Here are some snapshot images of the holiday season from my childhood: my dad retreats to his study while my mother, brother and I decorate the Christmas tree, which my mother has “reclaimed” as a pagan symbol. We light the menorah for the first night of Hanukkah (to be forgotten for the seven subsequent evenings), while Dad excavates the prayers from the depths of his memories and Mom hums along gamely. On Christmas Day, we tear open presents, make our annual expedition to an other-wise empty movie theater, and then attend the klezmer concert at the local synagogue.