As the only child of a Jewish father and mother who had converted to Judaism before I was born, our annual family trips to visit my Italian and Irish Catholic relatives for Christmas were among the highlights of my year. Every December, my aunt and uncle’s modest home just off the New Jersey Turnpike would fill to bursting with aunts, uncles and cousins. I remember the warmth in the house, the chatter of the grown ups discussing politics and books they had recently read, or more often simply enjoying one another’s company while they drank beer and watched football. These Christmas celebrations were a staple of my childhood and shaped my Jewish identity in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time.
From the moment we arrived, I couldn’t wait to dive in and help create the Christmas magic. Even before I was old enough to handle the oven on my own, I would tie on an apron and join my mom and aunt in rolling out cookie dough while my uncle prepared the cornish hens and a robust pasta sauce. Meanwhile, my older cousins would fry smelts and all kinds of other fish in preparation for the Christmas Eve meal. As the food simmered, I would begin my special assignment: decorating the Christmas tree. Retrieving the ornaments collected over many years and several generations from their dusty attic boxes, I carefully hung each one, arranging twinkly lights until they looked just right. I relished these rituals and took them on with pride. Rather than religious acts in service of a different deity, these Christmas preparations were acts of love done in service of my family.
As I got older, I became more dedicated to Jewish ritual observance. One winter when Christmas and Hanukkah overlapped, my extended family had the opportunity to offer a similar love back to me. When the time came for candle lighting, I got out the Hanukkah menorah we had brought from home intending to light it just with my parents. But when the rest of the family heard what was happening, they all wanted to join. As I kindled the flames and recited the blessings, I got to explain what this ritual was and what it meant to me.
Being witnessed by my non-Jewish family made me feel strong and confident in my tradition, excited for a chance to share what mattered to me with those I love. I’ll never forget the image of the candles aglow on their dining room table beneath a picture of the pope, the Christmas lights twinkling in the background. While this could have been an experience of dissonance or confusion, instead it was one of clarity and connection — one that made me feel confirmed in my Judaism and grateful for the way these traditions could live side by side.
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Growing up in a predominantly non-Jewish community, I felt a tension between my Jewish upbringing and the overwhelming presence of Christmas in the world around me. The ubiquity of Christmas-themed activities at school, the red and green decorations everywhere, the carols that filled shopping malls and were the core of our elementary school holiday music concert — these cultural markers of a Christian-majority society were ever present. But when I stepped into my aunt and uncle’s home during the holiday season, something profound happened. I felt the value of being in community with people who were different from me — people who didn’t share my faith or traditions, but whose warmth, generosity, and celebration of life created an environment where differences didn’t divide us — they enriched us.
Sharing our traditions with those we love, and experiencing theirs, is a powerful way of fostering appreciation, empathy and respect and of deepening connection across difference. Whether it’s Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Diwali, Solstice, the Feast of Saint Lucia or Las Posadas, the winter holidays offer us an opportunity to come together with friends and family of different faiths and share in the collective experience of celebration, marking time and creating warmth at the coldest time of year when pulling inward to our own groups might feel more intuitive.
My trips to New Jersey were about more than just a holiday tradition. They were about feeling close to those I love across cultural and religious divides, about celebrating holidays together as a way to celebrate our differences, and about learning that these differences need not diminish us. Instead, like the glow of the Hanukkah candles and the twinkling Christmas tree, they bring more light into the world.
