Category: Chanukah

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Books CCAR Press Chanukah

Chanukah Is Not a Minor Holiday

There will not be a victory of light over darkness as long as we do not recognize the clear and simple truth that we must enhance the light rather than fight the darkness. —Aaron David Gordon, 1856–1922

“It’s not fair that Jewish kids get eight presents, and we get only one!” grumbled the young American cabdriver, not much more than a child himself, as he drove me to the airport after I told him I was Jewish. I was a bit perplexed, and hesitantly asked him what he was talking about. “Chanukah presents,” he replied as though it were obvious, then looked at me with some suspicion, as though maybe I was not really Jewish. “Eight pres­ents? What is he talking about?” I thought. Growing up in Jerusalem, we received chocolate coins for Chanukah, which is what my husband and I did with our children. And now this cab driver was telling me there is a different Chanukah?

To be sure, Chanukah is a fun, lively holiday in Israel. We light candles with family and community, sing “Maoz Tzur,” and recount the tale of the holiday miracle. The scent of hot, sweet sufganiyot (Israel’s version of jelly doughnuts) drifts from bakeries for weeks before the festival. Walking the streets of Jerusalem at night is a special treat—menorahs of all sizes and shapes illuminate windows and doorposts. Still, the Israeli version of the Festival of Lights is not as central as it is in the United States.

The cabdriver was right. We lived in the US for two years as a family for my final years of rabbinical school, as we wanted to experience progressive, liberal Judaism where it’s in the Jewish mainstream. We quickly learned from our (somewhat frustrated) chil­dren that their friends received valuable presents for Chanukah. Trendy gadgets, rollerblades, and sneakers appeared each day in school. Jewish homes were decorated with colored lights no less impressive than those of their Christmas-celebrating neighbors, and the Jewish schools celebrated Chanukah with great fanfare. The preparations began weeks before Chanukah, reaching their zenith at a gigantic and crowded “Chanukah fair.”

While buying dreidels, gift bags, and glittery decorations (none of which I had previously bought), I realized how the magical feelings evoked by Christmas—especially in children—force Jewish leaders, teachers, and parents to offer an attractive alternative to the majority Christian culture. Chanukah is an excellent test case for examining the influence of the non-Jewish American environment on a Jewish holiday in comparison with its observance in Israel, where Jews are the majority.

One Festival, Many Themes

Jewish festival and holy days have evolved throughout many centuries, and in different eras they were ascribed with new rituals and meaning. Every Jewish holiday has multiple layers; this is especially clear with Chanukah.

This festival entered the Jewish calendar rather late: Like Purim, it does not appear in the Torah, but unlike Purim it was established after the canonization of the Hebrew Bible and is mentioned only briefly in the Mishnah and Talmud. This doesn’t mean there is anything “minor” about this minor festival—its legal discourse may be meager, but it is certainly rich in term of its celebration and themes. There are at least three different themes or narratives for Chanukah.

In the Books of Maccabees, the oldest source for the festival of Chanukah, the main emphasis is the military heroism of the Hasmoneans (a priestly family led by Mattathias and his children, who started the Maccabean Revolt of 167–160 BCE). The Rabbis later deemphasized the military victory and instead celebrated the miracle of a small cruse of oil found in the Temple, which lasted eight days (Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 21b). Divine intervention rather than military victory, became the central theme of the holiday. Many centuries later, with the rise of the Zionist movement, Chanukah became a holiday of prime significance. Zionist leaders regarded the Maccabees’ victory as a model for Jewish sovereignty, and returned their story to the center of Chanukah’s stage.

However, the ancient origin of the festival is probably neither that of a military victory or divine intervention, but instead is a response to the cold and darkness (in the Northern hemisphere). In ancient times, as well as today, the ever-shortening days and growing darkness engendered anxiety. Many cultures observe winter festivals focused on light, warmth, and fire. Today, many Jews relate to the anxiety provoked by darkness and desire for light representing hope.

Our Task Now

One of Chanukah’s main themes is the concept of bayit (home). The Maccabees purified the Temple, which is sometimes referred to as HaBayit (the Home). It is at heart a domestic festival, celebrated primarily at home. Families gather around the menorah’s light, joining in song and eating oily foods. It may be storming outside, but home is a warm and safe shelter we share with beloved people. At least, it used to be so.

Since October 7, 2023, the core concept of home has been shaken for many of us. So many families were brutally attacked in their own homes—murdered, violated, or taken hostage. Many innocent people lost or were forced to leave their homes. This devastating reality forces us to rethink, reimagine, and reestablish the concept of bayit—the haven we all need in an often harsh reality.

This is true not only in Israel and the Middle East: It seems that our global sense of being at home, of feeling safe in the world, has been challenged and contested. During the pandemic, we were confined to our homes, and for many the intimacy of one’s dwelling place became alien and confining. For some, it has yet to return to a place of comfort and safety. In Israel, we are confronted with the ongoing repercussions of the October massacre and war. North American Jews face a staggering rise in antisemitism. Throughout the world, we face political turmoil and environmental uncertainty.

Chanukah reminds us that light still exists. This Chanukah, we are tasked with committing ourselves to make our world a bit better. Of course, this task is not just for the eight days of Chanukah, but for every day.

Like the Maccabees who restored the Temple altar’s purity; like our ancestors who believed that miracles are possible and sought to enable them; like everyone who yearns for light in the ever-growing darkness—may we, too, commit ourselves to creating a sustainable home for ourselves, our children, and all those who need shelter. It’s cold out there, but if we are committed to increasing the light, we can create the warmth and connection our world so desperately needs.

Rabbi Dalia Marx, PhD, is the Rabbi Aaron D. Panken Professor of Liturgy at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR) in Jerusalem. She is the chief editor of T’filat HaAdam, the Israeli Reform prayer book (MaRaM, 2020). From Time to Time: Journeys in the Jewish Calendar was first published in Israel in 2018 as Bazman and has been translated into German, Spanish, and now English.

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Chanukah Holiday

The Full Story of Chanukah Has Much to Say to Us Today

In the fall of 1976, a young Jew stood at the crossroads. Recently confirmed, just back from a summer in Israel, a veteran of our URJ camps, and now a religious school intern — for the first time honestly confronting the story he, and countless generations of Jews, had learned about Chanukah. The one where a religious zealot named Judah Maccabee, with the help of a ragtag bunch of pious Jews, defeated the army of the evil King Antiochus. And when they rededicated the Temple, the story of the miraculous oil that burned for eight days.

That kid was me, and it seemed like we had learned that Chanukah was a celebration of militant Jewish zealotry. In 1976, the only contemporary Jew who fit that description was Meir Kahane of the JDL, a Jew I wanted nothing to do with. So why should I celebrate this holiday if he was the modern embodiment of Judah Maccabee? And, worse, if that is what Judaism values, why should I want to be Jewish?

Fortunately, I found myself at a teachers’ workshop, taught by Rabbi Manny Gold, where, for the first time, I learned of the Books of the Maccabees and the Apocrypha, and an entirely different tradition for why we celebrate Chanukah — one that made more sense to me and might just have saved me for Judaism. So, when I got to rabbinic school, I was open to harmonizing the two versions under the tutelage of Rabbi Martin Cohen, and found an even deeper story.

A story that starts with Jews divided over the best way to approach our Jewishness — either exclusively according to our traditions, or as part of seeking to participate in the larger (Greek) society. A division of the community in and around Jerusalem severe enough to cause King Antiochus to declare martial law in Judea to calm things down. Martial law, in this case, meant suspending the “constitution” (i.e., Torah) and sending in the troops to enforce the ban, garrisoning them in the most secure location in Jerusalem — the Temple complex.

This becomes the background against which Judah enters the story, not as a religious zealot, but as a compromise leader that the previously feuding Jewish factions all could rally behind to fight the common enemy. Among Judah’s first actions as leader was to allow his forces to take up arms on Shabbat — hardly the act of a religious zealot, but smart strategy, which eventually also allowed them to attack the enemy on Shabbat, to gain the element of surprise.

Using these tactics, Judah was able to hold the Syrian-Greek army at bay for three years, by which time there was enough going on elsewhere in Antiochus’s kingdom to convince him to pull his troops from Jerusalem. In the Maccabees version of the story, this led to cleaning the Temple from the Greek soldiers’ use, and an eight-day rededicatory celebration based either on Sukkot, or Solomon’s dedication festival after building the original Temple.

If things ended here, we would have a story that speaks to the tension between traditionalism and assimilation, and, as we will see, teaches us important values still today. But the story doesn’t end there, and over the next 700 years takes a series of twists and turns — all of which end up reinforcing these same values. The feuding picks up and is eventually ended by Judah’s last brother Simon, who inaugurates the Hasmonean Dynasty, which loses its control when the group that will become the Pharisees, and then the rabbis removes its support, leading to the Roman takeover that eventually leads to the destruction of the Temple and the rise of Rabbinic Judaism. Once in power, the rabbis try to make Chanukah go away, but cannot, and so add the oil story to recast it within parameters that they can live with. (Yes, that summary was rushed, for space reasons, but these events are each well worth studying and understanding on their own!).

For the next 1000 years, the oil story becomes the only story Jews learn within our isolated communities — so even though it is added late with deliberate purpose, it is important to see that without it, there is no guarantee that the holiday survives on its own into the modern world, given the rabbis’ earlier efforts to make it disappear. It is only when Judaism emerges from isolation into the world of the Enlightenment and America that we Jews finally have access to both versions of the history.

So, at roughly the same time we American Jews were elevating the significance of Chanukah, mostly in response to the commercialization of Christmas around us, we also were given the texts, the opportunity, and the responsibility to change our understanding of the Chanukah story, bringing both versions together. Doing so replaces the miracle story with one that, with multiple examples over time, emphasizes for us the importance of rededicating ourselves to being serious Jews, participating more fully in the life of the Jewish community and its institutions, adapting our Jewish practice to allow us to navigate successfully between the polar pulls of strict traditionalism and full assimilation, and live lives of positive Jewish value.

And THAT is a story that has much to teach us about our Jewish life today.

Rabbi Steve Weisman is the rabbi of Temple Solel in Bowie, MD and a long-time teacher of the Chanukah story to Jewish and non-Jewish audiences.

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Chanukah Healing

Blackboards in Pittsburgh

For two weeks before Shabbat Chanukah, four black boards with a question at the top and multi-colored chalk in the chalk trays were placed in the entrance commons of Rodef Shalom in Pittsburgh. The question: “Chanukah means Dedication. What do you (re-) dedicate yourself to this year?” All who visited the congregation had the opportunity to write on the boards their answers to the question.

On Thursday before Shabbat, I took those answers and created “Rededication, A Hanukah Prayer from Pittsburgh,” which Rabbi Sharyn Henry and I edited together. At Friday night services, I read the prayer at a joint service of Rodef Shalom and Tree of Life / Or L’Simcha. The goal: add a bit of healing by using the hopes and ideals of the community as the core of a new piece of liturgy.

The week before, the Pittsburgh community marked the shloshim — the thirtieth day of the post-burial mourning process – following the October 27 attack that left 11 dead and seven injured as congregants of Tree of Life were gathering for Shabbat morning services.

This is our second collaboration using black boards. In 2015, we used the same blackboards for an “Elul Memory Project.” The goal: gather memories from the community to use as the basis of customized Yizkor prayer.

Rabbi Henry was inspired to conceive these black board projects by the work of artist Candy Chang’s international public art project “Before I Die.” In that project, artist Chang created large outdoor public blackboards with a series of blank lines inviting passers-by to fill in the end of the sentence: “Before I die I want to _______.”

For both of our projects at Rodef Shalom, I wrote the initial draft of the liturgical combination of the responses, then we edited the pieces together. I also read both pieces from the bima. In both cases, after services, people approached us both to share how they felt hearing their contributions included in the prayer.

Part of the success is a thoughtful approach to the formulation of the question. For the Elul Memory Project, Rabbi Henry and I tested two different formulations of the question with staff, asking how the structure of the question might change the answer.

The blackboards have proven to be a useful means of capturing both community memories and congregational hopes and dreams. It is a project that can be easily adapted to a variety of holidays or community experiences.

Here is the prayer we created for Shabbat Hanukkah:

Rededication, A Hanukah Prayer from Pittsburgh

The oil,
That one cruse of pure oil,
Made holy for the dedication of the Temple,
That should have lasted only one day,
Lasted for eight days
Until new, pure oil for the Eternal Lamp
Was prepared.
We rededicated holy space
To God and the people of Israel.

That light shines now in Pittsburgh.
The ancient light, 2,000 years old,
Shimmering across millennia from the dedication of our ancient home,
Mingles with the glow of the lamps we light tonight,
Our rededication to:

Family and friends,
Patience, Empathy, Sympathy.
Health and sobriety.
Meeting neighbors.
Learning from each other.
Petting more animals.
Hugging.
Listening.
Breathing.

We rededicate ourselves to kindness,
Building a more peaceful world,
Combating hate,
Acts of compassion to one another.
Tikkun olam, repairing the world.
Tzedakah, giving charity.
Taking risks and being vulnerable.
Being the action of love.
Simply… being.

This is not easy
With broken hearts.
Yet this is who we are.
Inspired by the past,
Inspired by our faith,
We rededicate ourselves,
In this new generation,
To holiness and sacred convocation.

We will be vigilant in support of Jews, Judaism, and Jewish education.
We will be vigilant in advancing the dignity and the rights of all people.
Positive thinking and openness to new ideas,
Considering other points of view,
Trusting the mystery of life.
Paying forward these gifts.

To speak gently, with fewer words,
Criticizing less and helping more.
Simply doing the right things,
With dedication to truth.
With dedication to understanding.
With Peace –
Saalam, Shalom –
Udo, Paz, Vrede, Mиp, Paix, Friede –
In every language,
In every land,
Peace.

The flame from that oil,
That one cruse of pure oil,
Still shines upon us,
Within us,
From those days
To this season.

By Alden Solovy and Rabbi Sharyn H. Henry
© 2018 Alden Solovy and Rodef Shalom, Pittsburgh

—

Alden Solovy is a liturgist, author, journalist and teacher. His work has appeared in Mishkan R’Fuah: Where Healing Resides (CCAR Press, 2012),L’chol Z’man v’Eit: For Sacred Moments (CCAR Press, 2015), Mishkan HaNefesh: Machzor for the Days of Awe (CCAR Press, 2015), and Gates of Shabbat, Revised Edition (CCAR Press, 2016).He is the author of This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day, published by CCAR Press in 2017, and This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings,now available!

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Chanukah

What’s It All About?

I know, for sure, that it’s not about the presents. It’s also not about the gelt. I don’t think it’s really about the dreidels. And, I’m pretty sure it’s not really about the candles.

So, what is Chanukah really all about? Well, it’s definitely about giving. It’s also about sharing. I really think it’s also about having fun. And I’m pretty sure it’s really about light.

Even more than all that, the real meaning of Chanukah is “faith in miracles.”  When we think of Chanukkah, more often than not, we first think of giving gifts and gelt (money), eating latkes and sofganyiot (donuts) and lighting the Chanukiah (Chanukah menorah).   However, to find the real meaning of Chanukah, we must look beyond all of that. We must look at what is the reason for the latkes, the dreidels, the Chanukiot and the candles.

Most of us know that the story of Chanukah is a story about how the small army of the Maccabees fought for their right to practice Judaism and even had to fight for their survival.   We know that when they won, and they re-dedicated the Temple they found oil which lasted for 8 days, instead of what appeared to be only enough oil for one day.

However, there is more to the story than just that.  The fact that this amazing group of Jewish survivors found any oil to relight the flame was a mere miracle, and the fact that the oil lasted for eight days was an even greater miracle. Perhaps, though, the greatest miracle of the Chanukah story was that the Maccabees and Judaism survived and to this day, continues to thrive as we continue to keep the flame burning. As we discuss the ancient story of the miracle of the Maccabees, it can only be paralleled to the modern miracle of Israel’s formation and survival, as well.

Chanukah is a time in which we have the opportunity to appreciate all the miracles God performed for the Jews throughout our history, and it’s also a time for us to think about all the miracles we experience in our own lives. Chanukah should also serve to remind us of being open to the possibility of miracles in each and every day of our lives.

When you spin the dreidel and look at the letters which represent the words, “Nes Gadol Hayah Sham” – “A Great Miracle Happened There,” may we be always open to receiving and appreciating miracles in our own lives- here and now!

—

Rabbi Emily Ilana Losben-Ostrov serves Temple of Israel in Wilmington, North Carolina.  She also blogs at www.kaddishformydad.com

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Chanukah

Home for the Holidays: DIY Chanukkah

Your children are actively anticipating Chanukkah, and you want to harness their enthusiasm for Judaism at every opportunity. After all, you have a degree from HUC-JIR. You are deeply invested in getting them to feel personal ownership over their tradition. And you spent way too much time on Pinterest when you had bronchitis after Yom Kippur. You’ve totally got this.

Plan A:

Materials:

  • 4 cups of candle wax
  • Double boiler, in which you really, really do not care about the inner pot
  • 44 weighted wicks (you can use cotton string, weighted with nuts, or prepared wicks)
  • Tall, thin mason jar (any heat-proof jar that you can easily replace will do)
  • Long wooden stick; a skewer will do (for mixing wax)
  • Large bowl you hate, filled ¾ of the way up with cold water
  • Large drop cloth
  • Aluminum foil

Instructions:

  1. Open up the wax; ask your children to touch the wax. In an attempt to tie this into the second child’s science unit, note how the wax is currently a solid but that we are going to turn it into a liquid and then back again. Ask: What observations can you make? Try to come up with an answer as to why the wax “smells like a movie theater.” Re-evaluate which movie theater you go to.
  2. Heat the water in the outer double-boiler pot, while your children “negotiate” measuring out four cups of wax into the inner pot. Remind yourself that practicing conflict resolution is an important life-skill.
  3. Place inner pot into the outer pot. Gently warn the children that the outer pot is hot. Allow children to take turns stirring wax using a long wooden skewer, because your touchstone on practical parenting, Dr. Wendy Mogul, said reasonable risk-taking is important for raising resilient, self-reliant people. Hold your breath to prevent yourself from panic-screaming, “DO NOT TOUCH THE OUTER POT; IT IS SUPER HOT!”
  4. As wax finishes melting, place bowl of cold water and mason jar close together on drop-cloth covered surface. Show children which end to dip into the wax; make sure that they are holding their wick from the top. Gently reemphasize that the wax is hot. Mentally spiral about wax heat and risk-taking. Remind yourself what Dr. Mogul said. Remind yourself that lighting candles in dark times is an important commandment that brings joy, gratitude, and inspiration. Remind yourself that you are pretty positive that Irving Greenberg said, “As long as Hanukkah is studied and remembered, Jews will not surrender to the night. The proper response, as Hanukkah teaches, is not to curse the darkness but to light a candle.” Remind yourself that you want your children to feel ownership over their engagement with Judaism. That Judaism is this beautiful, messy practice that makes your life, the lives of all of those who came before you, and the lives of your children more meaningful. And, remind yourself that if the tutorial lady from YouTube can do this, so can you.
  5. Pour the wax into the mason jar. Take turns dipping wick from wax-filled mason jar into cold water. Repeat until candle reaches desired width, then place on aluminum foil to finish cooling. Note how the change of temperature makes the wax change from a liquid to a solid, neatly tying all of this back into that science unit. Admire that the four-year-olds only want to make squat candles that will never fit into any hanukkiyah/menorah. Declare that those will be used as Shabbat candles. Resort to Plan B.

Plan B:

Materials:

  • Beeswax sheets (cut into 4 inch by 3 inch strips) and cotton string (cut into 4.5 inch pieces)
  • Or just a kit like this one

Instructions:

  1. Lay the cotton wick lengthwise, making sure that the excess all sticks out one side. Roll.
  2. Listen to children as they comment how much easier, less messy, and more beautiful this candle-making process is. Acknowledge their feelings. Make a mental note that simplicity is important, and maybe you should spend a little less time on Pinterest next time you’re sick.

—

Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan, M.A.R.E., lived in Tel Aviv, Israel until recently, and now resides in Palo Alto, California with her lovely husband and their four energetic and very small children.

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Chanukah Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Social Justice

We All Count: Chanukah, Alabama, and Inequality

This blog is the fifth in a series from Rabbis Organizing Rabbis connecting the period of the Omer to the issue of race and class structural inequality.  Rabbis Organizing Rabbis is a joint project of the CCAR’s Peace & Justice Committee, the URJ’s Just Congregations, and the Religious Action Center. 

There is a meditation in Mishkan T’fillah that was carried over from Gates of Prayer: “Prayer invites God’s presence to suffuse our spirits, God’s will to prevail in our lives.  Prayer may not bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city.  But prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, rebuild a weakened will.”  This meditation was penned by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who was personally invited by Dr. Martin Luther King to help lead the march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama in March 1965.  When he returned from that march, Rabbi Heschel wrote, “I felt as if my legs were praying.”

Rabbi Heschel and Dr. King are long gone, but I felt their presence and those of everyone who marched from Selma half a century ago: those who marched and were beaten and clubbed in “Bloody Sunday,” those who tried to march and stopped to pray, and those who finally succeeded in marching to Montgomery, where they heard Dr. King tell us that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”  I felt their presence and even heard from some of them when I traveled to Selma in March for the commemoration of the marches.

Rabbi Fred Guttman of North Carolina organized a Jewish contingent to participate in the event.  We met at Temple Mishkan Israel, the beautiful (Reform) synagogue of Selma’s now tiny Jewish community.  In addition to Jews, those present included members of the African American community, and among them was a contingent from the North Carolina NAACP.  I made friends with a future divinity student in that group.  We were challenged by Dr. William Barber, President of the North Carolina NAACP, who reminded us that “moral dissent can never take a vacation.”

We heard from David Goodman, whose brother Andrew was lynched along with Michael Schwerner and James Chaney in Mississippi during the Movement.  We heard from Dr. Susannah Heschel, daughter of Rabbi Heschel, about the challenges her father set forth for us.  We joined in as Peter Yarrow sang “Blowin’ in the Wind,” just as he had done in Selma 50 years ago.  And we heard Clarence Young, one of Dr. King’s chief advisors, tell us that “the true story of Selma is the story of the participation of the Jewish people and Jewish leadership.

And we saw a beautiful African American woman, short in stature but proud in bearing, who faced the weapons and the hatred 50 years ago.

Then we left, and with tens of thousands of others, crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge.  It was celebratory, and it was emotional, but it was much more than that.

Our gathering in that synagogue was a form of prayer.  It served to rebuild a weakened will.  Much has gone wrong in our country when it comes to creating a unified society.  The Supreme Court has gutted the very voting rights protections that the Selma march was designed to guarantee.  Since then, states have engaged in campaigns of voter suppression.  Economic inequality continues to grow, and racist actions, some trivial, many not, continue to show up on our television and computer screens.  It is tempting to throw up our hands and let the world go on its way.

But Selma is always there to remind us that despair is not the way.  Dr. King and Rabbi Heschel first met in 1963 at a conference on religion and race.  In his keynote address, Rabbi Heschel said,

“At the first conference on religion and race, the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses.  Moses’s words were, ‘Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, let My people go….’  The outcome of that summit meeting has not come to an end.  Pharaoh is not ready to capitulate.  The exodus began, but it is far from having been completed.”

As we move away from Passover, we must recall that we are the descendants of those who challenged Pharaoh.  We are the people who crossed the sea to freedom.  We have to keep crossing it, and bring all those in search of freedom with us.

And this brings me from Passover to Chanukah.  The word means “dedication,” and the holiday celebrates our rededicating the Temple after the forces of oppression had vandalized it.  What I learned in Selma is that we have to rededicate ourselves every day to making this world – God’s temple – into a holy place.  We need to repair the damage that has been done.  That is the true meaning of tikkun olam.  And that is the meaning of Selma.

———

Rabbis Organizing Rabbis is project of the Reform Movement’s social justice initiatives: the CCAR’s Committee on Peace, Justice and Civil Liberties, the Religious Action Center, and Just Congregations.

Rabbi Tom Alpert serves Temple Etz Chaim.

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Chanukah

Chanukah: The Miracle of Giving (Tuesday)

We each have moments when we step back and take stock. Opportunities afforded to us because the year has turned one full cycle and we, clay touched by holiness, are allowed a glimpse into the essence of our lives.

A significant birthday.
An anniversary.
A Yahrzeit.

2 years of sobriety.
25 years since ordination.
3 years since I came out to my family.

Each of these moments transcends time, allowing us – like Adam HaKadmon “in the beginning” – to see clearly the past and our present. They invite us to imagine the future.

Our Jewish holy days, set in the Torah or by rabbinic decree, invite a similar accounting. These holy days cycle back annually, calling us to recall who we were and who we are becoming now.

Rosh Hashana, as the New Year begins, invites us to count our blessings.
Yom Kippur calls us to balance the accounting of our ma’asim and averot.
Pesach, a new beginning, invites us to recount the freedom which we once had, then lost, then with God’s help, reclaimed anew.

Each of these holy days turn us inward to the essence of our lives, and then subtly force our gaze and focus outward to the needs and concerns of our people.

Even the unique convergence of Chanukah and Thanksgiving – Thanksgivukkah? ChanTHANKSukah? Tur-Lat-Key Day? – moves us through the same eternal cycle.

For many, the beauty of the Chanukah-Thanksgiving pairing is that it moves us away from the popular narcissistic “gimme-gimme” culture (gimme presents, gimme food) instead turns our focus outward. We find ourselves being especially thankful for the food, the family surrounding us and the blessings that uplift our lives. If only we could harness those warm fuzzy feelings and transform them into a force for tikkun.

That’s why I’m particularly excited about the relatively new venture called #GivingTuesday.

You know about Black Friday and Cyber Monday – two days, designated in American retail culture for conspicuous consumption and for getting deals. Giving Tuesday — the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, the Tuesday in the middle of Chanukah — is a day when we are invited to give to others to act to create a better brighter world.

I am pleased that the Central Conference of American Rabbis is inviting you to share your blessings – and tzedakah – on #GivingTuesday. The CCAR strengthens and enriches the entire Jewish community and plays a critical leadership role in the Reform Movement through its work by fostering excellence in Reform Rabbis, unifying the Reform Jewish community through the publication of liturgy, providing essential support to rabbis – professionally and personally, and offering important resources to congregations and community organizations. Services to the Reform Rabbinate, in-turn, enhance connectedness among Reform Jews by applying Jewish values to the world in which we live and help create a compelling and accessible Judaism for today and the future.

We will light the lights of Chanukah. We will offer our thanks on Thanksgiving. Let’s transform our warm feelings into real action by supporting an organization which helps us rabbis bring light into the world.

You can make a donation here.

Happy Tur-Lat-key Day!

 

Rabbi Paul J. Kipnes is the spiritual leader of Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas, CA.  

Categories
Chanukah News Rabbis Reform Judaism

The Grinch of Thanksgivukkah

It was cute the first time I heard it. But by now, I’m really annoyed every time it appears on a screen or in print. “Thanksgivukkah”—-yes,  I’ve seen the video, perused the recipes, been preached to by my colleagues on-line who want to explain the commonalities  of Thanksgiving and Chanukah—-the quest for religious freedom, the parallels with the Maccabees belatedly observing Sukkot, the harvest festival (I get it!), and as always (especially in our “foodie” era) the obsession with food.  Also, lest I forget, there is this once-in-a-lifetime confluence of these two holidays (although the date of Thanksgiving having been proclaimed by President Lincoln in 1863 and by federal legislation in 1941, it does not strike me as very long ago in Jewish terms).  And forgive us, our Canadian cousins, for ignoring the fact that you celebrate the holiday on a different day!

Having been a “cranky old lady” well before my chronological time, I hesitate to even enter the fray. Lighten up, I tell myself; and yet….I must ask: why do we always have to compare Chanukah with something else, whether for good (i.e. this year) or for bad (every other year, when it comes near or on Christmas)? Why must we persist in aggrandizing Chanukah by forcing absurd parallels? And how will we argue against the “Christmakkah” appellation next year when we’ve been so pro-“Thanksgivukkah” this year? Why can’t we just let Chanukah be Chanukah?

Over the years, I have come to cherish the smallness of the Chanukah candles. Against the garish cartoonism of much of December’s over-merchandising, the little candles (distinguished only, and then only in recent years, by their rainbow hues) barely (bravely?) stand out. They are meant to be small, proclaiming two unlikely miracles: the victory of the Maccabees (Hasmoneans) over the grand armies of Antiochus IV Epiphanes in the second century B.C.E; and the ultimate survival of Judaism, a minority religious group, among other majority religious groups (then the cult  of Antiochus and Hellenistic religion, later Christianity and Islam).

The cost was often paid in blood, exile, blatant and subtle discrimination. It is not easy to be different, stubborn (“stiff-necked”, as the Bible puts it), or as we used to say in the old days (but are more embarrassed to say now) chosen. Despite everything (“lamrot ha-kol”), despite unimaginable horrors and pressures, we Jews somehow remained Jews and remained a people in the world.

IMG_2787Look closely, the candles seem to say: we’re still here, surprisingly, perhaps. You may have to look carefully for us, because we are more integrated into the larger society (a current de rigueur note: see PEW study). We don’t always “look” Jewish (whatever that means anymore!), our names don’t always “sound” Jewish, we are now major players in the majority world. Could the Maccabees have imagined our status now?

 Yet in our world today, the dangers are still out there—there are those who would still be happy to see us disappear, and would be more than ready to at least blow out the shamash (the guiding candle) that is Israel, if not the rest of us as well. We’re not as safe as we would like to pretend.

 And then there is that other knotty problem, our internal one:  what is it that we’re preserving as a Jewish people? (PEW once again, if you insist on percentages) Why do we still insist on being ourselves, and not just become someone else? Some of our Orthodox family think we Reform Jews have already fallen over the abyss into blatant Hellenism. We can angrily dismiss those claims, but the questions persist: who are we? why do we keep on being Jewish?

 Why, after all, are we still lighting these candles night after night, year after year? How do we keep the little flames alive?

 This year, we have a special opportunity to teach about Chanukah AS IT IS, instead of as the “un-Christmas”; to celebrate our physical and spiritual survival as Jews; to honor a light that never stops burning (as Cynthia Ozick has written, “an urgent tiny flame of constancy that ignites the capacious light of freedom”).

This year, the entire eight days of Chanukah stand firmly on their own, a separate ritual, metaphorically marking a separate people and tradition, which might not have survived without those brave, controversial, and (yes!) fiercely anti-Hellenistic Maccabees  and the creative rabbinic spiritual interpretative layer of a tiny vial of oil.

Do we really have to transform these miracles into an over-hyped, commercialized Thanksgivukkah?

 Rabbi Mindy Avra Portnoy is the Rabbi Emerita of Temple Sinai, in Washington, DC, and is the author of the groundbreaking children’s book, Ima on the Bima.