CHRISTMAS FROM OUTSIDE

Being a non-observant Jew is effectively no religion. It isn’t like being an atheist because it doesn’t imply a belief inno god. My mother was an atheist. I understand what it means. To me, atheism requires as much certainty as any other faith. You have to know something you can’t really know. It’s faith, even if it’s faith in nothingness.

Given my upbringing and personal preferences, I’m mildly uncomfortable celebrating all religious holidays, including Jewish ones. I feel as if I’m wearing someone else’s clothing. Even when they fit well and look good, I know they aren’t mine. Every year when Christmas rolls through town flattening everything and everyone in its path, I bow to its power and supremacy. I enjoy the lights, music,  gifts and season while remaining aware it isn’t my holiday. When everyone is sharing their warm fuzzy memories of Christmas as a child, I have no equivalent memories to share. Not of Christmas or any holiday because my mother, atheist that she was, celebrated nothing. As a kid, I yearned to be part of Christmas. All my friends had trees and got a zillion presents. I would wander around to my various friends’ houses, stay a little while, aware I wasn’t really welcome. Then I would go home. I felt so left out.

When I married my first husband, his family was almost as religious as mine. They were pretty sure they had been — at some point in the past — something, but they weren’t sure what. They celebrated Christmas with enormous energy and enthusiasm, without any bothersome religious overtones. It was an alcoholic’s dream holiday featuring eggnog that might actually kill you. And very tree-ish. My father-in-law hauled in the biggest trees I’ve ever seen in a private home. Paul Bunyan would have been impressed.

That first Christmas (1965), they pulled out all the stops. They had a Jew to entertain. How exciting. A new audience. Jeff passed away twenty years ago, but his mother — she will be 104 in February — still sends a Christmas present. I have one in the living room right now waiting to be unwrapped.

The nine years I lived in Israel gave me perspective. There was no evidence of Christmas. Chanukah was a holiday, but not like Christmas. Passover and Sukkot were big festivals. It was comfortable to be a Jew in Israel. That sounds redundant, but the freedom to live by a Jewish calendar was no small thing. Even if you were entirely non-religious, you didn’t feel the pressure to be involved in what is — theoretically — a Christian holiday, but is — as practiced — Pagan. I like the Pagan part.

Basically, I have no religious affiliation. Jewish by ethnicity and history. And I know a lot about Judaism, admire it, but I don’t practice it and never have. I thought seriously about practicing it but it didn’t fit better than anything else. I’m skeptical of everything, certain of nothing. I have no answers.

So to all of you, Merry Christmas. Have a cool Yule and a grand Solstice. Whatever you celebrate, please — enjoy it! I’ll sing along because I know all the words.

MR. MAO AND A TURKEY

Long ago in a land far away, we had a Siamese cat. Mao -- "cat" in Chinese. I don't know if that's Mandarin, Cantonese or some other dialect, but it was a good name.

We got Mao as a tiny kitten. From day 1, he was a feisty, chatty cat.  Our first cat, which his name reflected. Mao Ee (Cat 1). There were, of course, many others over the decades in all the places and houses in I've called home, but there's never been another cat anything like Mao.

When we traveled, friends took care of our house. I was a great grower of plants back then. Feeding the cats was one part of the job ... but watering the 200 plus plants was -- or should have been -- the bigger task. Frank -- best friend's husband -- was often tasked with house care in our absence. Mao was a thinking cat. A logical cat. He decided we were gone because Frank had driven us away. Thus if Mao could drive Frank away, we would come home.

Thus, when Frank came to the house to feed and water cats and plants, Mao attacked him. I don't mean a little pounce, a playful swat. It was all out warfare. Mao crouched in shadows and attacked, all 20 claws outstretched, going for gore. Poor Frank loved cats and he and Mao had always gotten along fine. He had no idea why Mao was out to get him.

The moment we came back, Mao was back to normal, friend to the world. He had obviously been right because we were back ... ergo, it must have been because he drove The Invader (Frank) away. Logical, yes? After that, Mao attacked everyone who took care of the house in our absence. He was the terror of Our Crowd. It got increasingly difficult to get someone to take care of things while we were gone.

The years moved on and Mao moved with us. There were children, jobs, bigger houses, dogs. Life. We held celebrations ... big Thanksgiving dinners. One memorable occasion, we had a full house including a dozen and half people and featuring a huge turkey. When the turkey was roasted, I put it out on the counter to set while I moved food in the dining room and greeted arriving guests.

I wasn't gone 10 minutes. When I got back to the kitchen, Mao was on the counter, finishing off a drumstick. Its remains were still attached to the turkey -- a ragged, conspicuously gnawed hole. Not the presentation I had in mind.

The husband and I consulted. We agreed and served the bird as it was.

"What happened to the turkey," asked the friends and family.

"Mao got to it," I said.

"Oh," they said. "Pass the bird."

It was a good Thanksgiving. Mao was some cat.

CELEBRATING EVERYTHING

It's that time of year again, when people of good will get all bent out of shape because we don't celebrate the same holidays. It's not even Halloween and the posts are up on Facebook proclaiming "Merry Christmas" is the only "right" way to greet people. "Happy Holidays" is profane. If ever there was a moronic argument explicitly designed to ruin the season, this is it.

In my extremely humble opinion, Happy Holidays may be a trifle bland, but hardly profane. It is, however, more inclusive than Merry Christmas because there are a lot of holidays bundled into this short season. Whatever you say in greeting, it's fine with me. It's the thought that counts.

Why in the world does it matter to you whether or not I follow the same customs as you? If you celebrate Christmas, I'm glad for you. I rejoice with you. Deck the halls. Decorate trees. String lights. Dress up as Santa. Put a manger and a plastic baby Jesus in your front yard. I'll come to your party and I'll take pictures too. I'm not a Christian, don't want to be Christian but that doesn't mean I'm against whatever you believe.

I've got an offer for all of you. If you are willing to celebrate my holidays, I'll celebrate yours. Wait a minute. I've got an even better deal for you. Let's celebrate all the holidays together. I want Samhain, Yule, Hanukkah, Passover, Sukkot, Epiphany, Christmas. Forgive me for not being familiar with all the religious calendars, but feel free to add everything I've left out. All prayers are good prayers; all holidays are good holidays.

I think every single person of every faith -- or no faith -- is entitled to celebrate (or not celebrate) the season however they want. You should honor that. Stop prating how others are disrespecting your faith while you trample roughshod over theirs.

A lot of Christians are an embarrassment to Jesus, who was a proper Rabbi and a good Jew.

I want to celebrate the Winter Solstice and the Vernal Equinox. I want celebrations for everyone and everything. We don't need more acrimony. Let's have more parties, more festivals. More happiness.

Be of good cheer. Holidays are coming. I don't care how you express your joy in the season. Be joyous for yourself and for all of us. Stop being petty and mean-spirited. Christianity isn't the only, the oldest or inherently most valid faith. Get your holiday spirit on. Love your neighbor. Behave like you believe all people are equal in the eyes of whatever deity you claim to worship. Or don't worship.
And have a wonderful season!