Rabbi Steven Moskowitz

It feels somewhat strange when we celebrate Hanukkah a few days after gathering for Thanksgiving. Our Jewish holidays are tied to the Hebrew calendar which operates independently from the Gregorian calendar. Occasionally however, Hanukkah finds its way into November and nears Thanksgiving. This offers us a unique opportunity to reflect upon our dual commitments as American Jews. Interestingly both Thanksgiving and Hanukkah are built upon myths that are thinly tied to history. Let me explain. Nowhere in the Book of Maccabees, the first written record of the events surrounding Hanukkah, is the miracle of oil mentioned. I realize this may come as a surprise given that this story forms the core of how we talk about Hanukkah. We first find the miracle story in the Talmud, a book completed nearly 700 years after the Maccabean revolt. Did the miracle of oil really occur? This post continues on The Times of Israel.

I know I am supposed to admire Jacob and love him more than Esau. Jacob is, after all, the father of the children of Israel. He is the man through whom we trace our people’s sacred lineage. And yet, this week, I find myself looking admirably towards his brother Esau. Jacob deceived his father and stole the birthright from Esau. Jacob then runs away—Esau threatens to kill him after discovering the deception. On the run, Jacob experiences God, marries and builds a large family, experiences God some more and becomes incredibly successful. We do not know what Esau is doing during these years. Is he nursing a grudge towards Jacob? Is he perseverating about the wrongs done to him? He has every right to be angry. It is true that Jacob lied and stole from him. We learn little about what Esau is thinking. We learn a great deal about Jacob. We read about his dreams and how he wrestles with God. We learn a great deal about his fears. They continue to plague him. When he realizes that he will

Miracles are all around us. It is not that they do not exist. It is instead that we fail to see them. That is the Torah’s perspective. And so, we read many times, the refrain, “And he lifted up his eyes (vayisah einav).” Abraham heads out on a journey with the faith that God will direct him to a special and holy place. “On the third day, Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place from afar.” (Genesis 22) Later, an angel stays Abraham’s hand as he is about to sacrifice his son, Isaac. Miraculously a ram appears, and he sacrifices it instead of his son. “And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and he saw a ram caught in the thicket by its horns.” Did the ram appear out of nowhere? Was the place magically created out of thin air? Of course not. They were there all along. The power of miracles is held in our eyes. Miracles are all around us. It is a matter of lifting up our eyes. And yet, this week, Jacob does not set out on a journey because God commands him like his grandfather Abraham. I

A common theme in religious literature is the miraculous birth of its heroes. The Torah is no different. Isaac is born to Abraham and Sarah after years of infertility. Sarah is in fact ninety years old when she gives birth, and Abraham, one hundred. Isaac’s birth is not only unexpected and surprising but miraculous. The Torah’s message is clear. The only way that Abraham and Sarah could have a child is by divine intervention. Jacob and Esau are also born to Isaac and Rebekah after the Torah reports that Rebekah is barren. There is, by the way, no suggestion that their infertility is because of Isaac. The Torah’s perspective is that it must be because of Rebekah. And so, we read, “Isaac pleaded with the Lord on behalf of his wife, because she was barren; and the Lord responded to his plea, and his wife Rebekah conceived.” (Genesis 25) Still, we cannot know what causes their infertility. We only know that they struggle to have a child. The Torah states that Isaac is sixty years old whe