I grew up in the Los Angeles area. We never had a white Christmas; it never snowed. No sledding or sleigh bells on the way to Grandma's house. We had cars, freeways, and a diverse community.

Back then, I was very involved in an extracurricular opportunity for high school students. We took classes at the Natural History Museum in downtown Los Angeles on Saturdays with the curators. I made several good friends, including my boyfriend Jim, whose family was hosting an exchange student from Morocco.

Hamid was a Muslim, and he was observing Ramadan during the month of December. It was a time for prayer and practicing self-discipline by fasting from sunup to sundown. It's hard for teenage boys to go without eating all day. Luckily, night fall comes early in winter.

That year, Ramadan (celebrated by Muslims), Christmas (for Christians) and Hanukkah (a Jewish holiday) were happening around the same time. The first Sunday of school vacation seemed like a perfect time to celebrate and learn something about each other's traditions.

My family were Christian Protestants; Jim came from a family of non-believers; Hamid was Muslim, and our friend Daniel Kaplan was Jewish. Mom also loved handcrafts, so she invited us to spend the afternoon working and playing together before sitting down to dinner.


I started by sharing many of the secular traditions of Christmas with the boys, with a bit about the occasion of Jesus' birth in Bethlehem. It took real self-discipline not to eat the festive cookies or have something to drink as the aroma from spiced cider on the stove wafted through the house.

We decorated the Christmas tree. There were boxes of ornaments: thin, fragile shiny balls, clip-on birds with feather tails, handmade treasures — like my brothers' kindergarten clay artwork, and long strings of colored bulbs with some candle-shaped ornaments that bubbled when the lights were plugged in. We finished with clingy silvery strands of tinsel, which led to a tinsel-in-your-hair tussle.

Near the tree, a small table was set with bowls of popcorn and cranberries to string into garlands. About the time Jim and Dan stopped sampling the popcorn ("Needs salt") and cranberries ("Whoa! Way too sour"), and started using needles and thread without pricking themselves too often, I thought we needed a better group activity. Hamid had already declined to participate because sewing was done by girls. He had become preoccupied with turning the tree lights on and off.

Looking around, I was glad to see the Glass Wax sitting by the sliding door. Glass Wax was a popular window cleaner dabbed on with a damp sponge, leaving a white residue that was buffed off to reveal shining glass beneath. Some genius realized that the first step could be used for decoration, and the company created Christmas stencils. After a few dabs, the others joined in, and soon the windows were covered with frosty Santa, sleigh, reindeer, wreath, tree, and other wintry designs.

Next, we turned to a side table featuring Hanukkah, then and now. A storybook illustrated the "Festival of Lights" in Jewish history, with the Maccabees having only a little bit of lamp oil to consecrate the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Miraculously, the oil lasted for eight nights, and the event was memorialized in the candelabras used today to celebrate that time long ago.

In southern California, this remembrance has evolved into blue and white decorations, games and songs with dreidels and gelt (often chocolate coins), foods, and gifts. We used to play dreidel with the neighbor kids, so my brothers and Dan taught Jim and Hamid how to play.

Mom made spaghetti and meatballs, the fragrance blending with the sweet smell of pine and sugary treats. Sunset arrived and dinner was served, accompanied by much talk and laughter.

Jim's father came to take the boys home. Before he left, Dan pulled me aside. "Marcia, I've never met a Muslim before. I never thought I could spend time with one, or ever sit down and eat with him. Thank you. Happy holidays!"

~ Marcia Ehinger