By the time you read this, Christmas will be less than a month away. And despite not celebrating it, I love Yuletide; the songs, the smells, the copious eating and drinking, the twinkly lights brightening a drab wintery world. At school I was always first in line to festoon the classroom with paper chains and snowflake cutouts; nowadays I make dreidel-shaped gingerbread and last year my husband even tackled a kosher turkey.
As an observant Jew, I don’t see anything wrong with that. Living in a Christian-majority country we should appreciate the value Christmas has — even if it’s not “our” celebration. It doesn’t detract from my passion for Chanukah. One is of spiritual importance, the other enjoyable in the way of a glorious summer bank holiday or a royal jubilee. Part of being British, as well as Jewish.
It’s still unclear what this festive season will bring and what the exact nature of the temporary pause to social distancing will entail. But whatever happens, I’d like to appeal to my fellow Jews: stop being disparaging about the desire to “save Christmas”. In recent weeks, I’ve heard too many people scoff to the tune of “we managed without a family Pesach — surely they can cope with a Zoom Christmas”. Which may, factually, be true, but rather misses the point.
Yes, we’ve had a host of festivals curtailed in the last nine months, especially those Jews in regions where restrictions were tighter throughout September and it wasn’t possible to salvage a shared Rosh Hashanah meal.
Yes, we’ve made do, as have Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims. Yes, it’s been miserable marking the milestones of our calendar in solitary fashion, particularly for those who live alone, when the nature of Jewish life is about togetherness. And yes, we’ve coped — because we’ve understood how high the stakes are.
If Christmas too had to be cancelled, people would cope. But that doesn’t mean we should begrudge people from not wanting to be in that situation, from grasping for a brief moment of joy in what has been a year of misery, nor be sniffy about those for whom “saving Christmas” is about presents and mince pies rather than midnight mass. For one, those mince pies matter to our economy. For another, who are we to police how someone marks a religious festival?
We can disagree with the wisdom of a “festive Covid truce”, especially if it leads to a wretched January, but that doesn’t mean we should resent or judge those who hope against hope to salvage the wreckage of this year and enjoy some brief festivities.
After all, given how important communal experiences are to us as Jews, we should understand the yearning people have to deck the halls alongside their loved ones.
Something I’ve always appreciated about Judaism is that there’s a festival for every season (save for this lockdown, which has helpfully coincided with Cheshvan). We’re lucky to be part of a religion that finds myriad excuses to feast (or fast then feast), and that offers every Friday evening as the start of a new celebration.
Though we might find it stifling at times, we are privileged to be a community in which, regardless of levels of religiosity, significant emphasis is placed on generations mixing together and on constant family contact.
Christianity has many similar moments, and churches do as much for their communities as synagogues. Yet church attendance is low and, families tend to be more geographically spread out, and for many if not most in Britain, the big moments are Christmas and Easter. Certainly, not everyone has ready access to the community and family structures that many of us Jews take for granted.
Christmas means so much precisely because for many it’s a rare time when they see family and friends, and share those moments. As a community that values these things, we can be supportive of those for whom one day can mean so much, while still questioning the sense of enabling it this year.
I’m not sure lifting restrictions for Christmas makes sense. This isn’t a football match in the trenches; Covid is hardly going to adhere to a ceasefire. But we shouldn’t be so disdainful of those who desperately want one. A little empathy wouldn’t go amiss.
If anything good comes of this year it’s the reminder it’s given of the power of networks and neighbours — ultimately, the power of communities — and the unparalleled value of sharing happy occasions. There’s a debate to be had around a Yuletide unlock, but whatever happens Jews shouldn’t be Christmas grinches.
Instead, let’s hope that in 2021 we all get to celebrate our festivals as we would choose.
