by Jonathan Jacoby, delivered at Minyan M'at

Hanukah is an amazing holiday. We don’t restrict ourselves by not driving or not working, we don’t fast, we barely change our liturgy – yet we feel the chag’s presence around us as much, if not more than other holidays. Maybe that’s davka because we go to work as usual on Hanukah, because we bring it with us and it is all around us.

The story of Hanukah is one of our most powerful tales. Because it is a public holiday, so many more people know Hanuka’s stories. I would guess that Jews in this country – and other Americans for that matter – know the story of the “oil that lasted eight nights” more than they know almost any other Jewish legend.

In fact, the story of Hanukah has a power greater than fiction. It is an “explaining story.” It has the power of myth. Through it, we understand our reality, our identity and our fate. It is an integral part of the Jewish narrative.

The question is: Is that a good thing? Does the Hanukah narrative serve us today? Does it explain our reality or forecast our future in a way that helps the Jewish people survive and thrive?

So let’s look at the story and see.

Many of you will immediately ask: “Which story?” Because we know that there are many stories and we know that the most accurate story, historically, is not the one that most people tell and retell each year. In fact, that is why the historically accurate story is, in a way, less important. It does not have any mythic power. Over time, we (meaning the Jewish people) have told and retold a different tale – which we can call: The Myth of Miracles.

Why we chose and continue to choose this story for our narrative is an important question, which we’ll come back to.

Here is how the story is told most often, in this case, courtesy of the website, about.com.

When the Maccabees entered the Holy Temple, they discovered that the Greco-Syrians had defiled the oil that was used for the Temple's menorah. Only one vat of purified oil remained - enough for only one day. It would take the Jews a week to process more purified oil.

Then a miracle occurred. The Maccabees lit the menorah and it burned for not one, but eight days, by which time the new, purified oil was ready.

The first truth we learn from the Hanukah story, which we tell and retell, is that we should believe in miracles.
The second reality embedded in the Hanukah Myth of Miracles is that against all odds, we can – some would even say we will prevail.



Who can retell
the things that befell us,
who can count them?
In every age a hero or sage
comes to our aid.

In this case, again according to about.com, it was Judah Maccabee who, along with his four brothers, came to our aid:

They organized a group of resistance fighters known as the Maccabees. They fought against paganism and oppression. Their tenacity, which came from their steadfast faith in one God, is one reason this military victory has been so celebrated by Jews in future generations.

In one battle near Beit Horon, Judah's small army is intimidated by the size of the enemy army and Judah tells them to have faith that God is on their side. As we read in the First Book of Maccabees:
But when they saw the army coming to meet them, they said unto Judah: 'What? shall we be able – being a small company – to fight against so great and strong a multitude? ...' And Judah said: 'It is an easy thing for many to be shut up in the hands of a few … and there is no difference, in the sight of Heaven, to save by many or by few; for victory in battle standeth not in the multitude of a host, but strength is from Heaven.
Against great odds, after three years of fighting, the Maccabees succeeded to drive the Greco-Syrians out of Judea.

And this is what we have always believed: against all odds, we can prevail.

This may sound trite to some, or like a truism to others, but this belief is an integral part of the historical Jewish psyche. And on Hanukah, we reinforce it in a big way. Because the odds that Jews have faced are the greatest any people could ever have confronted. We retell them each year in the Maoz Tzur, from our slavery in Egypt … to the Babylonian exile … to the curse of Haman … and then the “Yevanim Nikkbetzu Alei,” the Greeks of Hanukah.

There are countless modern addenda to this list – recounting the trials and tribulations of the Jewish people since that time. Here is one of them, an editorial from the Jewish News of Greater Phoenix, published on December 22, 2000. It is titled: “Who Can Retell?”

[The story of] the heroic deeds of the Maccabees and their courageous battle for religious freedom … remains indelibly imprinted on our consciousness, the quintessential tale of right over might, of freedom over repression, of the few standing up to the many. The story endures because it resonates, and because of the unfortunate propensity of human beings to replay it again and again.

This year as we light the Hanukkah candles, the editorial continues, the age-old story is unfolding in the land of Israel – where the Jewish people struggle to assert sovereignty over our land and to affirm our right to live as Jews in a Jewish state, a tiny nation surrounded by hostile Arab and Muslim neighbors.

And, as the Maccabees heroically defeated the Greeks, so the Jews are drawing on both right and might to ward off the Palestinian perpetrators and to prevail …

So … we sing the words of the "Ma'oz Tzur," reaffirming our pride, rededicating ourselves to the preservation of Jewish life, rekindling our determination to endure.

"Who can retell?" asks the song. We can - and we must.


Why is this Hanukah Myth of Miracles so potent? After all, we know that God created Adam & Eve – that was a miracle … and that Moses received the 10 Commandments on Mount Sinai … clearly another miracle … But these and other Biblical stories are not always thought of as historical. Hanukah, on the other hand, feels like part of our history. And therefore, the story of Hanukah – even the historically inaccurate version – has a different impact on us. It allows us to believe in newer miracles, even modern miracles.

How else could Israel have won the War of Independence? I certainly learned that only by some kind of miracle did we prevail. The same is true for the Six Day War.

According to Foreign Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, the same is true for the attack on the Arkia plane leaving Kenya. “Kenya,” he said, “was not a terror attack that was prevented – but rather a miracle from Heaven.”

Does he really think so? Or is he consciously using a powerful myth, so that we’ll listen to him and believe what he tells us? Why didn’t he say: “It was only a matter of good fortune,” which is probably what it was – it just happened that the plane’s crew asked for a different take-off route, not for security reasons but so they could get back to Israel more quickly.

I don’t mean to question Bibi’s ideology here. I am asking whether our belief in miracles serves us, helps us – especially at this time of great crisis. And if it doesn’t, what do we do with the story of Hanukah?

Here’s another example. A couple of years ago, I was talking with a foreign policy advisor to then Prime Minister Ehud Barak. It was not long after the current Palestinian uprising had begun. I wanted to understand what the end game was of a primarily military strategy for dealing with the Palestinians. (For the record, Barak – or at least some of his closest associates – engaged in an intense diplomatic effort until virtually the last day of his administration. But many of his associates had given up on diplomacy after the failure of the Camp David summit.)

After a friendly debate, I think I had finally tired the advisor out. In the end, we will have to find a way to live together. In the end, if they don’t accept us then we lose. It’s not about defeating them, we both agreed.

So then how do we get out of this mess?, I asked.

His answer went something like this: Look, we survived the pogroms in 1937 and ‘38, we defeated the Arabs in 1948, we won the Six Day War. Somehow, we will survive this as well.

These words were not said by a religious man. The advisor is a secular Israeli Jew and he is proud of it. But he believes in miracles. Maybe he thinks he has to.

Now let’s go back to the myth, the narrative that creates the context for our belief that we will prevail, that against all odds, we will survive the current crisis, that even though we are outnumbered, we will overcome.

I love that story. I want to believe it almost desperately. But I also fear that it is teaching our people a dangerous lesson. It is reducing the truth - to a simple point, a simplistic notion. But the realities of today are anything but simple.

Irwin Kula put the question to me this way: What meaning of Hanukah is there in an age of power and uncertainty, as opposed to an era of powerlessness and insecurity?

It was one thing to rely on simple myths, to have complete faith, emunah shleimah, in days of old. But what happens if we believe something so totally when we have real power? What if we fundamentally believe that we will triumph, even though we are outnumbered, and we continue to fight and fight and fight – perhaps ignoring the indications that we might be losing our battle – because we, like Judah Maccabee, believe that “victory in battle standeth not in the multitude of a host, but strength is from Heaven." ??

“Now we got weapons of the chemical dust,” the poet sang. “If fire them we're forced to, then fire them we must. One push of the button and a shot the world wide … And you never ask questions, when God's on your side.”

I want to say here that I am not trying to pass political judgment on anyone’s policies and plans. I am asking whether we need to start thinking differently about truths that many of us, perhaps unconsciously, have held to be self-evident. I am asking whether we are equipped to deal with what Reuven Pedatzur of Ha’aretz calls a world war on Western culture carried out via Radical Islamic terrorism.

Pedatzur asserts that only a global, relentless, focused, coordinated and ongoing campaign against world terrorism may be able to save our way of life. We understand that.

But he also says that the western states must act simultaneously, and in cooperation with the Islamic world, to neutralize the ideological and social sources of this insane and dangerous terrorism. Think about it: He says we have to wage an all out battle against radical Islamic groups, and the states that support them, and at the same time, work with the Islamic world to change the realities that give rise to radicalism and terrorism.

Are we equipped to do that? When faced with the uncertainties that inevitably accompany such a complex strategic equation, where will we find guidance – spiritually, ethically, existentially?

And what about other realities? What about the fact that in about 20 years, there will be more Arabs than Jews living in the area between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean? Or how do we deal with the rising anti-Semitism and the correlation between the spread of that virus and the increasing anger at Israel and Israeli policies? Is there an easy answer to these questions?

It may be familiar or comfortable or even reassuring to believe that, somehow, the few will miraculously overcome the many. It may feel reassuring to sink down into our mythic heritage and say the world is against us or they want to drive us into the sea or the only thing they understand is force. But does that help us? Is that how we will survive? Is that how we will build a future for our children?

We may need simple stories to move us and motivate us. But we also need insight and objectivity and honest analysis. We need deeper understanding and a fearlessness about asking questions and a determination to search for answers. As Michael Paley and Bruce Cooper wrote a year ago: From September 11th onward, we have once again witnessed competing ideologies squaring off against each other. What is now needed is the deeper story of Hanukah, one celebrating the miracle of the synthesis, the middle way, where the world of religious passion and scripture are enhanced by human agency and Western rationality, and where the West is illuminated by the perennial wisdom of the sacred.

One final thought. I quoted Bob Dylan a few minutes ago … A few of us went to a concert a month or two ago, where a young man – probably in his early 20’s – sang “The Times They Are A Changing.” We were listening and resonating to the words. Then we realized: When he sang “Come mothers and fathers throughout the land and don’t criticize what you can’t understand …” we were the mothers and fathers. We weren’t singing the song, he was talking to us!

Now it is time for us to listen to those who are writing the new stories. They aren’t going to feel as familiar, they’ll probably be more complex. I hope they will be because maybe they’ll help us deal with the complexities around us.

Some of these stories will also integrate the simple with the complex, and begin creating new narratives for our brave new world. In that spirit, listen to the words spoken a week ago by my son Jesse at the bris of his new brother:

Dear Joshua,

Welcome to an unusual world. Never all bad, never all good, yet truly unusual. Lucky for you, you have been born into a family filled with lots of love to give. Now I have a brother and, although 15 years and 3000 miles will separate us, we will always be brothers in every sense of the word. I wish you unparalleled success, health, and pleasure in your life. I hope that the harms of the world never so much as cross your path. I look forward to teaching you all I know, and learning from you. May you be forever pure. Welcome to our unusual realm, it’s about time you arrived.

Your brother,
Jesse

Shabbat shalom, chag Chanukah sameach.

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