Seventeen-year-old Ben Ereshefsky, a senior at Health Careers High School in San Antonio, says the Christmas season is a difficult time for him. Here in the shadow of the Alamo, holiday cheer is everywhere. “You go to every store in the mall and all you hear are Christmas songs,” he says. “It really drives me crazy.”
Experts say Ben’s feelings are normal. He’s suffering from the December Dilemma. “It’s hard for Jewish kids because it’s Christmastime and they’re not part of it,” says Linda Fisher, director of the San Antonio Association for Jewish Education. “It’s especially hard here. It’s a relatively small Jewish community. The high school students are dispersed among several different school districts, which means there’s often just one or two Jewish kids in a classroom. They may be confronted with writing assignments about the meaning of Christmas. Their house is probably the only one on the block without lights. More than any other time of year, you feel different if you’re Jewish.”
Maybe so, but that’s not what bothers Ben Ereshefsky. “The biggest thing I don’t like is that they keep playing the same songs over and over,” he says. “‘Jingle Bells,’ ‘White Christmas,’ ‘Rudolph.’ It gets kind of redundant.”
What about feeling like an outsider? “I don’t,” Ben says.
Welcome to the December Dilemma, 1998 edition.
December is supposed to be the month when American culture works hardest to remind Jews they are a minority. It’s the time Jewish parents agonize over how to protect their children from feeling deprived for being Jewish. “The dilemma is how to make Judaism feel special and wonderful to kids when every facet of their lives except home and temple is taken over by Christmas,” says Rabbi Barry Block of San Antonio’s Temple Beth-El.
San Antonio seemed a likely place to explore how the dilemma works today. At first glance it looks like the dilemma’s epicenter. Deep in the Bible Belt, 150 miles north of the Rio Grande, it’s America’s ninth largest city, a sprawling metropolis of 1.1 million, with just 10,000 Jews. No other American city of comparable size has such a small Jewish community. It’s also home to the Alamo, that mythic shrine to hopeless fights for freedom. You’d think Jews would feel their minority status here more keenly than just about anywhere.
You’d think. But that doesn’t seem to be the experience of Jewish teens here this month. “I wouldn’t say it’s hard,” says Emily Kates, 16, a junior at Alamo Heights High. “I kind of like Christmas, actually. It’s fun.”
A longtime Ramah camper and active synagogue-goer, Emily doesn’t actually celebrate Christmas. She just doesn’t mind when her friends do. Jewish kids at Alamo Heights — about 30 in a student body of 1,260, the third largest concentration in town — participate in holiday doings only to the extent they feel comfortable. And the school works hard to make things easy.
At the annual Christmas assembly, for instance, the school band plays a carefully balanced holiday medley: one Christmas song, one Chanukah song, and two more with winter themes. “I don’t mind playing the Christmas song,” says Emily, who plays clarinet.
The openness runs both ways. This year the Alamo Heights Hunger Club decided, at Emily’s suggestion, to mark the holiday season by joining in her Reconstructionist synagogue’s monthly Feed the Homeless day. Everyone, Jew and non-Jew, came to Emily’s house to cook and wrap food, then headed downtown.
Not all Jewish teens are equally relaxed. Seth Fisher, 17, a junior at Lee High School (and educator Linda’s son), finds the holiday an annoying imposition. “It’s not so much because Jews are excluded, but because it’s assumed that it’s a universal holiday,” he says. “With all the music and decorations, you’re almost forced to celebrate it.”
Still, Seth says, “I respect that the majority are Christian, and I pretty much go about my own thing.”
Annoying, but a far cry from the seasonal crisis so often described by pundits and hand-wringers. Jewish youngsters are supposed to be deeply conflicted this month. The kids in San Antonio seem fine. Why?
One factor is the place itself. South Texas is LBJ country, largely Hispanic, heavily Democratic. It’s Bible Belt, but without the Protestant triumphalism found elsewhere.
“This is a very livable city, because people get along,” says attorney Allan Smith, whose grandfather helped found the Conservative synagogue a century ago. “That’s also true of the Jewish community. It’s big enough to provide diversity and a cultural life, but small enough that people know one another.”
Even more important, the youngsters’ December ease seems a matter of generational change. Jewish kids here, like youngsters in most places, grew up in an America very different from the one where their parents grew up.
“For me, growing up in the public schools here, I felt a lot of jealousy about Christmas,” says student rabbi Julie Hilton Danan, who has a daughter, Elisheva, 16. “But for my own children, I haven’t heard a peep out of them.”
What’s changed, Danan says, is society. “There’s much more emphasis on diversity today,” she says. “Kids are brought up from an early age to understand that people are different and that it’s good. It’s the adults that have the problem.”
More subtle but equally important, being Jewish has gone from low-status to high-status in America in the past generation. As a result, being reminded by the culture of one’s Jewishness has a different impact. In the 1950s it was an embarrassment. For today’s kids, most of them, it’s a compliment.
“A lot of people seem genuinely interested in us,” says Danan’s daughter Elisheva, 16, a classmate of Emily Kates. “They ask us questions about our holidays and stuff. I’ve never felt uncomfortable.”
“It’s funny,” says Danan. “My children are fifth-generation Americans, and they seem to be more comfortable and less conflicted about the Jewish identity than any before them. Who would have predicted it, with all the hand-wringing going on?”
Not that December is entirely easy for today’s kids. “I’ll tell you what’s hard about December,” says Ben Ereshefsky. “Forget Christmas. I have to get my college applications in by Jan. 1. That’s hard.”
J.J. Goldberg writes a weekly column for The Jewish Journal.