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Jews dig Christmas too
This article originally appeared on The Weeklings.
For any Jew, I've been obtaining a large amount of email from Christian Mingle lately. Of course, I'm all,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "spam folder!" But at the same time, I'm all,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Moi?" Because as far back as I can remember, Christianity has been a glittering swimming pool through a chain-link fence. It started thirty-some-odd years back at the mall, after i urinated on the Easter Bunny's lap and that he registered my name on the black list. As I got older, I noticed that my Christian friends did fun things without me. During the cold months, they decorated trees in their living spaces. During the summer time, they vacationed in cottages. For lunch, they ate Cornish game hens. They'd blue eyes, a prerequisite for attracting romantic partners. When I was an adolescent, I knew things i wanted to be: a blue-eyed, steel-bladdered blonde who perched on Santa's knee wearing a slutty dress and tinsel.
Fast-forward into adulthood. I can't sayallmy dreams had become a reality,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but Icansay I had been twenty-nine and dating an aspiring performer who lived in the grandmother's basement. And although he declared himself an atheist (loudly and angrily, out of the box the culture of loud, angry atheists), he was an Italian guy from Brooklyn whose mother kept his Baptism photos in an album.
Atheist? Please. I was dating a Christian. One who invited me home for Christmas.
I'd never celebrated Christmas before. I had been usually working some restaurant job,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and that i would take the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day shifts that no one else wanted. During my youth, my mother made us do volunteer focus on Christmas. Then, unimaginatively, we'd scarf Chinese food. One Christmas, my loved ones and that i watchedSchindler's Listand I acquired so bored I picked all my cuticles off, leaving me to wonder years later basically was a sociopath, until I figured no, Steven Spielberg movies just encourage someone to affect emotion to avoid being thought a sociopath.
But this year would be different. This season, my boyfriend would grope me under the mistletoe.
With the exception that like lots of people on the brink of reaching their set goals, I acquired cold feet. That which was I getting myself into? Could I really engage ingoyishetraditions with a house filled with semi-strangers? Let's say my boyfriend and his family donned Christmas pajamas and reindeer slippers? What if, on Christmas morning,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], we all needed to spring up out of bed and race downstairs towards the tree,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], snarling like teething puppies, wildly tearing wrapping paper from boxes?
"I don't think this Christmas thing is my speed," I told my boyfriend.
"But you had been so excited," he reminded me, packing a bowl. (Atheists, or at least this person, smoked lots of dope.)
"But I am a vegetarian," I reminded him. "What if there's ham?"
"Of course you will see ham."
"I think I'm busy Christmas Eve," I said.
"Fine," he said, and he climbed up from his grandmother's basement, blinked several times in the winter sunlight, also, since his parents now lived in Staten Island,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], set sail alone from Whitehall Terminal.
I hadn't really thought he'd go without me.
Through the night, when i lay on my lofted bed, gazing forlornly the window at my Jewish reflection, I writhed with regret. Why was I so self-destructive? Why did I placed on my shoes too early each time I got a pedicure? Why did I frequently permit my boyfriend's grandmother/roommate to call us a slut in Italian? And why did I once, right after dicing habanero peppers, touch my vagina? I thought about how exactly after i was a kid, my parents let my siblings and me have every Berenstain Bears book exceptThe Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear, how that deprivation had plagued me for decades, and how I'd finally been given the opportunity to reverse it, to nourish my inner child as the saying goes,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and what had I completed with my evening? Had I thrown on a Santa hat and realized my dreams? No. I'd crossed the road towards the bodega for Cheetos and watched a drunk guy take out his dick inside a pay phone hood and piss on the sidewalk.
Finally after many years of being forbidden the Bearenstein Bears Meet Santa Bear
The time had come for change.
The next morning, equipped with mass-produced presents from China, such as Frosty the Snowman potholders and socks with toe pouches, I voyaged to Staten Island for my first Christmas, sitting beside yet another drunk guy who kept ringing an invisible doorbell and saying "Bzzz."Jews, I'll let you know this: Christmas is very much a Christian Mingle. My first Christmas wasn't romantic by itself,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but there were Christians everywhere, mingling. The Christians were my kind of Christians, eating antipasto and drinking Jack Daniel's. I ate a lot eggplant parmesan,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I passed out about the family room couch. I quickly awoke and guzzled merlot. I quickly ate white and red M and then I ate most of a jar of mixed nuts from my stocking. Then I drank more wine. No one were built with a manic episode and turned into snowflake pajamas. Nobody force-fed me ham.
My life, when it comes to the Jewish festivals-the one where we get drunk, the one where we eat in a hut, the other one where we get drunk-I always believed we'd the corner on holidays. Works out we do not. All the Christmas hype is justified.
With that in mind, I'm fairly certain there is no such thing as the War on Christmas, unless you're Bill O'Reilly or the guy who once designed a living installing Nativity scenes in public places schools. But when shit ever got real? I'd join the resistance.
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