I am an atheist, but I love Christmas. And, since we discovered the Jews hiding in our family tree (and with it the explanation for why our was the only non-Jewish family in the country, as far as we can tell, with my maiden name: Porges), Chanukkah has added to our holiday fun.
I was about 12, and having real trouble understanding why there is so much disease, war, poverty and pain in the world, when I came to the understanding that there is no god.
The idea of a godless universe scared me not because of a lack of salvation or heaven or life beyond this life, but because of the lack of the kind of extraordinary aid only a god could give. If there was no god to cure disease, stop war, and alleviate poverty and pain, then, frighteningly, it was up to Us. This meant it was at least partially up to me – a daunting responsibility for a kid.
The burden of putting the world to rights was nearly overwhelming, until I learned, as an adult, the Jewish ideal of tikun olam (making the world a better place), the understanding that it is deeds of loving kindness, large and small, that make the critical difference in our world, that you do not have to take on all of the world’s problems at once. So, I’ve tried my best to find ways to contribute as much as I can for others, without wearing a sackcloth, bankrupting the family or developing a Mother Teresa complex.
This, along with the fun of the season, the gift-giving and the playing with fire, has been what we’ve tried to make the holidays about for our son. Before he lights the Chanukkah candles each night, L. must describe one thing he’s grateful for, and decide on one goal for the coming year: either something he will try to improve in himself, or some work he will do to help someone else, or our community.
This, I think, is the primary difference between those who call themselves conservative or Republican, and those who identify themselves as Democrats or liberals or progressives. For me, politics has always been nothing more or less than leveling the playing field, comforting the afflicted, and, where necessary, afflicting the comfortable. I have never understood those who felt the primary purpose of government was to release the hounds of the free market, to arrest and imprison, to spy and make war, and acquire, control and hoard the resources that allow one nation or several to become “superpowers.”
I have never understood those who need the U.S. to be first among nations, without equal either in wealth or power. I have never understood people like Dick Cheney.
This is the challenge that faces us in the coming years: whether the horror of what Bush and Cheney have wrought over the last 8 years is sufficient to make us want to become a different kind of nation, the kind of country that looks outward both for inspiration and education while reaching outward in generosity rather than greed. The kind of country that recognizes its shortcomings and sees knowledge and understanding, rather than wealth and power, as providing the greatest good for its citizens. The kind of country that gave us the Civilian Conservation Corps and the WPA and that subsidized writers and poets and artists during the Great Depression, rather than using that economic upheaval as Hitler did, as an excuse for mayhem and murder.
So far, L. has expressed gratitude for friends and family, for those that help him build stronger relationships, and, of course, for Christmas. And he has set goals to reduce his tendency toward sarcasm when challenged, towards laziness when it’s time to get ready for tae kwon do class, and towards sullenness when he understands he is in the wrong.
If we, as a country, can face our shortcomings as honestly while being grateful for the many gifts we have been given, we might find our way out of this wilderness.
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