I'm not sure what it is that makes it so magical. Perhaps it's the silence, or even the desolate streets, but being a Jew in Galut (exile, the Diaspora) on Christmas is a strange and unexpected blessing. I do the same thing every year and I have it down like clockwork. I take a long morning walk in my cold, abandoned city and cook myself burgers before watching all three "Lord of the Rings" movies in a row. I know, it may sound like any old Sunday, but I guess that is the point and just what makes it so special. Five years ago, I was married to a non-Jew and I lived the life of constant compromise that I had grown up with. The holidays were a time when nobody was truly happy, and the symbol of my weakness was a giant tree in the middle of the living room. With my return to Judaism came the very difficult decision to leave my marriage in order to live a fully observant life, and full of fear and fulfillment, I started my walk back home. Ever since then, Christmas in Galut has been a time of reflection on that journey, and my tinsel-free apartment has been a point of pride in this candy-cane land. In my community, the intermarriage rate is almost 90%, and every day steps are taken to accommodate that rather than combat it. "Jewish-style" weddings and watered-down rules are all part of a system built on the idea that quantity beats quality and fitting in trumps fixing what has obviously been broken. With this adaptation and attempt to belong comes an unexpected loneliness of being in between two worlds but the master of none. I thought my life would be easier if I chose to adapt and tried as hard as I could to be more like them, but not only did I fail at that, I also ended up with much less of me and very little of the belonging I had fought for. There's this whole mythology surrounding Jews on Christmas, from Chinese food and gift envy to catchy songs about tribal woes in a jingle bell world. This narrative focuses on the idea that we want to be like them, and that Christmas is a lonely time for us that needs to be managed and lamented, but to me it is a missed opportunity to rejoice in what we are, and even more in what we are not. I love those empty streets in the early morning hours, feeling like an alien in a brave new world. I am proud of my alien status, of not being like them and not taking part in a world that does not belong to me. And because of that, because I am free and have stopped pretending, I can feel joy for their sake without any taint on mine. I guess that is what true religious coexistence is. It starts with me saying, "I am not like you, nor do I wish to be," and from there I can greet you without a hint of fear. As a Jew in Galut on Christmas, I feel proud, because it is a testament to the choices I have made and the distance I have put between myself and the scenes inside those tinsel-adorned windows. As Jews, we shouldn't try to fit in, but should feel proud to stand out, and never entertain the idea of a "kosher-style" Christmas. I love being a Jew on Christmas, because it reminds me that I used to be a bad version of them, but through hard choices and the help of God became the best version of me, and my beautifully normal Sunday is an act of return and redemption. Annika Hernroth-Rothstein is a political adviser, activist and writer on the Middle East, religious affairs and global anti-Semitism. Follow her on Twitter @truthandfiction.
So with that, I wish my gentile friends a very merry Christmas, and to myself another beautifully extraordinary Jewish year.
A happy Jew on Christmas
מערכת ישראל היום
מערכת "ישראל היום“ מפיקה ומעדכנת תכנים חדשותיים, מבזקים ופרשנויות לאורך כל שעות היממה. התוכן נערך בקפדנות, נבדק עובדתית ומוגש לציבור מתוך האמונה שהקוראים ראויים לעיתונות טובה יותר - אמינה, אובייקטיבית ועניינית.
