As I decorate my miniature tree from Michael’s, wrapping an oversized Kate Spade red bow and hanging delicate Williams-Sonoma ornaments, I place my Starbucks gingerbread latte down to raise the volume of Ella Fitzgerald’s soothing holiday album. This scene is understandably disturbing to my parents because, despite my overwhelming Christmas cheer, there is a slight hitch: I’m a Jew.

While I feel no want to trade in my religion for Christianity, I have an unabashed love for Christmas. I anxiously wait all year for Thanksgiving to pass so I can revel in the Christmas spirit: the wafting aroma of pine needles and cinnamon, the sensual touch of a cozy knit sweater and satin pajamas, the delicious flavors of peppermint and apple cider, the melodic tunes of Christmas carols, and the majestic sight of the Christmas tree, adorned with strings of gleaming lights and luminous ornaments.

Eagerly I count down the days until the weather is cool and the colors are warm; the one distinguishable time of year in Miami in which lights twist around palm trees and the crispness of the air seems to make the landscape even greener. I await the seasonal treats, the seasonal films, and the seasonal sales.

For, what is Christmas other than a gift-giving, price-cutting, spending extravaganza? While I watch The Grinch, I fantasize about the titillating Tiffany’s gift box, the black, bowed shoes waiting in the Bloomingdale’s box, the hard-cover bestsellers sitting in bronze and burgundy wrapping paper. All neatly tied in a bow and topped with a candy cane, of course.

This is why I feel entitled to Christmas. Despite the obvious religious root of the word, who are we fooling? Not once in all of these wonderful traditions and perks was Jesus Christ mentioned. It is hardly a holiday, rather a well-masked shopping trip. Consumer goods, not God, are the center of worship.

Not that I am one to complain, as I buy into the holiday madness more than my Christian counterparts. But I have the advantage over them of learning their religion from a purely academic standpoint, and as one in this situation I can objectively read original scripture instead of injecting my own denominational beliefs. It is in this regard that I realize the irony of Christmas.

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

Such were the words of Jesus. He was a man of faith and simple tastes; asceticism was the key to salvation, and the gluttony of riches and materialism would surely mark one a sinner. Were he to see the way in which his followers celebrate his birthday, he would be appalled.

Thus, my call to action is to come to terms with the modern-day Christmas: a glorified version of Frank Castanza’s “Festivus.” Why can I not, as a Jew, revel in the splendor of Christmas instead of celebrating the overblown festival of Hanukkah and being relegated to the movie theater and Chinese restaurant on the 25th? If Jesus gets none of the attention on his own birthday, who will notice the party-crashing Jew? So this year I will continue to eat peppermint bark, watch It’s a Wonderful Life, and sing along to “Winter Wonderland.”