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.
