By Marco Shalma

I’m saying this as someone who grew up with menorahs, brisket, guilt, and the firm belief that December is for staying warm and staying alive — not for debating two phrases nobody actually means. Every year the same performance begins. Someone says “Merry Christmas,” someone else says “Happy Holidays,” and suddenly everyone’s acting like they’re defending the Constitution.

Meanwhile, those of us who actually live in this city? We’re thinking about rent. We’re thinking about work. We’re thinking about whether that N train is ever coming. We’re not drawing battle lines over greetings at Duane Reade.

New Yorkers don’t care what you call the day. We care whether the line is moving. We care whether the heat turned on. We care whether the barista guy gave us the right order or... We have real problems. We don’t have time for December theater.

This whole argument was imported. Out-of-towners bring it here like luggage. They act like saying “Happy Holidays” is an act of cultural warfare. Relax. No one’s banning anything. Say whatever you want. Say Merry Christmas. Say Happy Holidays. Say “Good luck out there.” Say nothing. We’ll survive.

I promise you this: no Jew in New York is offended by “Merry Christmas.” We’ve lived through worse. We’ve lived through landlords. We’ve lived through the subway in August. We’ve lived through gefilte fish. That’s resilience.

We’re offended by bad food, not holiday greetings.

Newsflash: Jews made half the Christmas infrastructure in this city anyway. Bagel shops, delis, diners, movie theaters — all open on Christmas because our families said, “Yeah, go have fun. We’ll cover the shift.” If anything, Christmas depends on us. You’re welcome.

And here’s the bigger truth: New York is the only place on the planet where every holiday happens at the same time and nobody blinks. Someone’s lighting a tree. Someone else is lighting candles. Someone else is lighting fireworks for a holiday you’ve never heard of. Someone’s grandmother is cooking a dish from a country you can’t find on a map. It’s all happening on the same block.

This city runs on overlap. That’s the beauty.

The people who get mad about greetings don’t live here. They’re visitors, commentators, Very Online people who don’t understand that New Yorkers don’t want correctness. We want efficiency. If you’re holding up the line, that’s offensive.

So let me give you the official New York rule:

Say whatever greeting gets the conversation over the fastest.

We’re not fragile.

We’re not oppressed by vocabulary.

We’re trying to get a coffee before the next wave of tourists hits Sixth Avenue.

So the next time someone starts ranting about political correctness around the holidays?

Tell them, politely, with love:

STFU and pass the latkes.