This short monologue was originally written after I received an invitation from Niall Phillips to contribute to an evening of Christmas-themed pieces he was producing at the Omnibus Clapham on 6th December 2013. It was later performed at The Water Rats, Kings Cross on 2nd December 2019. Around this time every year I think I should post the text on this blog, but never do - well, now I have. Enjoy.
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The lights fade up to reveal David (mid-twenties) seated on a plain chair, centre-stage. He is wearing a knitted Christmas jumper, but his facial features betray his Jewish heritage.
David: You know what's sad? I sit here,
like all the other kids, thinking about Christmas, excited about what's under
the tree. Like them, I'm old enough to know better, but I still wander outside
to get lost in the glittering wonderland around me. I see the sparkling lights,
the glowing Santas and the people dressed as elves. I drink their mulled wine and eat their Christmas puddings and I
pull their cardboard crackers and I steal a kiss under the mistletoe. I even
dance along to Noddy Holder, and I wear my knitted jumper with pride. But never do I light the candles.
Short pause.
Sometimes, Christmas makes me sad for other reasons. Like when I think of Chinese Paul sitting alone in his one bedroom flat, eating his roast turkey in silence, bending forwards to pull his cracker apart by himself. And then I think of orphaned Sally, mourning for her late mother on Christmas Eve. It's hard for her. The pressure to conform. To be happy. Maybe that's what gets to me too? (Beat) When people ask me if I celebrate Christmas, I laugh. Of course I do, I say. How could I not? It's not like you can get away from it. But Hanukkah? Hanukkah passes me by. Sometimes it's almost like it doesn't exist. And sometimes that makes me feel guilty, like I'm self-perpetuating the condemnation of my own people. I mean, the closest I've ever gotten to celebrating the festival of light was asking my parents to buy me a Michael Haneke boxset for Hanukkah. They did.
Short pause.
Hanukkah finished yesterday. And I only know that because I just Googled it. (Beat) But I know when Christmas is. I'm literally counting down the days. (Beat) It makes you think, doesn't it? I guess the crass commercialisation of Christmas has served its purpose. Or has it? I mean, I might enjoy eating the twenty-four pieces of naff, powdery chocolate hiding behind the doors of my unethically produced advent calendar, but I've never set foot in a church. Not on Christmas anyway. So maybe the secret indoctrination has failed. But then, come to think of it, I never go to the synagogue either. Not even on Yom Kippur. I mean, I don't like smoked salmon or gefilte fish and my skullcap doesn't fit. It hasn't for years. (Beat) And yet the image of the menorah still haunts me.
Short pause.
I feel like maybe, somewhere, somehow, I'm being plagued by images of Ross Gellar dressed as the Holiday Armadillo, so desperate to teach little Ben about his ancestral roots. (Beat) And what of my roots? Have they died? Or just been dyed? Are they disguised, coloured, waiting to grow out and be washed clean? As I think this, I look at the presents under the tree, and I see the packages bulging out of the stockings, and I think – what does all this matter to me? I'm Jewish. But then I notice that one of the presents is small and rectangular and I think: that might be the new Masters of Cinema DVD. Excitement overcomes me, and then I think – what does it matter if I'm Jewish? It's Christmas.
Blackout.
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