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Three relationship stories, just in case you missed them.

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A year ago, a Jewish friend called me and asked, “Are you getting a Christmas tree?”
“Yes!” I said, thrilled.
It had been up in the air. My significant other worried we wouldn’t have room for a tree where we live, but I was desperate for one.
I always liked decorating the tree at his place, before we lived together. We drank boozy egg nog and looked at funny ‘80s ornaments.
We hung some ornaments that represented me, including one of cotton candy.

When this friend called and asked about my tree status, I told her, “Thank goodness we can continue this ritual. I love the tree!”
But that’s not the answer she was looking for. I realized, rather quickly, that she was one of a bunch of friends in my life — Jewish friends, friends of other faiths, or friends of no faith at all — who didn’t want a romantic partner’s Christmas traditions in their home.
They felt conflicted because they did not want to transform their home into Christmas Town, but they also didn’t want to disrespect a partner who grew up celebrating in one particular way.
They understood that if their partner said, “No Jewish holidays,” it would be a dealbreaker. Cruel. But these friends also wished, rather hypocritically, they could ban Christmas decor at home, because it felt … threatening.
I’ve thought about this a lot — whether it’s fair to demand a tree or ban one, and here’s where I land:
Christmas is massive. It takes over everything for many months — music, food, retail decor, etc. In 2025, it has even swallowed Thanksgiving. (Long before November, I was already seeing silver bells, etc.)
If you’re part of a family that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, you wind up drowning in it anyway.
But … I’ve always kind of liked that. Winter is cold. Lights are pretty. Why not let the world twinkle a bit? Jesus doesn’t have to be the reason for your season.
I did wonder why this friend, and many other friends, saw the presence of a partner’s Christmas traditions in their home as a threat to their own Jewish (or other) identities. Why did they have that reaction, when my sister and I — two Goldsteins — want to deck as many halls as we can? (My sister used to keep her tree up in New York through early Spring.)
Christmas might swallow part of fall and winter, but it’s never seemed to be coming for me personally.
Then I realized: the Goldstein of it all might be it. My last name tells everyone I know, even before I meet them, that I am most likely Jewish. The way I engage with the world feels Jewish, even if I am not a religious person in any way.

There is no Christmas tree in the world that can erase who I am and the fact that I was raised by Ashkenazi Jews who studied music in New York City. (That is its own extra religion, by the way. It feels like “New York musician” is some kind of denomination of something.)
If anything, I have had to correct people who assume I know a lot more Jewish stuff than I do. I am a secular person, and I never went to Hebrew school, so I missed a lot of the basics. People are often shocked that I can’t tell them about smaller Jewish holidays, and that I don’t know the story behind many traditions.
These specific friends who do not want trees in their home happen to be Jewish, but not Goldsteins. Their last names say very little about their identities. They might find themselves in rooms where people say, “Wow, I didn’t know you were Jewish. You don’t look Jewish!” (That, by the way, is the only anti-semitism I ever really faced as a kid, although I didn’t know to call it that back then. People would say, “I couldn’t even tell you were Jewish!” and clearly mean it as a compliment. Terrible.)
All of this is to say: I believe that when people of different backgrounds get together and share a home, all of these traditions can and should coexist so everyone feels seen.
Have figgy pudding with some latkes, if that’s the combo. Start some new traditions that are all about family.
But do have some empathy along the way, especially for people whose traditions and backgrounds are often enveloped or unseen by others. After thinking about this a lot, I’m giving more grace to people who have trouble with Christmas decor, specifically. I think it’s the most fun – oh what fun! – but I say that as a Goldstein. I get to be myself — in the way I look, sound, and with my name — no matter what.
Others have to do extra work to make sure they don’t lose who they are perceived to be.
I’d really love to know: For mixed-faith families and partners, how have you combined traditions or made sure to honor someone’s traditions and identity? What about holidays that fall around the same time? Is it easier to lean into Christmas if your partner can get excited about celebrating the High Holy Days or Eid al-Fitr and Eid al Adha?
Was it difficult, at first, to figure out how to celebrate?
Please share your own story by emailing [email protected].
I’ll leave you with a pic of an ornament. Do you know who it’s supposed to be? I wanted to buy it last year, mostly out of curiosity about who it could be. When Mahoney’s in Brighton rang it up, they gave me the answer — because it was in the product description.
But I always love to quiz people and ask: “Who do you think this looks like?” It’s my own secular Jewish Christmas tradition.
I’ll leave you to guess.
— Meredith

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