The Jewish Boy Who Wanted a Christmas Tree

Once upon a time, long, long ago, a boy of about 6 years of age was growing up in a suburb of Manhattan on Long Island’s north shore. His father loved to garden, and his mother loved to cook and bake. There was a well-traveled path from the garden, berry bushes and fruit trees to the kitchen.

His mother made pies from the apples, cherries, peaches and blueberries. In the small vegetable garden, the corn actually seemed to be as high as an elephant’s eye. During the summer there were tomatoes that when sliced were larger than any burger his father made on the outdoor grill. Cucumbers got pickled along with green tomatoes while blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and quince were magically turned into jams and jellies.

They lived on just over an acre of land that the little boy knew like the back of his hand. He learned that the large boulders strewn about were the result of glaciers that had left them there 10,000 years ago. Native American arrow points would be revealed as his father dug holes to plant new trees, and the soil was deep and rich, used decades earlier by dairy and crop farmers.

The young kid, looking somewhat like Alfred E. Neuman on the cover of Mad magazine, loved the place, and yet in spite of the country feel you could look out a second-floor window, peer over Little Neck Bay and past the Whitestone Bridge, glimpsing the Empire State building rising above Manhattan, gleaming by day and at night, its green beacon circling and circling with incredible candle power piercing the dark sky.

As much as he loved this space, the kid was vexed by the poison ivy that grew in the woods surrounding the property. He’d get it nearly every summer when he was usually covered with a coating of Calamine lotion to ease the itch, and more than once his father threatened to tie the kid’s hands behind his back to prevent the kid from getting an infection.

But every December while his friends like Johnny Allen and Jimmy Caraza were going out with their parents to buy Christmas trees there was never one in the kid’s house. He understood that these wonderful trees were a symbol of Christmas, a Christian holiday that his family didn’t celebrate because they were Jewish. He understood and yet, he didn’t.

To offer a bit of solace on the years when Christmas and Hanukkah coincided, the family not only lit the festival candles each night of the holiday but also bought some tree branches sold in local florists that had been painted white. These were the branches of the Hanukkah bush that had absolutely no historical or religious context. The branches were decorated with glittered Stars of David and some ornaments were placed on the branches. The kid still wanted a Christmas tree, and that desire was one of the biggest conflicts in his young life.

The situation was further complicated by the fact that his father had planted numerous blue spruces, firs, hemlocks and pines along the property line as a privacy barrier. The kid thought one of these would make a magnificent Christmas tree though the idea was never suggested. It was never to happen. And yes, he did understand why, but it didn’t help his sadness.

Things got even more complicated when the boy was in his teens. He was in a glee club at school, and the man who led the group was a professional choirmaster who had his own 12-member gospel choir. The kid had a remarkable double bass voice and loved to sing. Charlie Higgins, a towering man of color and choirmaster, asked the kid if he’d like to become a regular member of the gospel choir, which he did. He sang with the group all over New Jersey but come Christmastime Charlie Higgins took the kid aside after a practice and had a heart to heart with the kid. He knew the kid was Jewish and suspected there might be an issue with him singing songs of Christmas: “Christ the King,” “Come All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night.”

With incredible insight, Charlie Higgins simply told the kid that when a word came up that he had trouble repeating because of his Jewish beliefs, “Just skip the word,” he said, and it was a perfect solution. The kid could now sing his heart out filled with joy, love and a holiday spirit without compromising his religious teachings and beliefs. But there was still no Christmas tree.

Twenty or so years later, the same kid met the love of his life. She was a devout Christian and from a family with a long history of Christian fundamentalists. He once asked her father if it was an issue for him that his daughter was dating a Jew. He responded, “Not at all, as long as you believe in God.”

The kid proposed to her in the middle of Grand Central Station in front of the iconic clocks at the central kiosk. It was classically romantic.

Ten days later they got married as most of both sides of the family were going to be in town for the holidays. As fate would have it, they were married on Christmas Eve in his parents’ 15th floor apartment overlooking Long Island.

The next year, they had their first Christmas tree. This year they are on their 40th Christmas tree. Complete with lights and ornaments their house glows for the holidays and this year the kid, his wife and their son will celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas along with ham and latkes as both holidays and their anniversary fall on the same evening.

She remains a devout Christian, he an observant Jew. She’s studied Hebrew and knows more about Judaism than he ever did or will. Their Christmas tree ornaments include a glass-blown half sour pickle, a tiny trowel, a tiny rake among many others. It is truly a time, however short, of peace, love and charity.

We wish you a very happy Hanukkah, a very Merry Christmas but most of all, most of all … keep growing.