I'm Dreaming of a Jewish Christmas

I don't remember ever feeling confused or left out by Christmas as a kid. Maybe it was because I went to a Jewish day school, so my friends weren't celebrating something I wasn't. Maybe it was because we still paid attention to it in our own ways, like when my dad would drive us around the neighborhood to look at all the lights. (An ironic tidbit: my mom's side of the family was celebrating Christmas, but we just weren't around for it, thanks to my dad.)

So I always thought it was weird when I grew up and met friends who said they hated it when Hanukkah came early in December, because they would be left out later in the month. I've never felt Judaism was inadequate in any way, though I suppose if you're one of the only Jews you know, you might need your own holiday as ammo against the onslaught of Christmas. But I never really stacked the two holidays up against each other, and I kind of hate that we do. They were different, are different, and should be different. It's only the timing that puts them in such an unfortunately locked orbit. My Hanukkah observance is the same every year, regardless of when it falls, and I love it the same every year, independent of whatever other holidays are going on.

But even I know that you just can't escape Christmas.

It's been on my mind a lot this season in particular, because the family I'm stepping into isn't Jewish (though our household is and will continue to be), and Christmas is a fairly big deal, as would be expected. Since no holiday where family gets together is ever a bad thing, I am happy to participate in all their traditions, even if it's not really my own celebration. But it hasn't come without mixed feelings. As a proponent of Jewish continuity, part of me feels a little hypocritical for even being open to participating. And then part of me feels like I've taken something away from my new family by having a Jewish home without a tree or decorations—I've altered the landscape of future Christmases. Though mostly I go along for the ride and try not to think *too* much in the moment, I have felt a strange pressure (from myself) to really dive in headfirst. 

And with that pressure, comes the reminder that I don't really *get* Christmas. To clarify, I get the religious significance. I get the family togetherness. I get the creation of happy memories for kids. All those things are good. But I don't get the part where you have to plaster it everywhere and how if you don't deck the halls with adequate gusto, you might as well have struck a death-blow to joy on earth. It's a little demanding—and as a Jew, I know from demanding holidays.  

That's the real zinger—I am a Jew. I always will be. So I'm not trying to actually celebrate Christmas, just honor the people in my family who are. l'll never have that sentimental attachment to Christmas and don't need to go whole hog with spirit. It's just not my holiday. But isn't that okay? And can't I participate in my own way that doesn't mess with my Judaism?

Aside from some rabbis I know, I'm sure the answer is, "Of course." But it doesn't quite cover it. So perhaps the bigger question I am struggling with is this: how do you honor both families and traditions and not dilute or insult either one? And how do you do it a way that doesn't make them compete against each other or force comparisons where none should exist? 

I have a feeling these questions will stick around for many years to come.

The Year of the Dog

Just under a year ago, the teenager brought back a Jack Russell terrier from a shelter in Lexington, KY. There had been periods in my life where I'd wanted a dog before, but I was not at all excited about it. For one, I wasn't choosing the dog. The dog was technically not going to be mine. This made me nervous the dog was going to be territorial, hate me, bark at me, and otherwise make my time in the apartment, of which I was not yet a full-time resident, rather difficult.

But then there was Cody: a six-year-old rescue, who was remarkably well trained, extremely skittish out on the Brooklyn streets, but exceptionally loving and sweet. We didn't know much about his history, other than some notion he was in a puppy mill and may have also been obese from eating too much people food. 

Suffice it to say, nothing was as bad as I thought it was going to be. The biggest challenge was simply that a dog is a lot of responsibility and when a teenager is supposed to be the one responsible for the dog, that means your responsibility is to keep the teenager on task. Nothing new there.

Somewhere along the line though, Cody became mine too. Probably because I was the one who gave him baths, trimmed his nails, and researched the right food to give him. I'd never actually had a dog before, so these pursuits were heavily tied up in a existential quest to understand the quality and meaning of Cody's life. The very fact of his being a rescue had shaped my perception of him. His life before now must not have been great—someone gave him up. Did he remember his old life? Was he happy now? Was I doing right by him? I'd ask my friends these questions, and they'd look at me like I was crazy.

While this was happening, I was also refusing outright to say I loved him, in spite of the fact he had clearly accepted me as pack-leader and was following me everywhere. I'd cite the fact that he was most likely going to die in a few short years, so I didn't want to get attached. I also didn't want to become the person who is obsessed with her dog, constantly tweeting pictures, and talking about him like he's a human child. 

I have to tell you, it's a very weird thing to love a dog. We weren't pet people growing up, except for a parakeet that lived too long and a guinea pig who lasted just a few months. Neither of them were particularly exceptional, so I never had a meaningful relationship with any non-human being. A dog is this creature who can't talk to you, but stares at you and seems to have so much to tell you. And then you realize how you're getting as much comfort out of petting him as he is. Or you take him to the vet, and the prescription for his medication comes back in the name of Cody Roth, and you're done. You can't help but feel protective and disciplinary and maternal all at once. 

So I've come around over the past year and am now only slightly that person. I've grown accustomed to the small, 18-pound creature that roams around the apartment to see where everyone is, always finds the softest thing in the room to nest on, and only eats his dinner when we're is eating. He is not a person exactly, but he is a member of the family. And while I have not yet come to any philosophical conclusions about Cody's existence, and I might never, I love him anyway.

On Success and Defeat

I hit a career milestone a few weeks ago. I had my first New York Times Best Seller. Okay, technically, it's not the first book I've worked on to hit the list, but the first one barely counts. (It was the novelization of Mary-Kate and Ashley's movie New York Minute, if you really need to know. Moving on.) It's a huge deal to hit that list. It means both prestige and good sales. It's success. 

But I have to tell you, I'm still having a hard time swallowing it. I'm not sure entirely why. This project has been blessed (if I can say that) from the start. Good momentum. Great people working on it. Great responses from readers. In an era where publishing books is a total crapshoot, this one is actually working. And I'm grateful for it.

So why is accepting it so difficult? Maybe I don't really believe it happened. Maybe it's that this is only one moment of success. Maybe what I really want is the long-term success. Is that wrong? Am I crazy? Maybe.

The truth is, it came on the heels of a major defeat for me. The kind that shakes you up and makes you doubt your self-worth. I don't know why, but it's been hard to compartmentalize these things and not let their impact on me bleed into one another. I would have loved that success to erase the deficit of the defeat, but it didn't. And I feel guilty about that. I should be able to be happy about the one and sad about the other and not confuse the two.

Which brings us around to the ever-present issue of life's timing. Is our ability to enjoy success really just dependent on everything else going on in our lives? What's the right ratio of success to defeat that would let us appreciate the good things and not be too hurt by the bad? I guess I'll be mulling that one over for awhile.

In the meantime, thanks for the win. I really needed it.