Although the true history of Hanukkah recounts a bloody
civil war between Jewish zealots led by Judah Maccabee with their fellow Jews enamored
of Greek culture, we prefer to tell the story of the miracle of oil.
Here is that idealized version.
A long time ago, approximately 2,200 years before our
generation, the Syrian-Greeks ruled much of the world and in particular the
land of Israel. Their king, Antiochus,
insisted that all pray and offer sacrifices as he did. He outlawed Jewish practice and desecrated
the holy Temple. But our heroes, the
Maccabees, rebelled against his rule.
After nearly three years of battle, the Maccabees prevailed. They recaptured the Temple.
When the Jews entered the Temple, they were horrified to
discover that their holiest of shrines had been transformed and remade to suit pagan
worship. They declared a dedication (the
meaning of hanukkah) ceremony. Soon
they discovered that there was only enough holy oil to last for one of the
eight day long ceremony. Still they lit
the menorah that adorned the sanctuary.
And lo and behold, a great miracle happened there. The oil lasted not for the expected single
day but for all eight days.
The rabbis therefore decreed that we should light Hanukkah
candles on each of this holiday’s nights, beginning on the first evening, on
the twenty fifth of Kislev. (The customs
of spinning dreidels and eating foods fried in oil came much later.) The rabbis pronounced: “It is a mitzvah to place the Hanukkah lamp at the entrance to one’s house on
the outside, so that all can see it. If a person lives upstairs, he places it at the window most adjacent to
the public domain.” (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 21b)
Contrary to the
contemporary ethic of privacy where what we do in our own homes is not to be
publicized to the outside world, the rabbis instruct us that we must display
the menorah so that others may see it.
Why? So that the world might also
learn about the miracle of Hanukkah. So
that others might see that God performs wonders.
Are not our Jewish
identities meant to be hidden? No, the
rabbis declare. They are intended to be
proclaimed to the world. Even though
everyone else appears to be celebrating other holidays at this time of year, we
reaffirm that we have our own unique faith, and that we are proud to publicize
it. The rabbis counsel that we should
proudly proclaim our Jewish faith—at least during the eight days of
Hanukkah. That is the message of the
Maccabees. That is the import of their
revolt against those who wished to suppress Jewish practice.
But what happens if Jews
live in a time and place when placing the menorah in their windows could be
dangerous? The rabbis decree: “And
in a time of danger he places it on the table and that is sufficient to fulfill
his obligation.” What should we do now? Where should we place the menorah today? Is our own era a time of danger?
Recently I met with a friend who was visiting from
Israel. He told me that he now covers
his kippah with a baseball hat when going out to restaurants in New York. He is afraid.
I heard as well of young couples who second guess their decision to send
their children to a Jewish nursery school for fear that it could be a target of
antisemitic attacks. After years of
increasing attacks, after the most recent Jersey City murders and the assault
at Indiana University to name a few, fear has come to dominate our discussions
of Jewish identity. Where is it safe to
declare our Jewishness?
Should we hide our identity?
Can the Talmud, and Jewish tradition, help us to figure out what
constitutes a real danger? Later
authorities suggest that the rabbis understood danger to mean when Jewish practice
is outlawed, such as during the Maccabean revolt. Only then should we move our menorahs to “safer
ground.” But who gets to decide what
dangerous means? Our rabbis? Our tradition?
Instead it is each of us. Danger is of course a matter of
perception. It is in truth more about
feelings than threats. If a person is afraid,
then the threat is real.
I have been thinking that perhaps my frequent trips to
Israel have provided me with some helpful measures of strength and resolve. The modern era grants us something that our
ancient rabbis could never have imagined: a sovereign Jewish state, a state
that can fight back against our enemies.
We look to a state that can fortify us and offer us even greater courage
in the face of this growing tide of antisemitic hate.
This is why I found it so surprising that it was my Israeli
friend who now expresses fear. Perhaps
it is even more a matter of where one feels at home. If we feel at home we are less likely to feel
afraid.
Today we are called once again to fight back against
antisemitism. Our day demands that we
never allow this hate even the space to breathe. We must stand up. We must be forever proud. But we must also be prudent. The rabbis’ caution is well taken.
The most important point of course is that regardless of
where we decide to place the menorah, regardless of whether or not we are
afraid, we light the candles. Find that
place. Find the place where you are
comfortable proudly declaring your Jewish faith. And there light the menorah. This year most especially, this holiday of
Hanukkah demands no less.
