Christmas lights

They say the two happiest days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you get rid of it. I think the same can be said for Christmas trees. I know what you're thinking. Why's the Jewboy talking about buying Christmas trees?

I'll tell you why.

For starters, I love the trees. The fresh scents, the lights, the decorations. I also happen to be married to a woman who isn't a member of the tribe, so Christmas has always been the big December holiday in our house for as long as I can remember. And not to advance any stereotypes here, but I'm pretty good at math. 8 days of Hanukkah, 12 days of Christmas.

After four years of Hebrew school, a bar mitzvah and dating enough Jewish girls who made "till death do us part" sound more like a goal than a vow, I decided to opt in for a holiday a little more festive than what I'd grown up with, even if the point of the celebration wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse (although He was a member of the tribe, just saying).

Plus why would I limit myself to just blue and white lights when I can have so many different colors?

Anyway, every year we go to Brita's nursery in Seal Beach, and re-enact Goldilocks & The Three Bears as we pick out our perfect tree. "This one's too small." "This one's too large." "This one's just right."

But the secret about Christmas trees is that the exact moment it's up, decorated and ready to be enjoyed is the exact moment my 6000-year (5775 to be exact) history of worrying kicks in.

Has the tree been watered? Is it taking the water? Are the pine needles dry? Why is it dropping so many? Did we turn off the tree lights when we left? Is it going to go up in flames and take the house with it? And can the presents be saved if it does?

After a minute of standing back and admiring it, the moment has passed, my mind is spinning and I can't wait until it's out of the house (which is also how I felt about my high school girlfriend).

Every day we have to vacuum the needles that've dropped so the puppy doesn't eat them. Suddenly, what started out as a joy and spirit-lifting visage has become something I can't wait to get rid of (girlfriend joke again).

Sometime after New Year's, long after everyone else has taken their tree down, we'll finally get around to putting the hand-made, antique, mercury glass, Salzburg-bought decorations away, then kick the tree to the curb for the recycling truck to come take it.

It's sad thinking about something that brought me so much joy - although briefly - being gone so suddenly. To snap myself out of it, I just do what I did when it first got here. Stand back, look where it stood and admire the pure beauty and joy of what I see.

All the living room space I get back.

The hunger games

As you can probably tell from the giant rabbit in the center of the table (I call him Harvey - look it up), this was our Easter dinner table before the food arrived. Easter's a unique holiday in terms of food intake. Not quite as much as Thanksgiving or Christmas, but still shovel-worthy.

Of course, the two main ingredients in the Easter dinner are ham and chocolate (Ham & Chocolate - great band. Saw them at Hop Singh's in '92).

Now, I happen to have a very special relationship with both these food groups. Sad but true, as I wrote about here, I'm actually allergic to chocolate. Fortunately the effects are only weight-threatening and not life-threatening, so my allergy doesn't prevent me from enjoying it in small quantities.

No matter how many dozens of those little chocolate eggs I have, they're still small right?

As the only 100% Jew in the family (which may be why Easter always feels like dinner at Grammy Hall's house), the other item, ham, has religious implications and overtones. Or at least it would if I adhered to kashrut - the body of Jewish law that deals with what may and may not be eaten, and how it may or may not be prepared. When it comes to dietary guidelines, Judaism has a pretty strict food pyramid.

I guess "pyramid" was a poor choice of words.

Anyway, as you may already know from this post, I'm a big (and getting bigger) fan of pork products. They are simply delicious in a way that traditional Jewish foods like matzoh, gefilte fish, and borscht never will be.

So as I do every Easter, along with the rest of my Christian family, I celebrate the resurrection - of my allergies and my disregard of Jewish dietary law.

And I can't wait to do it again next year.

Jew see what I did there?

Much to my great pleasure, and apparently great dismay of some of our more traditional friends, my wife isn't Jewish. Far from it.

She happens to be a committed Christian.

For some reason, that seems to cause some people great amounts of - what's the word I'm looking for - tsuris.

The fact we fell in love, got married, then stayed married in our unholy interfaith union seems to be a difficult thing for many people to understand. Apparently none of these people ever dated a Jewish girl. BAM!

Before you start all the mishegas with hateful emails and comments, know this: I have plenty Jewish women friends and colleagues that I love and respect (nothing but love for Mama G. and the breakfast club girls). But this is about me, and facts are facts: I dated Ann Siegel, Sandy Izakowitz and went to Fairfax High. Trust me. It's an argument you can't win.

Anyway, the question inevitably comes up about how this works with the children. While technically it's true they're half Christian and half Jewish, or as I prefer to say, Chewish, they're being raised in the Christian faith.

It doesn't bother me. Because I'm pretty much the worst Jew you know - in the practicing the religion sense, not in the as a human being sense - it's just not that important to me the kids be raised Jewish. Given how little I practice it, it'd be straight up hypocritical if it was.

I don't care if my daughter is bat mitzvah'd or my son is bar mitzvah'd. As I recall, my bar mitzvah was mostly a big party for my parent's friends. I'm still looking for the envelope with all the checks in it.

It is however important to my wife that they're raised as Christians. Fine by me.

For starters, they're going to an exceptional private Christian school where they're excelling at the first-rate education they're getting. I also have no problem with the overall values and principals they're learning.

If I'm being truthful, which always seems to get me in trouble but, you know, onward, I'll admit sometimes it's hard having the kids come home and hearing all the Jesus stories. But whenever I feel that twinge, I just remind them Jesus was part of the tribe - one of our boys.

The funny part is that my wife is much more insistent they learn about their Jewish heritage. She's the one who makes sure at Hanukah we light the candles in the menorah, although not too close to the Christmas tree.

Still, there are so many shmendriks who like to kvetsch about us not being the same religion. Which I always like to answer with this non-denominational question: what the f#@& business is it of yours?

I think there's so much about the Christian agenda in the news it just raises curiosity about our situation. Narrow-minded people like to paint in broad strokes (you know, like I do about Jewish girls), and make the assumption all Christians are on that extreme fringe. I can tell you from experience they're not, although granted my support of gay marriage isn't exactly met with open arms on Sunday mornings.

I'm also a bit surprised and upset how effortlessly some friends bash the Christian faith, painting all Christians in a way they'd never tolerate people of their own religion being portrayed if the sandal were on the other foot.

What chutzpah.

Don't you worry your pretty little heads - I still know which side my matzoh is buttered on. I'm proud of being a Jew, even if I'm not a practicing one. I'm proud my kids will grow up, thanks to their mother, with an understanding of both sides of their heritage. And I love a good "rabbi and a priest walk into a bar..." joke more than you can possibly know.

Maybe the people who make it a point of pride and claim to be so accepting will find a way to show it when it comes to respecting not only the two of us, but both our faiths.

God willing.