Why does Santa hate me?

Jewish kids get creamed during the holiday season. Every single television show is about Christmas and Santa. My daughter was watching Dora ^[1] the other night and after the show ended, she turned to me and said in this tiny little voice (mind you, she’s 2 ½), “Mommy, Santa come and bring me presents?” My heart sank. Years of childhood angst gurgled in my stomach and started to well in my throat. I remembered the feeling I had as a little Jewish kid during Christmas. It sucked. Plain and simple. I wanted a tree and lights and stockings hanging above my fireplace. I wanted to put out cookies and milk at night and pretend that it wasn’t my parents that ate them and left all those presents under the tree. I wanted all of it. No matter how many times they tried to beef it up, I never fell for the idea that eight nights of Hanukkah were way better than one day of Christmas. I wasn’t buying it. There was no escaping the fact that I felt left out of the biggest and greatest day of the year. I understood that the world basically ignored Jews during the holiday season. But I still felt burned. Even as a kid, if I saw a menorah in a store, it felt patronizing next to the 40 foot tree and 50,000 lights that covered it. The Thanksgiving Day Parade even ended with a kick in the teeth for me. Who’s the big star of the show? Who closes out the parade with that condescending grin? Santa!

And now, here I was, faced with the first of what I imagine will be millions of questions about Christmas and Santa. I felt sad for my daughter. There she was, watching her favorite person in the world (Dora) enjoying an afternoon with Santa, his reindeer and that goofy looking monkey she hangs out with. What was I supposed to say to her? Do I tell her that Santa doesn’t exist? That Santa doesn’t visit Jewish kids? Or do I dish the shit like NORAD ^[2] and tell her that Santa visits anyone who believes in him? What a load of crap. I believed in that tubby bastard and he never came to see me.

I had to think fast. I told her that Santa is for people that celebrate Christmas and that we celebrate Hanukkah. She looked at me, smiled, and asked for pudding. Crisis averted. But what about next year? And the year after that? What happens when there’s no pudding in the fridge? Or worse, Santa’s big fat face is on the pudding container?