I confess that most of my childhood Passover memories have nothing to do with the Passover story itself. How could they when seders were family dramas enacted against a backdrop of matzah and gefilte fish? Like most American Jewish kids, I started out observing the proceedings from a card table, fidgeting while the grown-ups read from the haggadah.
The lush, fragrant green trees penned up in their Christmas tree lots waiting to be liberated, taken home, and decorated are like a
siren song to school kids everywhere. My daughters are no exception.
"I wish we could have a tree in our house. They're so pretty," one of my daughters will invariably say this time of year.
My daughters' wishes for a picturesque, festive tree will remain just wishes. But for three prior generations of their Southern California Jewish family, Christmas trees were a reality -- and they represented the American dream fulfilled.