Sasha Nathaniel Brooks Elenko, Co-Content Editor
Not quite depressing so much as revealing, the welcoming golden embrace of the street lights, which had — just the night before — palliated the otherwise menacing hustle and bustle of high-end gift shopping, now stretches from sidewalk to sidewalk, uninterrupted by the apparent passing of time, bathing the grey asphalt in soft desolation.
In other words, there’s nothing like driving through Downtown Seattle on December 25 to remind me of what it means to be Jewish in America.
Any other day of the year, “normal” is determined by the masses. When tens of thousands of people roam Downtown Seattle, that’s normal. When I miss school to go to Yom Kippur services, that’s abnormal. But since I am the subject in both scenarios, the aspects of Jewish life that are so abnormal to everyone else have always been completely normal to me, precluding any chance of feeling “different.”
On Christmas Day, however, 90 percent of those people abandon their downtown streets to join friends and family around, yes, a tree… inside their house, leaving the “normal” activities to the Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and others among the 10 percent not celebrating Christmas.
In other words, the “abnormal people” continue to act “normally,” while the “normal people” observe a tradition that is, for me, more abnormal than any session of Torah-reading could ever be.
But there is something more to it than sheer irony. It’s the realization that this unique once-per-year opportunity for awareness of our individuality has permeated the minds of the other 10 percent for the past hundred years, whether they are aware of it or not.
In fact, it may even be the basis for one of the most prominent Christmas traditions among the Jewish community: Chinese food and a movie.
Yes, while the vast majority of Americans are eating whatever it is that the vast majority of Americans eat on Christmas, we Jews assume the “normal” responsibility of keeping the Chinese restaurants in business.
Interestingly enough, my family has actually opted for a Vietnamese restaurant just outside of Downtown Seattle called “Tamarind Tree,” while forgoing the movie entirely for the past three years. However, despite our avant garde ways, it remains unfathomable to use any phrasing other than “Chinese food and a movie.”
As Tevye put it in Fiddler on the Roof, “Tradition!”
All my life, I’ve been told this is only a tradition, because Chinese restaurants are the only restaurants open on Christmas, and while this makes sense, doesn’t it also follow that Chinese restaurants only stay open because they can expect Jewish customers?
According to a report in the Atlantic, “Chinese food and a movie” actually has a very specific origin, and it stretches back to the mid-20th century Lower East Side.
There, according to the report, Jewish and Chinese families comprised the two largest non-Christian immigrant populations, making the inevitable cultural exchange natural.
As it happens, Jewish tradition forbids the consumption of meat and dairy in the same meal, and Chinese food forbids dairy, making Chinese restaurants the perfect feeding ground for hungry Jews.
Well, not quite. American Chinese cuisine actually utilize to a great extent other ingredients forbidden in Jewish doctrine, including pork and shellfish. However, unlike Mexican and Italian cuisine, you can consistently expect not to see dairy and meat in the same meal in a Chinese Restaurant.
In fact, according to Jennifer Lee, producer of The Search for General Tso, in her interview with the Atlantic, Chinese food may in fact be the “ethnic cuisine of American Jews.”
While certainly making a bold statement, Lee may also have a point. Here’s why:
Growing up in a very accepting community, I’ve been almost completely sheltered from any kind of anti-semitic behavior, offensive jokes, or even naïve assumptions for my entire life, which begs the question.
What about being Jewish makes me different?
The obvious answer is that I have attended synagogue for much of my life, not to mention many a Passover seder and bar/bat mitzvah. However, I have never really felt “different” during any of these occasions. In order to notice a difference in anything, you have to know what it is different from, and in the case of biblical rituals, these occasions are all I have ever known.
Instead, when I drive through Downtown Seattle on Christmas, I know that something is different. I know that I am Jewish when I can sit in one of 40 cars on Union St. between 4th and 5th Ave. on December 24, and be one of only four who returns the following evening. And when my only excuse for being in that car is “Chinese food and a movie,” I think it’s safe to say that Chinese food may in fact be the ethnic cuisine of some American Jews.
Regardless, “Chinese food and a movie” has come to be one of my favorite family traditions, so with Hanukkah and Christmas coinciding this year, I’m at a bit of a crossroads. Should my family make the trip once more to Tamarind Tree, or stay at home, basking in the light of the three candles posing atop the menorah on December 25?
It is truly a soul-crushing conundrum.
But even in the darkest of moments, there is always a light. And I have seen the light.
Rather than having to choose between the intercultural connection that forms between Chinese and Jewish families not celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah — a connection that is a centuries-old tradition — why not do both?
Some might call it sacrilege, others might claim heresy.
I call it destiny.
Yes, I am proposing that any Chinese families looking for something to do on Christmas try “Jewish food and a movie.”
After all, a little latkes and applesauce never hurt anyone.