May your joys be greater than your oys
I’ve come up with the perfect holiday greeting to take us through Christmas, New Year’s and beyond: “May your joys be greater than your oys!”
“You should trademark that,” said my friend Lori, on the phone from New York. Consider it done (unless, of course, someone else invented it first. I’ve been using it for at least a year.)
For those who don’t know, oy is a Yiddish expression, a very common Jewish way of exclaiming or commiserating when something bad is happening to you or anyone else. Think ouch as in “oy, my aching back.” It can also be used as an expression of true horror and dismay as in “Another world war? Oy (as in who needs it?).”
You can preface my greeting with any specific holiday salutation you desire from the spectacularly bland “Happy Holidays,” to the more specific “Merry Christmas” to “OMG when will this love, peace and joy season, wrapped in red plaid and leading me to financial ruin, finally be over?”
It’s only taken me more than three decades of adult life being Jewish to arrive at this greeting. And I do think it’s better than “May your days be merry and bright.” Because that’s a little too much for most of us to live up to, especially this time of year. And because we all know that into every life, more than a little oy must fall.
A little background: I converted to Judaism when I met and fell in love with my husbandto-be, a Montreal Jew, who swears as a teenager he was once an elf in that city’s Santa Claus parade. He has never produced a picture to prove it, but because we are a certain age, I believe him.
We grew up, in different cities, in an era in which the ethos of Christmas was overwhelming. That applied even if you were Jewish, and escaping to Florida, as some but definitely not all Jewish families did. Or even if you simply survived the day by enjoying that age-old tradition of a movie and Chinese food.
For very different reasons, Christmas, when I was young, was not my favourite holiday. We were Protestant. I was raised going to both Anglican and United churches, even appearing once on the cover of a church bulletin.
But I grew up in a family of hard drinking men and Christmas was their Super Bowl of social drinking. So there were always underlying tensions that my mother tried to smooth over and real worries, amidst the genuine merriment, about arguments, or worse still, impaired driving.
So in many ways, I was glad to start anew with my husband, raising a family that would observe only Jewish rituals in our home, from Friday night Shabbat dinners to a life cycle of holidays that my heart was happy to embrace.
It seemed like a small trade off to accept that I wouldn’t be raising my children to know the beauty and magic of a Christmas tree, or stuffed stockings hung from the mantle, or Santa Claus himself.
I have never wavered from that commitment. It was a lot easier to keep because we still went to Christmas dinner at my family’s, and I had a husband who has always adored the more lovely aspects of the holiday, from its gorgeous music, to seasonal parties to driving around town to view the holiday lights.
I think our now grown children had at first a tricky time, growing up in a diverse downtown neighbourhood, figuring out how they fit in at Christmas.
My son, when he was a little boy, would earnestly greet people at the door this time of year by asking them, “Are you Jewish or Christmas?”
But they loved our annual holiday party which, when they were young, almost always took place during Hanukkah, but now happens whenever we are all in town together.
This year, we’ve taken a break from entertaining the hordes. And while it’s definitely relaxing not having to do the hostessy things , I miss the thrill of seeing the faces of so many friends and family in our home, enjoying themselves, and especially if they haven’t seen each other in a while, asking as we always do this time of year, “What kind of year did you have?”
Which brings me back to the “oys.” It’s amazing and moving to me what most of us go through in a year, from health, work and financial concerns, to joyous family events and positive changes.
That’s the real meaning of the holiday season — getting together, however imperfectly, recognizing how much we truly need the warmth of each other’s company. Especially after such a toxic political year. Which makes me think with amusement of that gorgeous sacred carol “Joy To The World.” If you dropped that “J,” it would be Oy to the World, and yes that’s quite fitting this year, too.
It’s amazing what most of us go through in a year, from health, work and financial concerns, to joyous family events and positive changes