Grooving the Anti-Christmas

Growing up, Hannukah was referred to as the “Jewish-person’s Christmas” because of its proximity to that other winter wonderland celebration.  In many ways, we tried to make Hannukah—a lesser Jewish holiday—as important as Christmas was to those around us.  This is why many families have fooled themselves into believing that gift-giving is a big part of Hannukah, joining in with the seasonal excesses of Black Friday and benefitting from the mega-sales opportunity.  After all, what card-carrying Jew wouldn’t like a deal? 

In fact, Hannukah has nothing to do with presents at all.  It is a humble celebration that is all about oil.  Back in the 2^nd Century BC (or BCE, for those of us who attended Hebrew School), the Jews were reeling from their clash with Antiochus IV.  At the conclusion of the Maccabean Revolt, the Jews found the Temple sadly desecrated.  (This was the Second Temple—the first, built by Solomon, was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar in the 6^th Century BCE.)  To reconsecrate the Temple, the Eternal Light would need to be rekindled with sacred olive oil, blessed by the High Priest.   They found only a single jar of holy oil still sealed, which was enough to burn for just one day.  It would take a full eight days to render more oil from the olive presses.  Under normal circumstances, most people would have just waited until more oil could be produced.  Instead, the Jews were anxious to restore their traditions, deciding to light the oil despite the futility of the act.  The miracle of Hannukah is that the small supply of oil burned continuously for eight days, lasting until the fresh supply was ready.  The word Hannukah itself means “rededication.” 

I have always thought this story to be far more exciting and inspiring than the prospect of a week of gifts.  As a small child, I felt this act—yes, let’s call it a miracle—was proof of the benevolent hand of G-d.  Lighting the candles night after night helps to illustrate just how long eight days is.  By adding one candle each day, the glow of the flames gets brighter and brighter, paralleling the growing unlikelihood that such a small portion of oil would continue to burn.  The holiday itself is so symbolic of the resilience of the Jews through the centuries—highlighting our ability to survive and band together despite unspeakable oppression and powerful opposition.  We are a people that takes a licking yet keeps on ticking.

It is a shame that we have obfuscated this simple message with commercialism and excess.  The beauty of the holiday is its message of hope—underscoring that even a seemingly pointless act can go a long way to restore order, dignity and identity.   It is never too soon to start making reparations.  It reminds me of an incredibly poignant scene near the end of Schindler’s List.  Exhausted and broken, the war now over, the handful of surviving Jews, safe for the first time in years, pull out candlesticks and begin lighting the Sabbath candles.  They were starving and homeless, having lost their families and their health—but the only thing they wanted to do was to rekindle a sacred tradition that had been taken from them.  It was an act of victory and defiance, signifying that by their very existence, the Jews had survived.

In my family, we celebrate Hannukah with candles and oil (for frying latkes).  When my kids entered Hebrew School, I took each of them to a Judaica store to select their own menorah (technically, the 8-branched version is called a 'Hannukiah').   My son’s is shaped like an airplane, and my daughter’s has charms all over it of girls doing amazing things.  We line up our menorahs in the kitchen, each of us lighting our own as we chant the traditional blessings.  By the eighth night, the brightness of over 2 dozen candles burning is brilliant and exhilirating. 

In the spirit of true disclosure, the documentation of the Hannukah miracle is a bit convoluted.  Some sources suggest that the rededication of the Temple and the celebration of lights on the 25^th day of Kislev might be a sort of ancient “event smoosh,” taking two events and remembering them as one.  There are enough ancient sources (Flavius Josephus, for one) to document that the “Festival of Lights” derives from that period.  I am unconcerned.  I like to imagine what it must have been like to wake up day after day, 2200 years ago, only to discover that a small supply of oil was still burning.  I imagine a crowd that grew each day as word spread of the miraculous oil--an ancient version of a no-hitter rally.  It would have started the healing process so necessary after a bloody battle, filling them with a sense of victory.  It was, as it remains today, a symbol of survival.

And that, Charlie Brown, is what Hannukah is all about.