This weekend I decorated a Christmas tree, which is quite special. We never had a tree at home because we are Jewish, and not having a tree is an important part of the Jewish identity. There is maybe room for Sinterklaas, but the baby Jesus has no place in Judaism, so Christmas is out of the question. So too is a Christmas tree.
I remember it feeling special at school. Having no tree, no Christmas lights, no family celebrations. And it was great to be special. My father, just like all Jewish doctors, worked the Christmas shift at the hospital and we stayed home in our pyjamas watching Gremlins. Cosy, without a tree. Some other Jewish families did gather together around the time of Christmas, but only because it was convenient because everyone was free and specifically NOT celebrating Christmas and, okay, maybe there was a small bowl of Christmas cookies on the table but they just happened to be on sale and it didn’t mean anything.
Such uptight behaviour is not solely a Jewish trait. Many minorities cling on to their culture; holding on to what belongs to it, what doesn’t belong to it. The most traditional Dutch people can be found in Canada; the most traditional Britons live in Zimbabwe. Dutch Moroccans are often more consciously Moroccan than the Moroccans in Morocco. Just because they make an effort; they want to retain their identity. That is the tragedy of the minority: the trivial elements, such as not having a tree, become vitally important. A tree is not just a tree; a tree stands for assimilation. And assimilation means that your great grandchildren no longer know they are Jewish, or what that means Assimilation means the handful of Jews who survived the war will be lost in the masses. We’ll trickle away and eventually disappear.
But still I wanted a tree. I think baubles are beautiful and I think you can still be Jewish with a tree. It feels a little uncomfortable. I cannot quite relax with it. After all, you never know what consequences such a tree might have.

