Gomberg: Between the mistletoe and the menorah — growing up in Utah between religions

I often joke that I’m Jew-ish, and I give that little “so-so” swish of the hand.

I went to synagogue when I was a kid. l can recite the Shabbat prayers in Hebrew along with a mean (albeit surely off-key) rendition of Passover’s “Four Questions.” And, this is quite important, I really like feeding people.

Like gefilte fish on a bagel, in many ways, I’m Jew-y.

But, I’m a Hebrew School dropout (to the tune of “Beauty School Dropout”: no bat mitzvah day for me). My only real observances of the holidays are the festive ones with the good food traditions. And, truth be told, my mama isn’t Jewish (and that’s kind of a thing).

Like me, she was raised in a multireligion home; her dad was Mormon and her mom Methodist. The differences in her house growing up weren’t as stark as ours with our eight nights of Hanukkah celebrated in the festive glow of the Christmas tree (hey, lights are lights!), and yet, I bet it helped foster her sincere respect for people who believe differently from her.

She and my ever-conscious dad paid such attention to the sensitivity of raising my sister and me outside the LDS tradition in Utah and went to great lengths to help us develop pride for our people and heritage.

Their job was made a bit harder in 1989 when Ogden’s synagogue, Brith Sholem, was badly burned by vandals, because as an already anxious kidlet, I remember the arson making me feel markedly less comfortable with what made me different from so many others in my community. But those instances of negativity and fear were actually rare and my parents’ response was so measured and comforting.

They knew education was the answer, and would teach me and whomever else wanted or needed to know, the value and legacy of Jewish people.

In fact, one of my favorite memories of grade school were the December days my dad would come to my class and teach everyone how to play dreidel (and provide an excuse to have chocolate in class). Cool factor riseth.

Honestly, it became easier to explain Hanukkah to my friends than why we had both a Christmas tree and a menorah. The thing was, in my budding logical mind, I just thought I was 50 percent Jewish, 25 percent Methodist and 25 percent Mormon. How do we celebrate the holidays? It’s just math, silly.

I didn’t, uh, totally get how religion works.

But I felt really special.

And that was all that mattered.

Fast-forward to now, and I’m the one singing to Bing Crosby’s Christmas while I stage the menorah in anticipation of starting new traditions with my son (the first of which is that the bottom third of the Christmas tree is only decorated with his unbreakable magnet toys) and my wife.

And I wonder how little Harvey will handle growing up with a smorgasbord of holiday traditions (not to mention other unique distinctions like, you know, having two moms).

Hopefully with deep pride, and assuredly, a lot of love.

Marina Gomberg’s lifestyle columns appear on sltrib.com. She is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.