attention.

Then there was the time I told the teacher that my family did not have a Christmas tree. I should have also told her the reason: that we were Orthodox Jews, and Jews did not celebrate Christmas. It would have saved her the trouble of delivering one to our house. Upon seeing the tree, my elderly grandmother, who was living with us, nearly had a stroke. My parents thanked the teacher kindly, but the tree never made it into the house. Oh, how I would have loved to decorate it!

Since we didn't celebrate Christmas, and so I didn't feel "left out," I engaged in a little creative thinking. When all of my friends would come back from vacation and wear some of the new clothes they had received as gifts, I would wear my new clothes that I got for the Jewish holidays, which usually were in September. I would deliberately not wear them to school until after Christmas vacation so I could say that "this is what I got for Christmas." Since we were the only Jewish family living in Penfield, I felt it was much simpler than trying to explain our differences to my little friends.

My parents sold the farm around the time I was in junior high school and moved to another small town not far from Penfield. They owned a general store, and once again we were the only Jews in town. The store had two big windows that were professionally decorated, and at Christmas time they were spectacular, as were the decorations throughout the store. But it didn't stop there. Our store was on a corner, an ample distance from the street. Every year, my parents had a party for the town on that corner, making sure Santa was always invited, with candy and little gifts for the kids. In addition, each year it was my parents who donated the Christmas tree to the school.

My mother was a member of Eastern Star, and one year her friend, who was also a member, had made a small ceramic Christmas tree and given it to her as a gift. That little tree was displayed in my parents' store every Christmas. Years after they had sold the store, my mother would proudly display that little tree in their home. When I opened my retail store many years later, my mother gave it to me so I could continue the tradition she had started. I no longer have my store or my mother, but I have that little tree, and to this day, it is lit in our home every Christmas.

When I was a little girl, I would look forward to each Christmas when my mother would take me to Toyland, a little fantasy town that was created within Sibley's, the largest department store in Rochester. I never tired of seeing the fake snow, Santa, his reindeer, and his sleigh. As I got older, I loved nothing more than shopping in Rochester with my mother or my friends during the holiday season. The music, the decorations, and the crowds—it all seemed magical.

During our son's early years, I always painted Santa and his reindeer on his bedroom window. Along with his Hanukkah presents, on Christmas morning there was always that little Christmas tree, an empty plate with cookie crumbs, and presents that Santa had left just for him.

But my memories of Christmas are more than what I have written about. What matters to me most is that although we were the only Jews in town, and I was the only one in my school, never in those twelve years do I remember hearing an anti-Semitic remark. I was never made to feel different. I was accepted for who I was, and that was that. I made lasting friendships that I cherish to this day. A few years ago when I went back for a class reunion, it seemed that nothing had changed except our ages. We accepted each other now as we did then; our religious beliefs or color didn't matter.

Although my parents were observant of their religion, I was taught to respect people for who they were. My parents were good and kind people and never hesitated to help those in need, regardless of their color or religious beliefs. As for my mother, she loved all holidays, no matter what the religion. She was drawn to anything that sparkled or that she thought was pretty. So, it is in her honor that each Hanukkah I decorate a tree just for her—complete with tinsel, dreidels, flowers, and shiny bows—alongside the little Christmas tree that she loved so much.


Jewel Littenberg is a retired NYC fashion designer living Florida. Her post–empty-nesting “job” is advocating for the elderly. Jewel can be reached at jed472@bellsouth.net with questions about or support for issues concerning our oldest relatives, neighbors, and friends. Also visit Jewel’s blog, Senior Insights.


home :: about :: features :: departments :: submissions :: archives :: subscribe :: contact

Empty Nest: A Magazine for Mature Families

© 2014 Spring Mount Communications

Green Web Hosting! This site hosted by DreamHost.