Ah, what would Hanukkah be without the Hanukkah ham? This picture came courtesy of my good pal Lisa Cahan of Chicago. Being the ex-New Yorker like myself, she knew I would get a kick out of this reminder of how Jews in New York City live with feelings of inauthenticity; that their Jewish inner selves are at odds with the city that spawned a Miracle on 34th Street.
Here's how it went for me living in New York City back in the 80's. For the first time in my life, I'm living in a city where I'm not the only Jew. In fact, I'm living in one of the most Jewish cities in America. There's a deli practically on every corner. Everyone says "oy" this and "shonda" that. Even the Mayor is Jewish. For a kid who grew up in the Catholic/Protestant Portuguese immigrant community of San Leandro, California and who never saw a bagel until I was 18, this was practically like living the Holy Land itself! And yet, when it came to Christmas-time, the whole city became Christian, Jew and Gentile. It was inescapable.
Christmas was everywhere. It was at Macy's in the store windows; in Rockefeller Center with the ice skaters and ginormous Christmas tree; and it was on every corner with the fat men in a red suits, ringing their bells, Salvation Army buckets in hand and ho ho ho-ing you into giving a little to those who didn't have a lot. Who would want to celebrate Hanukkah, particularly when the only things one had to counter the whole Yule time madness were lame little dreidels made out of clay and dime store blue and white paper garlands that said "Happy Hanukkah," that was never spelled the same way twice? Come on, I often said to my troubled inner self. Can't I be both Jewish and Christian just once? Just this year? Can I just dabble in some festive Christmas cheer?
Yes, I wanted to celebrate Christmas. But only the commercial parts. I had no desire to put up a manger or go to Midnight Mass. All I coveted was my neighbor's tree and lights, and to warm up that lonely corner in my studio apartment with a pine scented tree. In the end, who would know? Mom and Dad were 3000 miles away and here I was, a graduate student living in a city of millions. I was an adult and could make adult decisions, presumably free from guilt. Most of all, I could finally indulge in my childhood fantasy of having a REAL Christmas tree. No more humiliating Hanukkah Bush or blue and white lights on the outside of the house that usually invited more stares and snickers than anything else.
But each time I thought I would venture down the street to the neighborhood empty lot, filled with crack addicts and rats, now turned into the garishly lit Christmas Tree farm and buy my little Charlie Brown Christmas tree, I found I just coudln't go through with it. The consequences were just too horrific to imagine.
Because actually getting one would've meant living with the distinct possibility of my long passed away Grandma Flor coming back to life to screech loudly at the sight of the little tree just as she did when I was six years old and I brought home a small tree from school. It was pretty traumatic then and it must have scarred me for life. Here I was at 26 years old, and I couldn't buy myself a damn tree because way back when I was but a wee kid, my grandmother threw out the small tree I brought home. And here I was 20 years later, treeless. I couldn't even sing "Away in A Manger" when it was on the radio. When it came to the line "The Little Lord Jesus" all could I muster up was "The Little Lord Mm-mm." Man, Grandma. I love you but you messed me up!
In the end never got that Christmas tree.
But this story doesn't have a sad ending. I've found a most perfect way around my guilt. These days, I don't covet that tree or sparkly lights to satisfy my itch to celebrate like my Gentile brothers and sisters. Instead, all I have to say is "I'm going to Disney World" -- just like those Super Bowl players say after winning the big game.
What am I doing in Disney World, you may ask? Well, if you happen to be in Florida this year around December 28th, you can find out. Come on down to EPCOT Center to see Marlee and me reading the story of Jesus and singing along to traditional Christmas tunes as part of the Candlelight Processional. Yes, you heard it right. The story of Jesus!
For the last 7 years, Marlee has been invited along with a host of other celebrities, to participate in a program of scripture and song as a means to entertain the thousands of holiday visitors to Disney World. She signs the story of Jesus and I narrate it. In between passages, a choir of 350 singers and an orchestra of 85 perform wonderful Chirstmas songs. I admit that the first year though I was eager to indulge in my Christmas fantasy, I was initially concerned because I didn't know the names in the Jesus story, let alone the story itself. And Marlee was no help. She laughed to herself at my dilemma. And as she said, she had no guilt; it didn't bother her because she said she could be reading the phone book in sign language for all the hearing audience knew. I was the one who had to SAY the story right. Even the producers of the event knew this Jewish kid was venturing in to Virgin Mary territory when, after the first performance, they handed me the CD of the show that they sold in the park to visitors and asked me to "enjoy" how Phylicia Rashad narrated it. From the first track on the CD, I got the hint. Too much Jew and not enough Christian here. Eventually I figured out that if Danny Kaye could sing "Snow" and Babra Streisand could sing "I'll Be Home for Christmas," then I could certainly muster up a decent narration of the story of the Little Lord "hmm-mm" that would make Marlee proud.
Well, eventually, I got it right. And they've been asking Marlee (and me) back ever since. She and I perform three times a day and we shout out one hell of a hallelujah chorus. And we must be doing something right because there's a standing ovation each time. So, come on down. If you do, you'll see Marlee signing the story BEAUTIFULLY and me, off to the side, microphone in hand, satisfing my annual need to celebrate some Christmas cheer. I like to call it "Two Jews Reading the Story of Jesus."
And if the ghost of Grandma Flor should decide to visit me in the Florida night, I'll ask her for the same special dispensation that I'm sure the great Irving Berlin, who was probably a very nice Jewish boy, asked of the ghost of his Grandmother when she found out that he wrote the most famous Christmas song of all time, "White Christmas"...
"Grandma! A guy's gotta make a living!"
Say Hallelujah and pass the Hanukkah Ham. And have a Happy second Day of Hanukkah.
655Jack
2 comments:
"I feel guilty when I don't feel guilty." That's gonna go on your headstone. No worries. When I was 6, my best friend, Sarah, who lived across the street, had the same problem when it came to singing in the Christmas program. Somebody (I don't know who) suggested that she change the words around, which I thought was pretty clever. She was the only one in class who sang "Go tell it on the mountain that Seymour Sacks was born."
Now THAT's funny.
Even at 5 AM!
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