Jews Don’t Celebrate Christmas!?
By
Edelyn Parker
The way my Mom tells the story, her people hailed from Chattanooga, Tennessee. She and her sister Missy, grew up at a time when the Jewish population of Chattanooga, Tennessee was approximately 7 lonely Jews: my mom, Aunt Missy, Nanny (Mom’s Mom), Dandy (Mom’s Dad), Uncle Buddy (Mom’s Mom’s Brother) and Herman & Esther Fanburg (my great-grandpa and great-grandma, the latter of which I am named after, and neither of which I ever had the pleasure of meeting.)
Since the Jewish population in this Southern town was so small at the time, and because kids can be so cruel (especially “at the time”), Nanny and Dandy decided a little cultural assimilation was in order-- the Kalis clan would celebrate Christmas! Every year Dandy would deck the halls and Nanny would spike the nog. Gifts would be hidden, securely tucked away in basements. Their windows would be frosted from the combination of heat coming off the fireplace and chilly gusts of wind whipping around their cul-de-sac. Mom and Aunt Missy would snuggle into their twin beds on Christmas Eve, anxiously awaiting the arrival of St. Nick (they didn’t know what a Saint was, but they knew he’d be bringing gifts). Christmas morning would arrive and the base of the tree would be lined with gold-foil wrapped presents topped with giant bows, which would quickly be torn to shreds by the excited young girls.
Cut to years later; Mom met and married Dad, and together they graced the world with my brother, Seth, and I. Our setting changed. We lived in Miami, Florida. Living at sea level meant we didn’t have a basement in which to hide gifts; our parents were forced to get creative. To this day, I still don’t know where they were hidden. Seth and I searched everywhere. The whipping winds of Tennessee turned into crisp breezes that gently tickled the chiffon curtains covering our French doors. Those doors were always left ajar this time of year; we just could not resist the smell of roasting pigs rising from the pits of our Cuban neighbors’ backyards. And in Miami, we were surrounded by other Jews. We went to temple and Mom worked at the Jewish Community Center; Seth and I practically grew up at the JCC! Though the house and neighborhood looked different, smelled different, were different, one significant thing remained the same, Despite the Parker-side of the family’s mild protests, this new off-shoot of the Kalis clan WOULD CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS!
The tree, always artificial, went up around Thanksgiving. On Christmas Eve, Seth and I would anxiously await the arrival of St. Nick. Once we were asleep, Mom and Dad would bust out the gifts. Dandy would come over and help Mom assemble bikes and giant doll houses. Dad would help Dandy mix Screwdrivers (on the rocks). Nanny and Aunt Missy would sit and cluck at Mom, Dad and Dandy, no doubt.
 
In the morning, we would all wake up, excited and frazzled. Mom and Dad, still disheveled from the night before, would pretend they slept straight through the night. Nanny, Dandy and Aunt Missy would arrive moments later from their house (they lived just a mile away), and would put on the same full night’s sleep rouse as our parents. A sheet was hung at the end of the hallway that connected our bedrooms to the living room. There was no peeking until the moment of the “great reveal”. And great it was! Every year, despite financial hardships, despite Seth and I getting older – each and every year -- walking past that sheet was like stepping into Santa’s toy shop! And every year, Mom and Dad would outdo themselves.
And that was just the tree and gifts. We were also treated to a “traditional” Christmas Breakfast: bagels with lox and cream cheese, tomatoes and capers, deviled eggs, Christmas cookies, eggnog with whipped cream and a dusting of nut meg, coffee, orange juice (we were in Florida, after all) and the piece de resistance: SCOTCH EGGS!
Scotch eggs are giant orbs of feel good yum-smelling goodness, dipped in deliciousness. Scotch eggs: I can still smell them baking in my childhood home’s kitchen, warming the air with their spiced pork aroma. Mmmmm... a “traditional” Christmas breakfast. There’s nothing quite like it! Wait, that’s not what you eat on Christmas morning? Hmmm.
These days, I still celebrate Christmas. I put up a tree (always artificial and always up by Thanksgiving). I give gifts (always beautifully wrapped). I cook too much food (always delicious). To this day, Scotch Eggs are a part of my holiday celebrations. Unlike my Mom’s people, I don’t feel the need to assimilate with my non-Jewish neighbors; I feel the need to reconnect to my roots, my memories, my family traditions. When it comes down to it, isn’t that what holidays are really about? Traditions and family!
With that, I wish you and yours a beautiful holiday season filled with traditions of your own... and if you’d like to try one of ours, here’s the recipe for Mom’s Christmas Morning Scotch Eggs!
Always, the Jew who loves Christmas,
Edelyn
Mom’s Christmas Morning Scotch Eggs
Ingredients
Half dozen eggs
16 oz roll of mild-to-medium pork sausage
Approx 1 cup Italian style bread crumbs
Mayonnaise
Dijon Mustard
Yields 6 Giant Orbs of Feel Good Yum-Smelling Goodness
Hard-boil 6 eggs
Allow eggs to cool, then carefully peel eggs
Cut a roll of mild-to-medium pork sausage into 6 slices
Flatten each slice and form around the peeled egg, making sure no egg shows through
Roll each sausage covered egg in seasoned bread crumbs
Bake in 350° over until sausage is done
Serve warm with a sauce made of equal parts Dijon mustard and mayonnaise
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