David threw open the front door and then slammed it shut, making the house shudder down to its foundation. His father and mother, Michael and Becky, who had been quietly watching television, were completely startled.

“Being Jewish stinks!” David shouted as he stomped up the stairs. He kicked his bedroom door closed for punctuation.

Becky clicked off the TV, and stared at her husband.

“I think this is your department, Michael.”

He nodded and headed for the stairs.

Michael knocked twice. Receiving no answer, he opened the door and entered The Pig Sty of Long Island - Massapequa Branch. A quick scan revealed a bag containing a sweaty gym uniform that came home at the start of winter recess but had yet to find its way to the wash, two weeks worth of dirty clothes spilling out of the laundry basket in the corner of the closet, homework papers and school books in various stages of procrastination, and one brown-haired, twelve-year-old boy lying on his bed, his face buried under two pillows, ostrich style.

“What's wrong, David?”

“Nothing.”

Michael removed the top pillow. David put a death grip on the one remaining.

“I believe you whispered something about being Jewish, and how it stinks, as you tiptoed quietly into the house.”

“Leave me alone, Dad.”

“David, I'm warning you. I was a tickle-a-holic before I married your mother. I've been on the wagon for 13 years. I mention this because your ticklish sides are exposed, and my fingers are beginning to twitch. I'm not sure how much longer I can resist if ....”

When David shot his arms down to protect his sides, Michael sneaked away the last pillow.

“Thank you, David. Now that I can see some of your smiling face, I have the strength to resist. Whew, that was close.”

Michael waited for David to begin. When he didn't, Michael asked, seriously, “Come on, tell me what's wrong?”

“I don't want to be Jewish anymore.”

“What brought this about?

“It stinks. I hate it.”

“Is this stinking pure coincidence, or is it related to the fact tonight is Xmas Eve?”

“Yeah, maybe.” David got up from the bed and turned on his computer.

“David, if you touch the mouse on that computer, instead of telling me what's bothering you, I promise, I'm going to tickle you within an inch of your life.”

David turned the computer off and swiveled around in the chair. “I was over at Orin's.”

“Yes. And?”

“You should see their tree. It's huge. With a pile of presents underneath.”

“So?”

“I want to do Xmas. It's way better than Chanukah any day.”

Michael clenched his fists involuntarily. He tried to calm down, but it wasn't working.

“Okay.” Michael took out his wallet and pulled a bill free. “Here's twenty dollars. Go down to the big tent at shopping center parking lot and buy a tree.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“No. You should be able to get one real cheap. At midnight, which is about, oh, 5 hours away, there’ll be no market for them. If I were you, I'd make my first offer ten dollars.”

“What good is a tree without presents?”

“Oh, you want presents too? Okay .... Here's one, two, three hundred and ten, eleven, twelve dollars. It's all the money I have on me. Go out and buy some presents, too.”

Michael laid the money on the bed and left the room. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he opened the hall closest, got out his coat, and put it on.

“I'm going for a walk.” He was out the door before Becky could ask questions.

Michael studied the houses along Kinsella Avenue. Some were sparkling showcases, others were lit simply with a string or two of lights. He walked three blocks, to Cartwright Boulevard, where The Xmas House was.

The Baxters lived there, but after twenty years, it was known to the neighborhood as The Xmas House. It stopped traffic for those that weren't aware of it, and was a perennial visiting place for those who were. The yard was a wonderland of lights and statues and nativity scenes, with Xmas songs playing softly on outside speakers. Every square foot of tree and lawn was lit up. A newspaper article said the Baxters spent $25,000 over the years on lights and accessories, and it took the whole month of November to set up.

A crowd of about thirty people was gathered outside when Michael arrived. Some were taking pictures, some were humming Xmas carols, and some were just staring, transfixed by the blinking lights.

I feel like I'm the only Jew left in the world, Michael thought. He watched the crowd as disconnected and removed as if he was watching a television program.

“Dad?” Michael was again startled from his thoughts.

“David?”

“Here.” He handed the money back to his father.

They stood there together, silent, watching the people come and go.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“I don't know. Thinking, I guess. Right now, I'm wondering what it must be like to live next to this.” Michael looked around, and then did a double take.

“David, look at that. Not there, over there, the house next door.”

There was a small electric menorah in the window.

“Poor little Chanukah. It can’t compete with Xmas, huh, David?”

“Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

“Sure you did.” Michael regretted his angry tone as soon as he said it.

“I knew this wouldn't work.” David turned to leave. Michael grabbed his arm.

“David, do you know the story of Chanukah?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“Come on, Dad. Everyone knows it. We light candles because the temple oil lasted eight days instead of one.”

“That's the symbol, not the meaning.”

David didn’t respond.

“Come on, ask me what's the meaning.”

“Okay ... so what's the meaning?”

He doesn't care about the meaning, Michael thought, but I'm going to do this anyway.

“There was a time, about a hundred and fifty years before Jesus was born, when the Middle East was ruled by Assyrians, who were aligned with the Greeks, who were pagans - they worshipped idols. Jews were the only people in the world who believed in one G-d. We were forbidden to teach the Bible and forced to bow down to idols that were placed inside our Holy Temple.”

Michael waited for his son to ask a question, but none came.

“Then a brave family called the Maccabees rose up and united the Jewish people against the Assyrians. The Maccabees were out-numbered, out-weaponed, and inexperienced in war. The Jewish people should have been annihilated, but we won because of our courage, and the miracles G-d rewarded us with when He saw our courage. So Chanukah is really a celebration of religious freedom.”

David's interest was now elsewhere. Michael grabbed his son's face and forced him to look at the house next door.

“See that one little menorah? Without it, there’d be no Xmas House. People would be worshipping the Sun god, the Rain God, or Zeus, Aphrodite, and Mercury.”

“Dad, you're hurting me.”

Michael let his son go. David rubbed his cheeks while his father studied him. Those are my eyes, my cheekbones, my lips, Michael thought.

“David, you know I'm angry, don't you?”

“Yeah. I can feel it on my face.”

Michael smiled and tenderly touched his son's cheek. “I'm sorry. It's not your fault I'm angry. I'm angry because you're going through the same thing I had to go through. It's not easy to be a Jew living in a non-Jewish world, is it?”

“No.”

“But you must remember, as I had to, that millions of our people died so you could have the freedom to be Jewish. Your great-grandfather went to the gas chambers, and your great-great-grandfather resisted persecution by Russian Cossacks. Because of their sacrifices, you and I are able to be Jewish today. They chose not to change even when it cost them their lives.”

David was silent.

“Our forefathers passed down to me some very precious gifts: 3,400 years of culture, wisdom that withstood the test of time, and a courageous example. G-d willing, I will pass these gifts down to you.”

A stranger came up and interrupted them.

“Merry Xmas!” he shouted to David and Michael.

Neither father or son answered.

“Didn't you hear me? I said Merry Xmas!”

David looked at his father. Then he turned to the man and said, politely, “Merry Xmas to you, Mister, and Happy Chanukah to us.”