#christonormativity

On a recent episode of the Disney For Scores podcast, Danny Elfman, composer and songwriter for The Nightmare Before Christmas, was asked about his relationship with Halloween and Christmas.

“Since I was a little kid,” Elfman replied, “my least favorite night of the year was Christmas, and my favorite night of the year was Halloween… At Christmas, I was just a lonely Jewish kid in a neighborhood without Jewish friends.”

And I had to pause the podcast and shout, “I KNEW IT!!!”

I love TNBC for a lot of reasons. The music is catchy. The stop-motion animation is amazing. The setting and characters are fascinating, bizarre, lovable, and unforgettable. But the thing I’m happiest to ramble on about when it comes to TNBC is its message.

Last year, I called this film an “Anti-Christmas Movie.” A Christmas movie follows a character who does not value Christmas as they gradually learn to bring Christmas into their life. However, the upshot of TNBC is that despite Jack’s fascination with Christmas, he should NOT bring Christmas into his life. Instead, he should let the Christmas people do their thing, and he should take pride in his own culture, his own people, and his own holiday.

And in my heart, I knew there was no way a movie like this could have been made only by gentiles. Gentiles love Christmas, and they love telling other people that we need Christmas. As a Jewish kid surrounded by non-Jews for most of my life, I know this all too well. When I was in kindergarten, some girls at school told me that if I didn’t believe in Santa (and Jesus and the Easter Bunny), then there would be monsters under my bed forever. That was just the beginning of a long road of well-meaning antisemitism, and at the end of that road, I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth at the very sight of a Christmas tree. To be clear, I don’t care if other people enjoy Christmas – my problem is with people telling me that I should enjoy Christmas.

In my experience, it’s not just religious Christians who were so eager to remind me that I shouldn’t be alone on Christmas. Atheists love Christmas and are very quick to tell me that I should love it, too, even after I politely explain that I don’t need Christmas to be happy. So while I had no idea whether the creators of TNBC were religious Christians, and given that Jesus is not mentioned even once in the film I had a hunch that they were not, I also had a hunch that this movie would not exist without some Jewish person’s contributions.

Now, Tim Burton is not Jewish, despite his clear love for and frequent use of Jewish folklore, imagery, and history. Henry Selick, the often-forgotten director of TNBC, is not Jewish, and I’m pretty sure Caroline Thompson, the screenwriter, is also not Jewish. So that leaves Danny Elfman. The lonely Jewish kid who, to paraphrase him, felt disconnected from the Christian world around him, loved getting to run around in a monster mask at Halloween, and grew gloomy at the sound of Christmas music in the mall. Danny Elfman, who poured his heart and soul into the character of Jack Skellington to the point where his soundtrack demos were often used in the final film instead of the studio recordings.

Sure, you can argue about who really holds the power of storytelling in a film. The characters and basic plot undeniably belong to Tim Burton. But a movie musical truly comes to life in its songs, and in TNBC, the music never stops playing. The music carries us through this world where Christmas isn’t the most important thing, where you don’t need to take on someone else’s culture in order to feel complete, where people love and support you for who you are in all your oddness and uniqueness.

The ancient Jews who kicked the Greeks in the ass were not eating latkes, they’d never seen a potato in their lives. But latkes are fried in oil in memory of the oil that miraculously lasted eight days. So are the latkes religious observance or secular culture? What about the fried cheese pancakes in memory of Judith killing that general, which wasn’t even in the same war, but we’re still doing the oil thing?

If my menorah’s spot for the shamash is lower than the other candles, and therefore it’s not kosher, does that tip it over from religious artefact to secular decoration and I can put it up in a government run workplace?

How about dreidels? They’ve only got a single letter on each side, not a whole word, and they’re recognized as a toy for a game. Ooooh but the letters were chosen for an acronym meaning “a great miracle happened there/here”.

Okay, what about the gelt? It’s just chocolate coins and I’ve never been told a particular story about them. Hm, but some families use them for the counter in dreidel. Then again, some families also use pennies or dried macaroni. Do all those things become religious for the length of Hanukkah and then return to being secular?

Say my school or workplace bans religious symbols, but I’ve got ornate crosses as part of my goth attire. I’m not Christian, I’m an atheist, they’re not religious for me, just fashionable and morbid. Banned or not banned? What about the Dove of Peace necklace, is that allowed just because fewer people recognize it? How about the pagan person with a druidically significant tree embroidered on their jacket, banned or not banned?

For a lot of Jewish people the Star of David is a symbol of shared culture/ethnicity, with minimal religious significance. We all know it’s going to be banned because it’s recognizable and we’re a minority group.

What about Santa Claus hats?

Santa Claus = Saint Nicholas. Saint Nicholas of Myra/Bari is a Christian religious figure, like any other Christian saint. So. Doesn’t that make any imagery associate with Santa Claus religious? So shouldn’t the school or workplace that bans religious symbols ban Santa Claus hats?

Where do you draw the line?

Me: I just wanna say, this very entertaining, but I have nothing to contribute to this conversation.

Roommate: Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to buy that thing for Hanukkah so we’ll have it too!

Me: ...uh, okay, I appreciate the sentiment, but -

Roommate: I don’t even, I don’t even know what it’s called, what’s it called? The candle thing?

Other Roommate: ...you mean a menorah?

Me: I appreciate the sentiment, but I really don’t need you to do that.

Roommate: It’s okay, it’s no big deal! I meant to get one last year, but I forgot.

Me: yeah and I told you last year I didn’t want you to ...again, I really appreciate what you’re trying to say here, but I don’t feel left out or anything. I can buy my own menorah.

Roommate: Well then I’ll just buy one for myself.

Me: Please don’t. That’s weird.

Roommate: *pouts* Well I’m a weird person!

I keep finding myself having the same conversation with different people recently, so… hey now, hey now, this is what blogs are made of!

Original Series Star Trek stood out among other TV shows of its time for its on-screen diversity. The bridge crew of the USS Enterprise was unignorably multiracial. Also, in addition to using traditional science-fiction methods to explore issues of systemic oppression – aliens as allegory provides a safe distance from which to examine our own world – early Star Trek made important steps towards dismantling real-world discrimination, including having TV’s first interracial kiss. There are undeniably things to praise here in the diversity and inclusion department.

But in-universe, the diversity of humans in Star Trek just… doesn’t seem to matter. They’re humans. That’s it. Aside from Chekov's pride in being Russian, which is played for laughs, nobody in TOS has any investment in their heritage, besides belonging to a vague "human" culture.

(It’s worth noting that this “human” culture is unmistakably American secular Christianity. Despite Roddenberry’s well-known desire to present a future where humankind has “grown beyond” divisive things like religion, the show occasionally mentions God. I remember while watching as a kid, noticing the ship’s chapel in “Balance of Terror,” where character is seen kneeling in prayer – not a posture that I as a Jewish child had ever seen someone take before in real life, though I knew what it meant by virtue of growing up in a predominantly Christian nation.)

I don’t want to assume that I know what was going through Roddenberry’s head, but through Star Trek, he expressed that the ideal future was one where diversity is incidental. Where it doesn’t matter that people are different, because they’re not really different, and if someone mentions a difference, it’s a joke. I’ve heard through the internet grapevine that more recent Star Trek shows have delved somewhat into their characters’ cultural diversity, with characters reflecting on their home countries in Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, and Picard. But in “classic Trek,” in Roddenberry’s future, there are no different cultures. There is only the “human race.”

And for all that I love Star Trek, that’s something I can’t be comfortable with.

Think about it for a moment. If, in the future, all cultures “just so happened” to have disappeared except for secular Christianity… doesn’t that imply a cultural genocide? What am I supposed to think about the idea that the “ideal future” is one in which people who act like me and think like me, my people, my family, don’t exist?

I understand why an atheist – like Roddenberry, and like many Star Trek fans – would see a future without religions as appealing. A lot of atheists, from many different cultures, had a negative experience with religion growing up and so came to the conclusion that religion is inherently negative, that it’s “wrong” to believe in a god, and that the world would be better off without religion altogether. I imagine that these people must be comforted by the daydream of a future in which all humans agree with them and think like them. This worldview logically follows from their experience.

Now, I don't have enough hubris to say I know for sure that G-d exists. There's a reason it's called "faith" and not "certainty," right? Believing in G-d works for me, as a part of the whole ethnoreligious package that is my experience with Judaism. I know that atheism works better for other people. It’s a good thing – a great thing – that everyone gets to believe what works for them. It’s what comes most naturally to humans – to have different opinions and experiences, to be varied.

The idea that there's one correct belief and that everyone will one day feel the same deeply troubles me. Atheism itself is a neutral thing, but antitheism – the belief that all religion is inherently bad and should not exist – is a harmful ideology. When an antitheist says, “Everyone should not believe in god,” they are using the rhetoric of proselytizers. It has the same impact as an evangelical Christian saying, “Everyone should believe in my god.” It is the same idea: “Everyone should be like me. You should give up your culture and adopt mine. Your way of life should not exist.”

Though the intent behind antitheism is often to “punch up” at the religion the speaker left and was hurt by, the impact of antitheism is the victimization of minority cultures, especially indigenous cultures. In my personal experience, I have been more enthusiastically targeted for conversion by self-proclaimed atheists than Christians. It’s all the same to me. Whatever belief system they’re advertising, they’re all saying that they think people like me shouldn’t exist anymore. Just like in Star Trek.

So I’d say it’s more... do what you like in your own home, and invite your friends to what you want. If they turn you down, don’t press. If you want to decorate in ways they’ll enjoy / feel included by, ask them, not the internet.

For non-home things, take a moment to ask yourself if YOU associate it with the holiday. If an evergreen tree brought indoors and decorated is something you associate with Christmas, why does it matter what the origins are? Putting it up in your restaurant means you’ve decorated for Christmas. If you want to do that, it’s your choice, just don’t try to claim that’s not what you’re doing.

And if you’re not celebrating Christmas but you are celebrating Yule or other pagan holidays, and you associate the indoor decorated evergreens with that holiday... then, well, congrats, it’s part of that holiday for you, and telling people outside your religion/culture that they ought to accept your decorations (but not their own) in public spaces is also rude.

It’s the “have to actively engage with yours” that’s flat out rude, and the “cannot put up their own too because of some arbitrary divide” that’s also rude because of the unfairness.

Are you using tax money for one specific religion’s holiday, no matter how normalized (people claiming it’s secular now), but not for other religions’ holidays? Then uh... that’s uncool.

If employees are putting up their own decorations and you police what’s allowed based on religiosity rather than rest-of-the-year workplace appropriateness (no naked dicks on the cherubs, etc) than you’re being a jerk.

If you do allow multiple religions/cultures’ decorations but only when the timing lines up with your own, then you’re also being a jerk. A small menorah atop the cubicle wall is fine in December, but a honey-and-apples banner during September is not? Why not?

And also... take a moment to think of something that squicks you or reminds you of a bad memory. Something that’s not around all the time. If you walk into a store or your workplace or your school, and suddenly that thing is everywhere, and your coworkers / employers / classmates / teachers keep pressuring you to participate in the uncomfortable, possibly distressing thing too...

“What’s your favorite Christmas song?”

One of my coworkers sprang this question on me as soon as I clocked in.

“I don’t have one,” I replied.

She gaped at me. “What?!”

Inwardly, I sighed, preparing myself for yet another round of assuring a well-meaning gentile that I’m completely fine even though I don’t have Christmas in my life.

Outwardly, I forced a laugh. “I mean, I’m Jewish.”

“You’re Jewish! Right! I knew that! Why’d I ask you that?” she said, which was a nice change to the script, even as she immediately followed it up with, “What’s your favorite holiday song, then?”

This time I hesitated a bit before saying, “I don’t have one. I mean, I don’t really care about this holiday season.”

“Really?” she said. “Not even Thanksgiving?”

That evening, over FaceTime with my family, I brought up this story. They helpfully suggested some songs I could use as responses the next time someone asked me for my favorite Christmas song.

I could pick one of the Christmas songs written by Jews, such as “White Christmas” by Irving Berlin, or “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” by Johnny Marks. However, as catchy as they both are, I don’t really like either of them. I’m never dreaming of a white Christmas, and the reindeer who bully Rudolph are never actually condemned for their behavior. It also kinda bums me out that Jewish songwriters had to write songs about someone else’s religion in order to make a living.

My mom suggested I pick “Sleigh Ride.” Back when I played percussion in my local youth symphony, we performed that song, and I had a lot of fun using the slapstick – literally two blocks of wood on a hinge you slap together – to make the sound of the whip. And my sibling pointed out that though this song is commonly played during Christmas, the lyrics mention eating pumpkin pie, a Thanksgiving food.

Thanksgiving is important to my family as one of the two times each year we all get together. This year, we made a point of gathering over Zoom for it – cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. My sibling mentioning Thanksgiving made me think of another “holiday song” I could pull out as a favorite, one that my aunt always played on her guitar before dinner. It goes, “Happy Thanksgiving! Hooray, hooray, hooray! Aren’tcha glad you’re not a turkey on this Thanksgiving Day?” If I must have a favorite holiday song, it might as well be a silly one.

But the truth is, I do have favorite holiday songs. I just didn’t feel comfortable sharing that part of myself with someone who has an ingrained belief that Christmas is for everyone. She wouldn’t have understood this, but my holiday songs, the ones that actually mean something to me, are for different holidays.

There’s “Chag Purim,” with its gragger sound effects that always made me laugh when I was little. There’s “Return Again,” which gives me chills each year on the High Holy Days. There’s “Shalom Aleichem” and every other song I sang with my family each week on Shabbat growing up. There’s “Dayenu” and “Miriam’s Song,” both Pesach favorites, and “One Is Hashem” and “Chad Gadya” are more fun for me than the “Twelve Days of Christmas” will ever be. And of course there are Chanukah songs – “Maoz Tsur” and “Sevivon” and Debbie Friedman’s “Latke Song.”

If you read the above paragraph and smiled and nodded through it, I wish you all the best this goyishe holiday season. Remember that you are whole as you are, and that it is good to find joy in what is personally meaningful to you, no matter what others may think you need to find meaningful.