Member-only story
Shopping Christmas trees while Jewish
A woman picks through evergreens while her husbands ponders the perils of assimilation
The guy at the Christmas tree lot wants to know how high our ceilings are.
I tell him.
Then he wants to know how we plan to orient the tree — will it stand against a wall, in a corner…?
I leave that one for my wife, Lisa.
Because, really, the only thing I want him to know is that I’m not Christian. I have nothing against Christians or Christianity. One of my sisters, whom I love dearly, is a Christian (long story). I just don’t want to be taken for one.
Maybe I should have worn a Star of David around my neck. Maybe I can say something in Yiddish. Is there a signal? A handshake? No. We’re not Masons. Anyway, he wouldn’t pick up on any of it. Not around these parts.
After we bring the tree home, I’m tasked with setting lights around the eaves of our house. After I’m done it resembles, slightly, all of the other houses on our block, if a bit more crudely done because this our first holiday season in a house of our own. Before this we owned a condo in Brooklyn and before that we rented. As a result I have very little practice setting Christmas lights.
