OP-ED: Christmas couple goals: Woman’s rom-com holiday fantasies test her interfaith marriage

Published by The Baltimore Sun on Dec. 9, 2022. For the published version, click here.

When I was single and in my 20s, the winter holiday months were filled with angst, loneliness and feelings of emptiness.

Then I met my now husband and rejoiced at finding my person. It finally meant the end of all holiday-induced torment. Sure, we’d have arguments along the way, but the Christmas season would be filled with joy and cherished memories and only the happiest of holiday RomComs.

Fast forward a decade.

Last year my husband treated our two small children and me to the ultimate Christmas destination—Europe. We spent 10 days in Austria visiting holiday markets, drinking mulled wine and enjoying all the wintry treats.

That is until Christmas Eve.

Having been raised Episcopalian, I dragged my family through the cold to a small Anglican church nestled in the heart of Vienna. Following the service, we ventured down the street to a nearby boutique hotel for some Christmas cocktails and a Shirley Temple for our 7-year-old daughter.

As we sat in the cozy lounge of the hotel, nestled near a roaring fireplace and fir tree glistening with gold and red trimmings, I looked lovingly at my husband. Next to him sat our 10-month-old son in a tartan jumper, propped up against a velvet pillow, gnawing on raw cucumber sticks.

I quietly rejoiced to myself for a Christmas season well done as I soaked up all the magical spirit of that moment. That is until my husband sighed and blurted, “When will this holiday finally end?”

The winter season has become a slight source of dissension in our family and it has something to do with my husband being Jewish and me not being Jewish.

To be fair, he has put up with a lot over the years. Despite his best efforts to embrace Santa Claus for the sake of our children, he has a breaking point (though in my defense, I did give him the option of a Jesus-focused Christmas when we first began our holiday negotiations).

In turn, I have fully embraced Judaism (sans converting), even if I fail to accurately pronounce most Hebrew words and holidays—sometimes on purpose. I have hosted more Passover Seders than I can count and regularly make Challah from scratch for Friday Shabbat dinners. In fact, his father once insisted I send my mother-in-law my recipe for brisket—an accolade I plan to engrave on my tombstone one day, or perhaps hers.

In many respects, it is far easier for me to embrace Judaism. Though Jewish food, aside from bagels, is not necessarily the most sought after, all Jewish holidays include something delicious—whether it be flourless chocolate cake and chocolate-covered matzo at Passover, fried latkes and donuts at Hanukkah, or wine. There is always wine.

When we got married, I was certain I would be the one to sacrifice the most. Traditionally for me, Easter means hunting in the backyard for colorfully decorated eggs and treats. For my husband, it means searching around the dining room for a piece of dried-up ceremonial cracker.

It was presumptuous to assume embracing Christmas would be the most ideal. We get the cheer and sparkly twinkle lights, whereas most Jewish holidays are centered around persecution, slavery, or a bunch of deadly plagues.

Then I remembered a time when I had come home to find my husband in the kitchen shredding potatoes and frying latkes. Hanukkah music blared in the background as he stood by the stove, lightly dancing while he worked.

It was not the cooking of Jewish food or his wanting to celebrate that broke me down, but the music. It was thundering, brassy and head-splitting—perhaps reflective of most Jewish gatherings.

It was around the third chorus from a Hanukkah-inspired cover of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” that I accidentally shouted, “Make it stop!”

I watched as his face melted into disappointment at my inability to spend one day in December without Vince Guaraldi.

It was his time to shine, and I had shattered his Hanukkah spirit.

So last year, as I sat on that couch in that beautiful hotel in one of the most festive cities during Christmas, I too was heartbroken. How could this person across from me—who willingly knew when he took his vows that Christmas would dominate our December—make such a dispiriting comment?

Interfaith marriages always bring a myriad of difficulties, and my husband and I have learned there is no easy answer to how we move through the winter holiday season. The stress storm is inevitable despite our best intentions, though I am learning to shield him where I can, at least until Thanksgiving has passed.

Though I will forever be grateful for that Christmas we spent in Austria, I am confident 10 years into our marriage was too soon to subject him to such merriment, even if it was his idea.

This year Hanukkah and Christmas overlap, so it will be a season of compromise to the very end. I will mindfully incorporate latkes and dreidels so he feels represented. And in turn, my husband will limit the Hanukkah parodies with boisterous shouting.

In my 20s I had wanted nothing more than to share Christmas with someone who loved me. I found someone who loves me enough to be comfortable complaining about it, and who lets me complain about his holiday too.