Sadly, this is not the first time we have experienced the horror of Jewish holidays tainted by tragedy. The Nazis often devilishly chose Jewish holy days to perpetrate an Aktion or launch a round-up of Jews. Their most infamous Aktion was the final liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto on April 19, 1943, the first night of Passover.
Here in Israel, we were stunned by the Arabs’ sneak attack on Yom Kippur in 1973; the many revenge attacks on Purim following the mass-shooting in the Cave of the Patriarchs in 1994; and, of course, the Oct. 7 Gaza massacre on Simchat Torah two years ago.
Now we must add to the list the Hanukkah Bondi Beach massacre in Sydney, Australia. It will forever mar our celebrations of what is arguably Judaism’s most popular and upbeat holiday.
There are two aspects to the all-too frequent acts of terror we experience. On the one hand, they represent pure antisemitism, an outright, illogical hatred of Jews that wraps itself up in any number of reasons: Jews are too rich or are needy parasites living off the labor of others (as Pharaoh implied when he told the Egyptians: “The nation of Israel is great and mighty from us.”).
Jews are branded unwanted interlopers in someone else’s state, or are exporters of death sent from beyond the borders of our own state. Every possible justification is used to rationalize what is pure and simply an evil strain of humanity. When the prophets stated that God created both darkness and the propensity for evil – see Isaiah 45:7 – they were referring to perpetrators of evil such as the Sydney shooters.
But there is another wellspring of antisemitic accusations. It emanates from the knowledge that we Jews carry within us – or are meant to – a higher moral message; that we embody a divinely, baseline behavior that stands tall against the principle of “might makes right” and opposed to the concept that you can manufacture the definitions of good and evil to suit your own wanton desires or illicit ideas. This does not go down easily in many circles.
Hitler more than once remarked that the Jews stood in his way of defining right and wrong; they represented a code of conduct that precluded his own warped rationale for seizing world power, and so they had to be expunged.
This, in essence, is the deeper significance of Hanukkah. Far beyond the spinning dreidels and the sizzling latkes, Hanukkah represents light – the illumination of goodness and hope in an all too dark universe.
The Seleucid Greeks, the Hellenistic rulers of Judea, were the paradigm of darkness, according to rabbinic sources. Their emphasis on the physical – as symbolized by their creation of the Olympics and tests of strength – went against the Jewish focus on the meta-physical and on exploring the nature of reality, the essence of the Almighty, and the purpose of humanity.
Thus, the Greeks, unlike the Nazis, did not seek to harm our bodies but rather to influence and change our minds and souls. They forbade the performance of ritual circumcision because that was a sign that God’s decree supersedes even the perfection of our bodies; and they banned observance of Shabbat, which we refer to as a time of receiving an “additional soul,” sending the message that our religious observance is superior to our physical work.
They outlawed our observance of Rosh Hodesh, the monthly new moon, because that – and not a secularly-imposed calendar – is the guiding light that determines the days of our lives. And they placed a manmade idol in our Temple, as if that, rather than God, dictated human behavior.
In response to these dark decrees, we create light, igniting flames that rise upward toward the heavens.
Preferably, we use pure olive oil because oil does not mix with other liquids and remains pristine. Indeed, the triumphant Maccabees who reclaimed the Holy Temple found numerous flasks of oil, but only one that remained untainted, with the seal of the high priest intact. That was the celebrated “miracle jar” that defied natural science by following divine providence and lasting eight days.
And that is why we not only bless the miracle of the oil but recall, in the song “Maoz Tzur,” all the many episodes in history when our survival was in jeopardy, and we nevertheless prevailed against the odds despite the rules of natural law.
To that ignominious list, we must add the Islamic-fueled terrorists and their hateful supporters, who will ultimately join all our other foes on the trash heap of history.
In the Torah, in Genesis, we read several times that night preceded day, ”and there was evening, and there was morning.” That is why our days, and our holidays, each of our 24 hours, begin the night before, as opposed to those of the other nations. Perhaps the message here is that before we can claim the day, we must banish the night.
Every Jew, along with every good and decent person who stands up for right and battles against wrong – such al Ahmed al-Ahmed, who grappled with one of the Australian terrorists and no doubt saved many lives – is a point of light and enlightenment; making the world shine brighter and giving us hope that evil will ultimately be vanquished and that the darkness will give way to a brighter future.
While most Jewish holidays fall in the middle of the month – Passover, Sukkot, Purim, Tu Bishvat, and Tu B’Av – when the moon’s light is at its fullest, Hanukkah comes at the end of the month, when barely a sliver of silver is visible in the winter sky. Why?
One thought is that a shrunken, protracted moon makes our Hanukkah lights even more visible and prominent, adding to their attraction and increasing their ability to publicize the miracle of our Maccabean victory over the Greeks.
I suggest something deeper, however.
Chronologically, Hanukkah is the last of the biblical or semi-biblical holidays. Historically, not long after this event, the Temple would be destroyed, and we would march off into the long, dark night of exile, winding our way through countless temporary and mostly hostile stops. Hanukkah is the “light” we take with us on that perilous journey, a spiritual beacon reminding us that there is always hope, a “light at the end of the tunnel,” and another miracle that will see our eventual redemption. This holiday’s golden flames will generate the energy we need to go on.
By tradition, a mezuza is placed on the right of the door as one enters, and the hanukkiah is at the left as one exits. We take that light into the dark unknown, until we return to our true home, Israel – whose symbol, of course, is the menorah.
The shape of the menorah – and of the hanukkiah – teaches us that while we all may be diverse branches, we derive from a common base, and are all guided by a light from above.
Every morning, we pray: “To the God of kindness, who created the luminaries, may You shine a light on Zion.” Amen to that.
The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana.
rabbistewart@gmail.com