As a young Jewish girl, I was exposed to all the buildup of the Christmas season, but never experienced the pinnacle of the celebration. It’s the story of many secular Jews who grew up with public school Christmas pageants, art projects, round the clock radio Christmas caroling, and television specials – only to light a menorah instead of a tree at sundown.
One yearly favorite cartoon was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I was fascinated by the Island of Misfit Toys. The movie also refers to it as the Island of Unwanted Toys. King Moonracer, the ruler of the island, searches the world for misfit toys that no one loves. He brings them to the Island of Misfit Toys until he can find loving owners for the homeless toys. A toy is never truly happy until it is loved by a child. However, the king stipulates that the island is not for living things. Unlike playthings, a living thing cannot hide on an island. He asks that Rudolph and his friends tell Santa about the unwanted toys on the island.
As an adult, I can’t help but make an analogy between those broken toys and broken people. I live in a world where to admit to being broken is to ruin your chances of a shidduch, yeshiva acceptance, community acceptance, and in some cases, acceptance as a fellow Jew. So we all walk around taped, stitched, and glued hoping that the fixes will hold until after the bar mitzvah, after the graduation, after the vort, after the chasanah, after our kids are all married, after it won’t matter anymore if people know we are broken.
Those who have been labeled defective are essentially cast away on The Island of Misfit Toys. The island doesn’t necessarily occupy a physical space, but a virtual one. It’s the invisible herding of those who don’t pass muster into a shadowy Bermuda Triangle of ostracization. It’s a place where no living thing can survive for very long.
It might not be overt enough to initially notice, but when a child inexplicably isn’t accepted into the yeshiva of their choice, or a shidduch suddenly falls through after the required phone inquiries, a family knows they have been evacuated to the island.
The problem is, the island population is growing at a rapid pace and land is at a premium. In some areas, the slightest blemish can banish you to Misfit Island. Not using a white tablecloth on Shabbos, having a child with special needs, a family with secular extended relatives, an off the derech child, any history of mental illness or addiction, an acute case of appendicitis – all of these reasons and more can be used to justify fear of rejection or the actual rejection of others.
With the growing set of rationales used to diminish others, most of us qualify for residency on The Island of Misfit Toys. Although the island started out as a club no one wanted to be a part of, its population will soon equal that of the mainland. In another decade or so, residents of The Island of Misfit Toys will number more than those with gold seals of approval. The population of perfect people will dwindle as halachically suitable (if not hashkafically and materialistically suitable) partners will have been banished abroad.
In the meantime, the Island of Misfit Toys will expand onto other islands as more people take up residency. Instead of a desolate landscape of woe and misery, new Olim will find established settlements. Unwanted toys will find happiness, love, and acceptance of both their own imperfections and those of others. Simultaneously, the mainland of perfect toys will become increasingly empty and paranoid, as residents strive to avoid banishment to the isle of defects. An island they have been warned about since birth; an island to which others must be sacrificed, so that the majority can avoid the dark sentence themselves.
