David C. Stolinsky
Sunday, Dec. 23, 2001

I've always loved Christmas lights. The days grow short at this time of year, especially in the North, and the colored lights in windows and on trees and porches help relieve the gloom.

But the lights do more than that. Because they are Christmas lights, not merely "holiday" lights, they hold a deeper significance. This is obviously true for Christians, for whom this season marks the birth of the One they believe is the Light of the World.

Yet the extra significance is there for non-Christians as well. For Jews such as myself, the Christmas season coincides with Hanukkah, which is called the Festival of Lights. But the word means "dedication." It commemorates the Jewish revolt against the Graeco-Syrians, who had defiled the Temple in Jerusalem with pagan statues.

The Temple was rededicated and the eternal light rekindled. The usual account is that there was only enough oil for a day, but it burned for eight days until more oil could be obtained. There never was a shortage of olive oil in Israel, but there was a shortage of sanctified oil suitable for use in the Temple. The lights thus mark the distinction between the sacred and the profane, a distinction we are virtually unable to make today.

I spent my early years in a small North Dakota town where my family were the only Jews. The Christmas lights and caroling at school did not bother me in the least. To the contrary, I enjoyed these manifestations of the season.

Later we moved to San Francisco, where my public high school had an annual Christmas program. Because it was organized by a Catholic priest, I came to love the Latin words to "Adeste Fideles." Although there were many non-Christian students like me, nobody complained. Those who did not wish to attend were asked to go to the library, so there was no compulsion – only enjoyment of the beautiful program.

My parents explained to me that this was not our holiday, but it was the holiday of most Americans, so I learned to honor it without observing it. My parents grounded me firmly in my religion, so they had no fear that seeing a holly wreath or hearing "Silent Night" could shake my faith or cause me emotional distress.

I learned that there is nothing wrong with being different – that going along with the group is not always required. That is, I learned that my worth derived from what I did as an individual, and not from mere membership in a group. No matter how worthy the group might be, my behavior was what counted.

Further, I learned that being different didn't mean I was better or worse than anyone else, just different. This lesson helped me avoid the pitfalls of the teen years, from excessive drinking to promiscuous sex. Perhaps it made me a bit of a loner, too, but at least I didn't believe that belonging to some clique or "in" group would mean anything in the long run.

Equally important, I learned not to be easily offended. When someone wished me "Merry Christmas," I replied with the same words. It wasn't my holiday – so what? A colleague wished that my day would be merry. How could that offend me? Why should people take offense at greetings or decorations for a holiday they don't happen to celebrate? What is offensive about pretty decorations and good wishes?

Indeed, objecting to these beneficial things is what is really offensive. If I were in France, I would expect most people to celebrate Bastille Day. And if France were attacked, I would be astounded if many people did not display the French flag and voice patriotic feelings. I would be a fool to expect otherwise, and an ingrate to take offense.

Why is it that some Americans take offense when Christmas lights are hung, or when people display the flag after the worst terrorist attack in our history? What offends people often reveals more about the people than about the event that offends them.

The ease with which people take offense today is a manifestation of a childish narcissism and intolerance: Why should I have to adapt, even in the slightest, to all the people around me? No, I insist that they adapt to ME.

When infants are hungry, they want to eat NOW. As children grow older, they learn to wait until the meal is ready. They realize, albeit reluctantly, that the world doesn't revolve around them. They begin to accept that other people are humans with needs and wants as strong and as legitimate as their own.

But narcissists remain in an infantile stage emotionally. They expect 280 million Americans to adapt to THEM. THEY don't like colored lights? Go to court and have them extinguished. THEY don't like Santa Claus? Kick him out.

THEY don't like the word "Christmas" because it denotes the birth of Christ? Insist that "holiday" be substituted. Holiday? What holiday? Groundhog Day? Guy Fawkes Day? And rename Christmas vacation "winter break."

Better yet, for "Christmas" substitute "winter holiday." Instead of the birth of Jesus, celebrate the winter solstice. Of course, the position of the sun imposes no moral obligations on us – which may be the real reason for the change.

Do THEY feel uncomfortable when flags appear everywhere and signs proclaim "God bless America"? Fob their own feelings off onto foreign visitors, who probably couldn't care less, and demand greater "sensitivity" and "tolerance."

Sensitivity? Tolerance? What about sensitivity and tolerance for the deepest beliefs and feelings of the majority? What about some appreciation, however slight, for the charitable work done at this season, or for the Santas ringing their bells and collecting donations in their kettles?

And what of gratitude? Our country, whose freedom and abundance we enjoy, was founded by Christians who used the Bible as one of their principal guides. Wisely, they provided that no one sect would be allowed to predominate. That is, they founded a secular government for a religious people.

But now, many would deform freedom of religion into freedom from religion. They take offense at anything that does not accord with their own beliefs, or lack of belief. They insist that the nation revolve around THEM.

Specifically, they believe that moral principles can be handed down from one generation to another without any Source for these principles. This belief requires a leap of faith just as much as does a religious belief.

There is no historical basis for the assumption that a purely secular society can retain its moral principles over the generations. Yet we seem to be betting everything we have that this assumption is correct. Is this a wise bet?

Is there too much happiness in the world? Is there a shortage of sadness and grief? Does hearing "Joy to the World" really cause a problem?

Is there too much togetherness in the world? Is there a deficiency of hatred and strife? Does mingling with a happy crowd really feel oppressive?

Is there too much tolerance in the world? Is there a lack of egocentric intolerance masquerading as "tolerance"? Is there a lack of narcissistic insensitivity disguised as "sensitivity"?

Is there too much courage in the world? Is there a need for cowardice in the face of a noisy minority of ingrates?

Is there too much friendliness in the world? Is there a dearth of hostility and ill will? Does a hearty "Merry Christmas" really give offense?

Is there too much light in the world? Is there a scarcity of darkness and gloom? Do pretty lights really cause distress?

A wise man said that it is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness. But what would he have thought of those who curse the candle?