Married to a non-observant but pretty irritable (lol; it’s kind of his job) Jewish guy, and we have settled upon Winter Solstice. Or Yule, or something. (He grew up experiencing his otherwise-usual friends turning and attacking him as a kid at Easter and Christmas, and that got really old, and he hasn’t figured how to let go of it.)
Every culture and faith has acknowledged and celebrated the ending of the solar year at winter solstice and the beginning of the new. Pick your name: Christmas, Yuletide, Saturnalia, whatever. All these holidays/ holy days are around December 21 or 22 or something. It’s a human urge that is acknowledged by the divine. It’s all about that stubborn belief (faith) that the world is going to come back; we’re gonna get through this; there is always hope for the future. The dying of the light (the shortening days) and the return of the new (the longer days).
So in our crazed little household, we put up the twinkly lights to defy the stellar darkness, and we have the balsam (or Fraser? can’t remember) evergreen (ever+green) fir to celebrate survival for another year, and we drape the pine swags across the mantel, and they wrap around the menorah, and we double up on the Zyrtec (as we are both allergic to Christmas trees and greenery in general), and we rejoice in the end of one year and the beginning of a new one, and life goes on.