A real showstopper

Photograph: MSG Entertainment

Despite my having grown up in the Big Apple, my mother denied me certain iconic New York experiences. She never brought me to FAO Schwarz (too expensive); she never took me to the top of the World Trade Center (too crowded); and she never bought us tickets to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular (too Christian).

Don’t get me wrong: I did not grow up in a religious Jewish household. We didn’t keep kosher; we didn’t attend shul; we rarely lit Shabbos candles. I even remember our putting up a short, plastic tree to complement our menorah. But my mother had her rules: Although it was fine for her to marry a goy (my atheist father) and for me to attend the Cathedral School of St. John the Divine, it was not okay for us to hit Radio City in December.

In the same way that I longed to experience suburban life because it was so different from my own, as I grew up I became obsessed with all things Christmas. Every holiday season, I insisted on getting a real tree (usually fetched by my Christian boyfriend) and dressing it up as extravagantly as a drag queen. I also enjoyed caroling, chatting with department-store Santas and baking—okay, eating—Christmas cookies.

So when my daughter was born, I knew I’d never deprive her of the traditions I’d coveted, including a visit to the Spectacular. I was plenty excited last year as my then three-year-old and I walked into the opulent theater, which looked decidedly more glittery than any halls I’d ever decked. I’d snagged us house seats so she’d have no trouble seeing the stage, although the moment the performance started I realized that I needn’t have worried. The spectacle was so colorful, so jubilant, it could all easily have been experienced from the very last row: the thrilling 3-D ride on Santa’s sleigh, the Rockettes’ glamorous synchronized gams, the shameless but understandable plugs for Macy’s and Gray Line, the Parade of the Wooden Soldiers and the heartwarming tale about a nonbeliever’s conversion to the wonders—and the wonderful wares—of Christmas.

After two hours of glorious Dancing! Dancing! Dancing! and Shopping! Shopping! Shopping!, my euphoria was interrupted—by religion. Right after Kris Kringle’s departure, the sparkly, secular show took a turn for the sacred, with a living Nativity.

I wasn’t prepared for the jarring shift in tone. Even though the word Christmas was in its title, I hadn’t realized that the Spectacular is, as my mother suspected, ultimately Christian. As I watched Mary and Joseph coddle their newborn, and a trio of kings and a host of live animals parade across the stage, I suddenly felt very Jewish. Although I believe in what I consider to be the spirit of the holiday—generosity, peace and goodwill toward all—the actual story of Christ is not for me. So as other audience members beamed beatifically, I felt excluded.

But I reached an epiphany of sorts that night. However obvious it seems, as a New York City Jew, I had somehow forgotten that for billions of people, Christmas is inherently religious. I still plan to return to the Spectacular—my daughter had a fabulous time, as, for the most part, did I. Next time around, though, I’ll be sure to make my exit the moment I hear Santa yell, "On, Dasher!"

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