It is the most wonderful time of the year. A few yards are still decorated for Halloween, but now Christmas and Thanksgiving are in full display: we are in the season of dueling holiday decorations. My one Hanukkah decoration will be on display in my yard for only eight nights. On my television, however, the season is clear: peak Hallmark Christmas. I look forward to new movies each year and savor the comfort of reruns. I know the attractive couple will resolve their simple conflict and a single kiss will represent happiness, prosperity, and fertility.
These movies are pure fantasy and escapism.
They have nothing to do with my everyday life. I don’t celebrate Christmas and am not a young, highly attractive single with shockingly good dental work. The Royal Christmas subset is the height of escapism—I’m neither royal nor Christian, so these movies transport me far from my reality as a married, middle-aged Jewish mom in the middle of the country.
I respect Hallmark for trying their yearly Hanukkah movie, but they often miss the mark.
They attempt to elevate Hanukkah to the level of Christmas and portray a Jew learning to appreciate Christmas. While I know these efforts aim for inclusivity, I don’t need my experience reflected by Christmas standards. It’s like hanging Jewish stars on a Christmas tree–inclusion on Christmas terms, not mine as a happy outsider. I am comfortable appreciating these movies and the Christmas season from the sidelines. (However, I do enjoy a well-done romantic Hanukkah novel with Jewish main characters.)
What I really want from Hallmark isn’t a token “Jews are like us” or “Hanukkah is like Christmas” story. I already enjoy Hallmark’s Christmas content for what it is—escapism. But true inclusivity would mean celebrating the Jewish experience on its own terms. Imagine: a movie about the Jewish new year, with a meet-cute over apples, family meals at Bubbe’s, the heartbreak after ten days of reflecting, real emotions at the fast of Yom Kippur, and a denouement at Simchat Torah. Or go deeper: focus on a married couple’s journey through the Jewish High Holidays; reflections on a marriage at Slichot, the chaos of getting ready to host Rosh Hashanah, a crisis at Yom Kippur, putting it all back together while assembling a sukkah, and a sweeter beginning anew at Simcha Torah. Consider the Passover episode with the cleaning of the house, the drama over preparations for the seder, and the ending with matzo Pizza and stewed fruit.
I want Jewish stories to be told for themselves—with the same sincerity and spotlight as Christmas stories—not as derivatives or side plots to a Christian paradigm.
My point is not to discount the genre—I genuinely love this time of year and the Christmas festivities. I feel no sense of exclusion by not being part of the Christmas narrative. Instead, I relish observing it from the outside. I’m not stressed by holiday obligations or the countdown of days left to shop. And I have my own rituals: Chinese food on Christmas Eve; movies, Bagels, Lox, and ice cream on Christmas Day; and maybe a walk with the dogs. If Hallmark wants to include me and my community meaningfully, the opportunity is in creating stories about our holidays, filled with food, family, and nachas. Until then, I’ll happily watch from the sidelines—grateful for escapism, but hoping for something more truly our own.
My friend, Melissa Hunter, and I are cohosts of The Kibbitz podcast, where we talk about motherhood, friendship, Jewish values, and other issues on Jewish women’s minds. Join us in the conversation. You can listen by clicking right here.
