Twas the restoration period before Christmas, when under the roof,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a Poof.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended by hooks on the wall,

In anticipation that visitation from St Nicholas would befall.

The offspring were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of bousou spread danced in their heads.

And Seepa with her dangly bracelets, Bleeker in his cap,

Had just settled their cerebrums for a long Martian nap.

When out in the laneway there arose such a dissonance,

I tripped over the bed to see what was outside the residence.

I stumbled to the entrance though I intended to march,

Threw open the latches and stooped under the arch.

The glow from the lighting on fallen red dust,

Gave lustre to objects corroded by rust.

When to my optical sensory organs should appear an apparition,

A…

Jewish people don’t hate Christmas. We exchange gifts with Christian friends, go to Christmas parties when invited and watch Christmas movies. I know all the Christmas songs and carols.

But that’s as far as it goes for most Jews. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are big voids in my calendar. There’s not much to do.

Some years, Christmas overlaps with the eight-day festival of Hanukkah, but that involves a five-minute ritual of lighting candles on a menorah, which is an eight-branch candelabra.

So, what do we do on Christmas?

While visions of sugar-plums may be dancing in your head, we’re slathering plum sauce on spring rolls. As you carve your turkey, we’ll be passing around the lo mein. Some of you will be leaving milk and cookies for Santa but we’re breaking open our fortune cookies. The rumours are true, Chinese restaurants are packed with Jews on Christmas. In fact…