|
|
Dec. 15, 2006
Let them go visit with Santa
Kids will grow weary and return to their Jewish roots soon enough.
SHARON DUKE ESTROFF
One of the certainties of Jewish parenthood is that at some time
or another, we'll find ourselves caught between an ornament-draped
evergreen and a stocking-strung fireplace.
We're inevitably at the mall – in the midst of a (clearly desperate)
Chanukah shopping trip – when our child asks, "Please,
can I get a picture with Santa Claus?" Upon hearing this request,
our shopping-bag-clad arms instantly tense. Not due to the two-mile
line of kids currently standing between our child and jolly old
St. Nick, but because we have no idea whatsoever whether to a) plop
down our packages and heed this request, b) eliminate Santa's appeal
by revealing that he's merely the mall custodian in Yuletide drag
or c) pretend we didn't hear the question, grab our kid and hightail
it out of there.
Sure, we've all attempted to placate our kids' Yuletide-envy with
the tried and true eight nights is better than one night argument.
But this technique rarely does the trick, as Chanukah is neither
intended to nor capable of standing in for Christmas. Besides, even
a fully decked Chanukah bush doesn't change the fact that at the
brownie troop holiday party, there were 19 red and green cupcakes
and a single blue and white one.
Which brings us to the classic question: What is the best way for
Jewish parents to handle the Christmas season? It's been said that
answers can be found in the least likely of places – and it
was an unlikely place indeed that brought me the solution to our
seasonal Santa stickler. So promise you'll bear with me as we take
a temporary detour from the topic at hand to a time and place many
months and miles away from the mall atrium at Christmas time.
A few summers back, my husband and I decided to cash in our frequent
flier points and take our four children to Italy. On one particularly
scorching day of this some-would-say crazy trip, we drove our rented
minivan to the Tuscan town of Siena. We anticipated the usual navigational
challenges of driving an American-sized vehicle on roads better
suited for Hot Wheels toys. But we were unprepared to find Siena's
cobblestone streets engulfed with thousands of wildly cheering,
poncho-wearing pedestrians.
The cause for celebration, my Fodor's guide informed me, was Palio
– a 1,000-year-old annual horse race-turned-colossal party
between Siena's 17 contrade or neighborhoods. As for the
ponchos, they were actually flags boasting each contrade's traditional
mascot and color. Following the crowds to the centre of town, we
discovered thousands more flag-clad Siena residents parading around
a makeshift horse track. Before I could say arrivederci,
my boys had found an overpriced flag-selling kiosk, wrapped themselves
in colorful banners and begun parading the track alongside the Italian
children.
After hours of partying in the Mediterranean heat, my kids became
thirsty, tired and cranky. An offer of lukewarm water prompted the
Tasmanian devil, formerly known as Jake, to whine, "I want
a cold drink ... with ice!" His siblings were equally adamant
in this appeal. Since ice cubes in Italy can be rarer than diamonds
– and at that moment indisputably more valuable – we had
our work cut out for us. It seemed we'd trudged for miles before
we saw it down a narrow alley. But there, waving before us was a
symbol, not of a contrade mascot, but of an American fast food chain.
My children's Palio flags slipped to the ground, as every slurp
of their sub-zero sodas brought them that much closer to the comforts,
the familiarity, of home. Nice story, you may be thinking, but what's
the point? What does this have to do with Santa Claus?
The point is that when my American family walked through the gates
of Siena that steamy July day into an Italian celebration, we didn't
feel threatened by the festivities or tempted to pretend they weren't
happening at all. We weren't compelled to replicate the excitement
on Siena's cobblestone streets on our asphalt cul-de-sac across
the Atlantic. Instead, we released ourselves to the moment. Tasting
it. Savoring it. Fuelling ourselves with insight into a rich culture
that did not belong to us. Yet when the day grew late, the party
grew old and my kids grew tired, their thirst could only be quenched
by one thing – an icy American soda.
It's the same situation with Christmas. The entire experience is
alluring. The music, the lights, the cheesy television specials
– it is a holiday overflowing in contagious excitement. But
that doesn't mean we must shield our kids from the Yuletide festivities;
that if we allow them to breathe in the Christmas spirit, it will
somehow reduce their Judaism. On the contrary, it will only confirm
who they are. If our children are deeply rooted in Jewish life and
identity, a tête-à-tête with Santa is no more
a threat to their Judaism than taking part in the Italian celebration
of Palio is to their Americanism. If we've done our jobs well, it
doesn't matter whether our children are wrapped in Palio flags or
Santa's burly arms, their insides remain the same – Jewish,
American and just a tad Tasmanian devil.
Sharon Duke Estroff is an internationally syndicated Jewish
parenting columnist, award-winning educator and mother of four.
Her first parenting book, Can I Have a Cell Phone for Hanukkah?
will be released in 2007.
^TOP
|
|
