Confessional

If you read my sidebar piece "What's So Funny," you know I'm Jewish. Very. I was raised Modern Orthodox, still belong to Modern Orthodox synagogues, and keep kosher homes here and in Rehoboth Beach.

Chanukah, which begins this year on the evening of Tuesday 4 December, has absolutely zero to do with Christmas. There is no such thing as a Chanukah bush. Outdoor Chanukah decorations are practically non-existent, except for the handmade ones, and that would be every single thing adorning the Chanukah House, owned by friends and family. My only connection to Christmas, besides parties and dinners with friends who celebrate it, is the Christmas display I create every year at Montgomery Park and my huge, boxed decorated cookies.

OK, there is one more thing - and this is not my confession - most years on Christmas Eve I go to Saint Mark's Lutheran Church on Saint Paul Street to revel in the Tiffany interior (as an historic preservationist who's eyeballed amazing things, this ranks darn near the top), see my friend Reverend Dale Dusman in his yellow moire frock (he says he sees all his Jewish friends on Christmas Eve and one year right before the service he gifted me with a Madonna head that looks exactly like me), and hear the heavenly music. Of course I don't sing or participate, I just listen. And after all, fellow Heeb Irving Berlin did write "White Christmas."

I'm a huge Josh Groban fan - a Grobanite. That's not my confession - keep reading. Josh's mother is not Jewish and so it doesn't even matter that his father once was (he converted away from it) - Josh is not officially Jewish in any way. A few weeks ago, I read several glowing reviews of his Christmas album, Noel, and I couldn't stop myself fom buying it. And now I can't stop myself from listening to it. Yes, yes - my confession - and oddly, there's a song on Josh Groban's Closer album called "My Confession."

I listen while I'm riding my exercise bike and I like to turn the cuts with choirs up very loud. My neighbors on either side must think I've gone bonkers and abandoned my religion. I have tried to cut myself off, but I can't.

As if to realign my chakras or bathe in a mental mikvah (talk about your mixed metaphors), I chase Noel with the soundtracks from either Yentl, The Prince of Egypt, or Fiddler on the Roof.

I have a feeling this will be become a tradition.