![]() ![]() I invited the children from the reading tutoring group where I volunteered. On my first Christmas in my Greenwich Village apartment, my roommate Linda, who is not Jewish, and I, bought my first-ever Christmas tree from a corner lot and negotiated it up the three winding flights of our walk-up apartment. I can still picture Marjorie, Marilyn‘s mother, who wasbarely five feet tall, pointing to one of the tallest trees on the lot of a local vendor and having it delivered to her apartment. ![]() It was embraced as a festive tradition perhaps mostly for their daughters‘ enjoyment. Stockings hung on the fireplace was as liberal as my father would go in our Virginia neighborhood where we were Jewish minorities.īut in Marilyn’s home, with parents who were active members of New York’s Central Synagogue, the tree was not viewed as a problem. Although my parents were not very religious, a tree was a definite no-no in our home. It was there that I experienced a Christmas tree in a Jewish home for the first time. I loved celebrating holidays in their apartment on W. Instead, it enhanced it, giving me the little sister I had always wanted. I admit that when their little bundle of joy came along, I wondered if it would change our relationship. Her parents, both gone now, were my guardian angels during my New York years. Marilyn, who I hesitate to call extended family because that somehow sounds like she is not actually family, has been part of my life practically since she was born. She air-expressed herself to my wedding to George 34 years ago and held one of the four poles of the Chuppah, the wedding canopy that symbolically unites families in a Jewish wedding. This isn’t the first time Marilyn has surprised me. Not only is the gift from one of the dearest women in my life – she is the gift. 18, the first night of the eight-day holiday. I just got word that my Hanukkah present has shipped from Germany, with an estimated delivery date of Dec. ![]()
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