Unkosher Christmas: A Family Affair
‘Boy, I’m your grandmother! If I say you can eat it, you can eat it!’
By MaNishtana
December 23, 2015
Christmastime has always been unusually stressful for me. I don’t “celebrate” it, of course, but I’ve consistently managed to find my life impacted by people close to me who do.
See, my grandmother had something of a sour taste in her mouth concerning her son—my father’s— conversion to Judaism. She never called my mother by her Hebrew name, instead purposefully referring to her by the English name she never used outside of a legal document. In fact, my grandmother and grandfather would visit our house accompanied by copious amounts of Roy Rogers or McDonald’s or Burger King, despite the fact that my mother was more than a decent cook; and there was always food in the house to be served. My grandparents never finished even a quarter of the fast food they brought over and mostly left it open so that the scent filled our house. In the end we always ended up having to throw out tons of trayf that should never have crossed our threshold in the first place. It was quite the passive-aggressive endeavor.
But one particular visit stands out in my mind as clear as if it were yesterday: that first and toxic holiday encounter at my grandmother’s house in Queens when I was three years old.
On Christmas weekend, I went with my parents and sister—the only sibling I had at the time—to my grandmother’s house. When we got there, my grandmother offered me a piece of candy. Something peppermint, I recall. But it wasn’t kosher so I politely refused it. She made a face like she smelled something rancid. “Boy, I’m your grandmother!” she growled. “If I say you can eat it, you can eat it!”
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