“Che fa?” “What’s up with that?” ask my Italian friends who want
to know how I, as an American Jew, and a rabbi no less, feel about a Christmas
tradition that is ubiquitous in Italy but almost banned completely from the
public square at home.
I have been living and working in Italy for ten years, mostly
in Serrastretta, a tiny village in Calabria near the “toe” of the Italian
“boot.” As the rabbi of a small liberal
synagogue and the first and only woman rabbi in Italy, I’m a double whammy
minority in a country where Christian traditions abound.
The main event in our village and in hundreds of others
throughout Italy is the nativity scene. These dioramas are called “presepe”
(pronounced “pray-seh-pay”) and during the month of December through January 6
they proliferate from north to south. There are competitions to see who can
make the most creative manger scene. In fact, a first place contender stands in
front of a local public high school where art students have created life-size
mannequins of Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the three kings and dressed them in
historically accurate costumes.
Beginning Christmas week these scenes become even more
elaborate when the “presepe vivente” are all the rage. They are nativity scenes
with live actors and real animals and, if there’s been a birth in town, there’s
a real “baby Jesus” in the manger.
As one of the few Jews in the area, I am often asked (mostly
by American ex-pats) how I feel about this Christmas practice that has caused
such a stir at home. “Does the Nativity offend you?” they ask. I respond, “No, not
at all.”
As a Jew I hold Jesus in esteem and I am grateful to him for
sharing and living the Torah principles that he learned as child.
Most Jews I know do like Christmas. Even though Jews don’t
observe the holiday, we are glad that Christians do. Throughout my growing up
years in the US, and now as a Jew in Italy, I can say to my Christian friends
that I truly enjoy being a guest at your party.
It’s a lesson I learned as a child when my parents taught me
the difference between my own birthday party and someone else’s. It’s a simple
lesson that I apply today to the deluge of Italian Christmas celebrations all
around me. It’s someone else’s party, not mine.
The lights, the carols, the tree and the nativities indicate
that I am a guest who is included in the celebration. I am a polite guest who
does not whine, complain or demand that the celebrants take down the
decorations, stop the singing and curtail the festivities because it’s not my
day. Instead, like most children have learned to do, I share in the joy of someone
else’s special celebration.
Here in southern Italy, “Christ” is still the Christmas
headline and that’s fine with me. In fact, for many of my Calabrian neighbors,
the baby Jesus’ message of peace, love and harmony is the focus of December 25.
Not the presents.
Gifts arrive on January 6, brought by “The Befana,” a dear
old lady who flies through the air on a broomstick and leaves surprises in the
shoes that the children have placed outside the door the night before. Interestingly,
“The Befana” represents an important physical separation between the spiritual
message of Christmas and the material aspects of the season – a concept that,
as a rabbi, I fully support.
So each Christmas season I can wish all of my Christian
friends the joys of their holiday, especially since Jesus’ message was one of
peace, understanding and love – the very same things we Jews pray for in our
synagogues and work toward in our communities. The songs, decorations, and
especially the Italian nativity scenes emphasize this to a troubled world. As a
Jew, I applaud the Christmas celebration and appreciate having had the opportunity
to be a guest at the party.
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