by Jay Jamison
In the 1960s when I was a child, my family lived in New Brunswick, New Jersey. When the Christmas season neared, city workers would put up Christmas decorations in the downtown area. They strung up colored lights and wreaths illuminated with more colored lights across the streets. However, a drive across the bridge over the Raritan River into Highland Park, presented a different landscape. There were no Christmas decorations put up by city workers. You see, Highland Park was a predominantly Jewish community in the 1960s. I was reminded of that memory when I noticed a Happy Hanukkah display in the windows of the old Sears store (the Andre & Andre building) on the north side of the Jacksonville Square.
Many childhood memories came to mind after seeing that display. Back in the 1960s, (I can’t remember the exact year), a friend of my sister Mary, wanted to know what it was like to celebrate Christmas. Her friend and her mother were Jews who were living in New Brunswick, not Highland Park. There was some discussion between my parents, and then it was announced that Debbie Harper and her mother would be joining us on Christmas morning. I knew who Debbie was and I’d met her mother a few times, but to tell the truth, in my youthful ignorance, I had no real idea how Jews were any different from the rest of us. We opened stockings, had breakfast and Dad read from the Bible. Presents were opened and we drifted through the day. That little vignette happened over half a century ago.
As I am writing this, I occasionally glance up at the mantle in my living room. A silver chalice stands there, and a framed letter from Mr. Abraham Jackel. The letter recounts how my father, a Naval reservist and chaplain, during World War II, was ordered by the commander of the amphibious base in Bizerte, Tunisia, to essentially become the rabbi of the Jewish sailors on the base. It was a tall order for a Presbyterian. Dad had graduated from Princeton Seminary before joining the Navy, and he had to show a proficiency in Hebrew, as a requirement for graduation. Dad gave the services to his congregation of Jewish sailors in Hebrew. I’ll let Mr. Jackel continue the story: “I had never witnessed a clergyman of a different faith conducting Jewish services. But there was your father leading us in prayer. It was the most impressive display of man’s love for man.”
As the battle fronts moved forward, Dad departed Bizerte, for Sicily, then Italy. The men of the Jewish congregation passed the hat and arranged for a chalice to be made in New York and then one of their number searched for my father through the chaos of war. Dad was finally presented with the chalice in Italy. The inscription reads: “Presented to Chaplain Wallace N. Jamison in appreciation of his thought and efforts for the Jewish Congregation at Bizerte, North Africa. Christmas 1944.” The Jewish chalice stands among Christmas cards on my mantle.
As I turned west on the square, passing by the Andre & Andre building, the wonderful Advent calendar of The Farmers State Bank and Trust Company came into view. Both displays bring much-needed holiday cheer to us all, and warm memories for me. Merry Christmas, and yes, Happy Hanukkah.
