The year was 1964 and my father was a salesman for the Anchor Fence Company.  I was attending elementary school in Cleveland Heights, Ohio eagerly anticipating Christmas; but people don’t buy many fences during the winter months and unbeknownst to my first-grade self was the knowledge or significance of such details.  So, like most children I, and my two younger brothers, dreamed about all of the possibilities Christmas Day would bring with nary a thought that perhaps it would bring nothing. Meanwhile, in my parents’ world, that was just how it was looking to turn out. 

When Christmas morning finally arrived, I gathered my brothers and hurried downstairs to be met with a wonderland of toys: train sets, erector sets, dolls, games, toy ovens, more dolls, and on and on it went.  It was the most magical Christmas my little eyes had ever seen.  Nothing was wrapped, of course, because our family tradition – one I am sure that was born out of economic necessity more than anything else – was that Christmas gifts from Santa were set up and ready to go.  My brothers and I squealed with delight and dove into the mountain of toys, while my parents tried to get in those extra winks.  Eventually, as such things often go, that one lavish Christmas faded from memory until many years later when my mother told me the story surrounding it.

That year, my parents were in dire shape financially and had found themselves in a most lamentable predicament, which was the sorrowful realization that they were not going to be able to buy their children any Christmas gifts. What unfolded, however, was something of a miracle.

On the evening of December 24, 1964, my father received an enormous surprise from his boss in the form of a cash Christmas bonus.  My parents now had the money to have a nice Christmas for us, so my grandmother was brought over to watch us while they excitedly set out to buy presents. There was just one problem: it was Christmas Eve.  Everywhere they went, nothing was open for business.  Everywhere they went, it was dark.  As my parents drove around Cleveland Heights, becoming more and more forlorn over the prospects of their three children awakening to a house with no gifts from Santa, they were about ready to give up when they saw a well-lit shop window that turned out to be from a lovely and charming toy store run by a very friendly and kind Jewish man; and not only was the store open, but everything left in the store was marked half off.  As my mother related the story, nobody else had been in his store that night, so there were plenty of toys left, leaving them free to go about the place like kids in a candy store buying up everything in sight.

Over the years, my thoughts have often returned to this story and how such a wonderful Christmas was brought to us by one special Jewish man who made all the difference for our family.  But, more importantly, it reminds me of how another very special Jewish man brought Christmas to all of us, as He came down from Heaven to be born in a lowly stable to make a difference in the lives of us all.