We Were Really Jewish. And Had a Christmas Tree.

It’s been more than 65 years, but through the mists of time. I remember its smell of evergreen as if it were yesterday. 

Our apartment living room on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.  A tiny blue wooden table where, to the joy of my tiny brother and me, my mother had placed a tiny Christmas tree. 

Eventually we moved to the suburbs, where we had a bigger Christmas tree with presents underneath.