Christmas in Germany

We tiptoed through the first-floor hall, my brothers trying to peak through the keyhole of the big two-panel French dining room door. It was Christmas Eve. In Germany, it was the custom to receive presents on Christmas Eve.

My brothers were 2 and 5 years older than I, the six-year old. They believed they had more rights than we girls, like being the first to see what was going on in the dining room. They wanted to find out if there was a Christmas tree already or presents. 

We were being told that the baby Jesus would send an angel to bring the presents on Christmas Eve. Well they just wanted to make sure that there were presents. Mutti (mother) knew that we were curious and would try to peak through the keyhole. So, she left the big key in the lock from the inside, which blocked the view.

Christmas Eve had finally arrived. The whole family was elated or so it seemed to me. Mutti was rushing around preparing our special Christmas Eve dinner. 

I was told that she boiled a piece of smoked bacon, carrots, gingerbread and honey cake soaked in dark beer and spices to make the sauce. When it thickened, she heated ‘Weisswurst’ (white sausages) in it and it was served with boiled parsley potatoes and sauerkraut. 

We all loved it. To us it was very special, because we ate it only on this particular evening every year. Amazing smells came from the big stove in the kitchen. Pots were steaming and bubbling, the smell of Christmas was filling the house; while spices and cookies baking in the oven made us impatient. We children were not allowed to come into the kitchen, but I would try to go near the kitchen door to see what was going on, only to be sent away.

Mutti hustled us upstairs to put on our Christmas outfits. She dressed me in a beautiful black velvet dress with smocking across the chest and short puffy sleeves decorated with a tiny red bow. She put black Mary Janes on my feet. My blond wavy hair was combed and a big white bow tied into it, finishing my festive look. 

I felt amazing and festive. When all of us were ready, we were herded back downstairs. Our Christmas dinner was ready. I could hardly enjoy the meal, though I had been looking forward to it. 

The dining room was adjacent to our big living room in which we ate every meal, and there was a door to the dining room as well. I kept staring at this door trying to listen if I could hear anything happening in there. Had the angel come through the window and delivered presents? That’s what we were made to believe.

We were told to be quiet to get ready for the moment of all moments. We children sat on the steps of the staircase peeking through the banisters and staring at the magical door. We were waiting for the ring of a little bell. This was the signal. The French doors opened wide. “Aaaaaahhh---------” we went. The light was dimmed. The live candles on the tall Christmas tree flickered and looked magical, so many candles giving light to the room. A pail filled with sand stood nearby, just in case a branch on the tree would catch fire. 

I looked around trying to identify a present for me. At that time gifts were not wrapped. They were laid out. Entering the room had felt holy. We were not allowed to rush to the presents. We stood in silence taking it all in. Now came the time to sing Christmas songs, my parents leading the way. 

I never liked the singing. I wanted to see my present. There it was, two doll carriages, one for me and one for Dorit, my younger sister. They were made of wicker lined with a fabric in soft green and dotted with tiny flowers. 

A little pillow and a cover were of the same fabric to keep my doll comfortable. My doll had a new dress, a pink dress with smocking like on my own dresses. 

This was heaven. I touched my doll in disbelieve, so beautiful. Mutti must have made all this at nighttime while we were sleeping. She didn’t want us to see any unusual activities in the house before Christmas. She didn’t want to spoil the surprise and she succeeded. 

Anneros Valensi is the author of “Where is Home? How a Childhood in East Germany during WWII Shaped my Adult Life.” She lives in Riverdale. Point of View is a column open to all.