My first Christmas in my husband’s Jewish family was a Charlie Brown Christmas moment

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One of the earliest holiday – OK, let’s call it Christmas –  memories I have is going to the Five & Dime General Store in Oakland and purchasing an oversized, red, felt stocking with white trim to hang on our mantel for my mother. I was around 9 or 10 years old and wasn’t satisfied leaving this giant sock unadorned. Using up all of the nickels I had saved, I inserted them into a coin slot, which was just below a big glass ball filled with charms encased in little plastic holders. 

One by one, the charms dropped out and I stuffed them in my pockets. 

Back home, while my mother was at work, I sewed each plastic charm onto the red felt stocking. My younger sisters and I then played Santa on Christmas Eve before we went to bed. 

I have no idea what we stuffed into that hanging sock, but since we did most of our shopping at the Five & Dime I doubt there was anything of much value. 

Our Christmas celebrations were fairly standard. Church on Christmas Eve until my mother finally gave up forcing us into winter coats late in the evening and herding us like a trio of chimps into the car and into the church, where we were given candles with cardboard collars to catch the dripping wax, the smell of which I loved. We listened to “O Come, All Ye Faithful” as we held our small lights up to pierce the darkness. Then home, trying not to fall asleep in the car. 

My first Christmas with my husband, Michael, was more than 40 years ago. He grew up in a Jewish household so all of this red and green and shopping and eating was unfamiliar to him. 

He was from a small town in New Jersey with a huge Jewish population. So while he, of course, knew what was happening and why when “The Little Drummer Boy” or “The Twelve Days of Christmas” began their unending loop in stores everywhere. But celebrating the big day wasn’t done in his household – or by the families of his friends. 

Then I came along. 

We had flown to New Jersey to spend a week with Michael’s parents and his Grandma Pearl, who lived with them. Pearl was ill and would not be with us much longer, so we wanted to spend time with her. 

It happened to be Christmas week as well as Hanukkah. I was sure I wouldn’t miss all the Christian hubbub. We had been married only a few months and I wanted to make a good impression on my new in-laws, so I did my best to tamp down the unexpected feeling of loss. I mean, what was I missing, really?

I have never been religious so church was not high on the list of activities I was longing for. Could it be that I really had, without realizing it, been sucked into all of the other bells and whistles of the holiday?

Yes! 

I found I missed crowded stores where I searched for gifts, as well as iced Christmas cookies, the smell of a fir tree in the house, the frustrations with checking to see if the lights from last year were still working and the last-minute dash to the store to buy a couple of new strings of lights. I missed the sense of expectation of Christmas.

I kept my feelings to myself, and on Christmas Eve, Michael and I went with two of his friends to a movie. It was almost midnight when we got out and as we drove home, Michael made a quick turn and pulled into a parking lot with a sign reading “X-Mas Trees.” There was a scruffy-looking gentleman on duty, and for $5 Michael purchased a tree about 18 inches high. A tree Charlie Brown would have loved. 

We snuck it into the house and crept up the stairs to the bedroom, where he placed it on top of the dresser. 

There is a first time for everything and this was certainly a home that had never had this particular symbol of Christianity, if that is even what it is, under its roof. 

I did lie awake wondering what my new in-laws might say the next day. But then I slept soundly, appreciating the scent of the tiny tree and the gesture from my new husband.

In the morning, Christmas morning, I woke early and was first in line for a shower. Bundling up in a bathrobe, I returned to our bedroom and at first took no notice of the changes made. I put on my jeans, pulled on a heavy sweater and opened the shades. The day was cold but sunny. The sun hit my little tree and then I noticed a small wrapped package resting under it. 

The ribbon was red and gold. The sun was bouncing off the shimmering colors. The tag on the package read, “To Claudia, Love, Mom and Dad.”

I never felt so accepted in my life. 

Later that night, we lit the menorah and said the prayers. The scent of melting wax took me back to my childhood, carrying a candle in church while singing “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” And I realized we weren’t all that different. 

So many years have passed since that winter. 

Grandma Pearl is a distant memory. My father-in-law is gone. My mother has died. And as for my sisters, one has passed and the other has chosen to live apart from me. I am a grandmother now. 

Michael and I have learned to balance the holidays, with respect shown for all. We sent our daughter to Hebrew school and still had as big a tree in our living room as we could afford. We celebrate our differences and embrace it all. There will be candles lit on the mantel for Christmas and we have had candles on the menorah.

Because what most of us want, especially when times are dark, is to pierce that darkness with light and love.

Wishing you a joyous season filled with peace and love.