By Nancy L. Rhea
I always wanted Santa Claus to come to our house. He seemed like such a nice man. Dressed in red, always smiling. Sitting on his golden throne near the toy department in every shopping center, he always waved at me. I never waved back.
Just once, I wanted to share the joy of the holiday season like everyone else at my elementary school. As directed by every one of my teachers in Parker Elementary in Houston, Texas, I wrote a letter every year to request that an old man in a red suit bring toys, books and sweaters to my house.
“Dear Santa,” my letter would begin. Then, I would stop to think, “What good will it do? He never comes to my house.”
I crafted numerous stockings to hang over a non-existent fireplace that supposedly Santa would slide down in the middle of the night. I pasted hundreds of red and green paper chains that decorated someone else’s ten-foot tall Christmas tree that towered over a mountain of colorful packages.
“Dear Santa,” I would begin again. “I have been a good girl this year” became the standard first sentence as directed by my teachers. I printed carefully with the dedicated hope that Santa would visit my house this year. However, year after year, Santa never responded.
During school assembly programs, I sang songs about jingle bells, silent nights and a reindeer named Rudolph who pulled Santa’s sleigh. As I grew up in Houston, I never saw snow that covered the ground in my neighborhood during December or any other winter month. I never saw a reindeer nor did I ever see Santa at my house. Every year, I followed my teachers’ instructions without success
“Dear Santa. I have been a good girl this year. Please bring me a sweater and a doll. Thank you. From Nancy,” I folded the letter three times, placed it carefully in a red envelope with the address of the North Pole and handed it to my teacher with all the other students’ letters.
On Christmas Eve, television news broadcasted the progress of Santa as he went from house to house. I always slept lightly. I listened carefully for the sounds of reindeer landing on my roof and the “ho-ho-ho” of an old man in a sled. When morning arrived, the scenario remained the same. Despite my many letters, Santa did not visit our house nor did he bring any gifts.
Even as a young child in public schools, I understood that Santa would not visit my house. I knew that our lack of a chimney did not prohibit his night time visit. Some years, I suspected that the teachers threw my letters in the trash can. However, when you are Jewish, you know that Santa does not care if you have been bad or good. Santa does not even know your name.
During eight nights of candle lighting, many Jewish American families struggle to celebrate Chanukkah in a predominantly Christian society. In my family, the exchange of small gifts added chaos to a calm, prayerful candle ceremony that honors a small group of Jewish soldiers in Israel approximately 2300 years ago. After their victory, the soldiers restored the synagogue and found a small amount of oil for eight nights of prayers. The interruption to our school night routine of homework and bedtime schedule often created unbearable frustration for both my Mom and Dad. Still, we continued to pray over the candles and to exchange gifts.
“Why can’t Santa Claus come to our house?” I pleaded with my Mom.
She gently lifted me to her lap, and then kissed my forehead.
“Santa Claus reminds Christians to remember the birth of a talented Jewish baby named Jesus. He grew up to be a very important religious leader for Christians,” she explained patiently. “We don’t need Santa to remind us to light the candles or to exchange gifts. Now, go outside to play.”
“Do you think Santa came to our house this year?” I asked my wise, older sister.As my mother’s wisdom settled my sadness for that year, I still yearned to interact successfully with Santa. Within a few years, my mother began to attend a Christian Science church that was close to the synagogue that we had been attending. We children, also, began to attend their Sunday School classes. We now learned about the little Jewish boy named Jesus who became an important religious leader for Christians.
When the Christmas/Chanukkah holiday season arrived, Mom now searched for a way to combine the celebrations which honored our Jewish religious traditions as well as our newly, developing Christian perspective of God. Her solutions resulted in a unique opportunity to accomplish both priorities.
“Do you think Santa came to our house this year?” I asked my wise, older sister. (Continue Reading)