Hanukkah: These Lights We Kindle

These lights we kindle are set apart

for the miracles, the wonders,

that you made for our ancestors

in those days, at this season . . .

--HaNerot Hallalu, Talmud Tractate Sopherim 20:6

"A candle, a flame--

Mirror of our life from within,

Can you see it as it flickers in the wind?"

--L'Eyla (words by E. Barenboltz)

"For all the eight days of Hanukkah, we set these lights apart; we do not use them to illuminate our work, but we gaze at them to remember the miracles and the wonders, the deliverances and the great battles you fought through our fathers and mothers in those days at this season . . ."

We recite the words above, each night as we light one more candle, increasing the light within, even as the darkness outside grows greater as the moon wanes from last quarter to new, and as the earth turns us toward the dark of the winter solstice.

What memories, then do those little, flickering lights evoke? They bring back to us a time when the mighty power of the Syrian Greek Empire under Antiochus attempted to erase an exceptional people from the earth, blurring our unique identity, and forcing us to conform to the sameness required of all the people in the remnants of the Empire created by Alexander the great.

They bring us back to a time when the priests and leaders of our people in Jerusalem were willing, for momentary gain and power, to let go of our exceptionalism, and were only too eager to aid and abet the Empire in its purpose of rendering the whole world as they knew it to sameness and conformity, the better to rule us all, to make us slaves to some higher purpose outside our own.

Who then, would stand up to the tyrants and say, "Thus far shall you go and no further . . ."?

It was also a priest, but not one who stood too close to the dark brightness of the power of Antiochus, who called himself a god. It was Mattiyahu, a priest of the village of Modi'in and his sons. And it did not happen at the beginning of the tyranny. For first they said, you must pay your tax to the Emperor. And then they said, you must be like all of the others in the Empire, and go to gymnasium on the Sabbath. And then they said, no longer will we permit you to study Torah. And then they said, and now you must sacrifice a pig upon the altar of the temple, and swear allegience to Antiochus Epiphanes (a god made manifest). You may not circumcise your sons, or in any way set yourselves apart. This that those Jews at that time could not make themselves holy, for separateness is the meaning of holiness.

And with each step by which the unique identity of the Jews in those days was removed, the High Priest and his sons, and his courtiers in Jerusalem told the people that each step toward total subjugation and the loss of identity was a small sacrifice to make in the name of peace and unity in the Empire. And so the people, lulled by their leaders, almost allowed the light within, the flickering flames of their unique identity, to be extinguished in the name of a unity for which there were no shared values and principles. In the cities, they participated not in high Greek culture, but the debased culture of the eastern edges of one of the three empires left over from Alexander.

But the moment came, when in the small town of Modi'in, when one man, a priest, found the line he would not cross, and developed the spine to stand up as a man for the sake of his identity and his exceptional inheritance. That man was Mattiyahu, and when he was required to sacrifice a pig to Antiochus Epiphanes, he drew his sword and refused to sacrifice anything to Antiochus Epimanes (the fool), for he know it was foolish indeed for a man, a tyrant to present himself as something that he is not, and in the name of that lie, to force him and his sons to give up their identities.

In the face of the Syrian Greeks, Mattiyahu and his five sons and their followers fled to the forests, the deserts and the swamps, and fought a desperate guerrilla-style war against the armies of Antiochus' empire. They were hopelessly outnumbered, and out-classed with respect to fighting skill and weaponry, but they had something else: a belief, a conviction that the unique flame that burned within them could not be allowed to go out, and that they would fight to last breath to defend their right to be Jews. Their rallying cry was: "Not by might and not by power, but by G-d's spirit, shall we prevail." (This echoes the verse from Zechariah that was read this morning as the Haftarah for the Shabbat in Hanukkah).

For three long years, the war between an Empire and some guerrilla upstarts went on. In the course of those years, Mattiyahu and some of his sons were killed. But the banner was picked up by the youngest son,Judah the Maccabbee. And following the end of the war, Judah went up to the Temple in Jerusalem and cleaned and purified it for the unique purposes of the Jewish people, and having missed the eight-day festival of Sukkot in the fall, instituted a festival of rededication that we now celebrate as Hanukkah. And in the dark of the sun and the dark of the moon, we light our lights and remember the miracle of our unique identity that shines forth from the flames.

And we are here to remember because one man, a hero and a sage, took up the challenge to protect who he was, in order to pass that exceptional identity down to his children and his children's children, and finally to us, living in the United States now, during the beginning of the 21st century. And so we celebrate Hanukkah, our rededication to our right to be who we are.

The story of Hanukkah, always compelling, is even more so at this time to us as Americans. For we live in a time when there are those who wish to erase American exceptionalism, the unique identity we have, a nation founded on the idea of individual rights. There are those in the world who see our uniqueness as a barrier to a world government to which they desire to enslave all of us to work to fulfill their purposes. They tell us that it is a small sacrifice to make in order to foster peace and unity for all the world. And they conveniently forget to remind us that a sacrifce is always destroying a great value for the sake of something lesser. And we have our leaders and trend-setters isolated in Washington D.C.--that great city--who are only to eager to sell the flame of liberty out for the sake of the idol of peace and unity.

Like the Hasmoneans of Modi'in, we are being asked to give up our rights, our Constitution, and our very identity as a free people, small infringement by small infringement. And like Mattiyahu and his sons, Eleazer, Shimon, Yochanan, Yonaton, and Judah, it seems that we are reaching a point where going along to get along will no longer be an option should we want to retain our unique identity and calling in the world.

Once again, we need a hero and a sage, to cause us to look deep within and see that the same fires burn in our own selves; we need to decide where our lines are, and where our resistance begins. For as our own American hero and sage Thomas Jefferson said:

"Resistance to tyrants is obedience to G-d."

He knew what Judah the Maccabee knew. He knew what we must know: that deep within each of us burns a flame, that flickers in the wind, but that is as mighty and powerful as a star. That flame is the the flame of liberty. And our unique identity is that of a free people who once formed a government not based on power, not based on blood and soil; rather ours is based on the Rule of Law, and the principle of individual rights. Can you see it now?

Keep that flame alive.

Hannukah: Tyrants Disappearing

Hanukkah began last Friday night with the lighting of the first candle and the singing of Maoz Tzur--Rock of Ages. And busy though we were, trying to get out of the house for the Boychick's guitar class concert, we paused to remember Judah the Maccabee, who led Jewish guerilla warriors against the army of the the Tyrant Antiochus Epiphanes--who called himself god--and won. (The Maccabees called him Antiochus Epimanes--the fool, because only a fool would claim to be a god).

Tyranny is a system of government that not only wants to control your resources but also wants to assimilate you, to enslave not only your body, but your mind and soul as well. Thus Antiochus Epimanes wanted not only to steal the resources of the Jews, but he wanted to control their thoughts and beliefs; he wanted to control their every activity from what they said before they ate, what they ate, and how they bore and raised their children. Antiochus wanted not only to enslave a generation but to create generations that would think like slaves. Thus the Syrian-Greek Empire outlawed the study of Torah and the ritual of Brit Milah--the circumcision of Jewish sons. They forbade marriage, and defiled the mikdash katan--the little altar of the family table--by interfering in the education of the children and forcing Jews to sacrifice to pagan gods and to eat pork.
This was done in the name of perfect unity of the Seleucid Greek Empire.

Tyranny was not a new thing then, nor is it old and forgotten now.
All tyrants, ancient and modern, want the same thing: absolute power and control over the lives of the people. They want to create a matrix in which people will serve the interests of the empire without realizing the extent of their slavery. For this reason, tyrants across space and time have an interest in destroying the uniqueness of culture, the diversity of thought and belief, in order to impose one order upon their empires. Thus the attack on ritual and family and education. Thus the elevation of the state and its ritual over the hopes and dreams and desires of the individual. We see this in history with Antiochus, with Ceasar and the Roman emperors; we have seen it more recently with the fascist-collectivist states of Italy and Germany under Mussolini and Hitler, and with the socialist-collectivist states within the Soviet Union.

Historically, Jews, with our fierce requirement of identity and independence, have been enemies of them all, and the more recent of such states have known it and desired to destroy not only our culture and religion, but our very lives.

Currently, we see the same tyrannous desires arising in the name of world government by use of calls for perfect unity and comformity in order to save the planet from climate change, in order to impose equity and the redistribution of wealth. These are new excuses for the same envious quest for power and control of free minds. And despite protests to the contrary, the advocates of this new world order, are already moving to wipe out the diversity of identity and belief through control of ritual and the family and education. And they are moving to destroy the foundation of individual liberty upon which all independent thought and action rests. They are doing so , as they always have, by appealing to people to sacrifice their individual rights to the collective in the name of an undefined "greater good."

This call for world government is no secret conspiracy. It has been openly discussed for over 100 years, and most recently is being openly called for as part of the Copenhagen Climate Treaty. Ridiculing it as a "conspiracy theory" is designed to shut down opposition, but does nothing to change the reality that ever since Alexander the Great, there have been people who want to rule the world.

And speaking of Alexander the Great, the Seleucids were heirs to one of the three generals who inherited his empire. And each of the three set about setting up their own tyrannies in order to redistribute the wealth of the nations they conquered to themselves. They did it in the name of unity and glory and sacrifice. That works.

What the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epimanes did not count on was the fiercely independent spirit of Mattiyahu the Priest, of the small town of Modi'in, and his sons Eliezer, Shimon, Yochannan and Yonatan, and Judah Maccabee.

As was true of many such a person, Mattiyahu tried to go along to get along, subverting the Seleucid new world order quietly for as long as he could. But as happens with such men, there came the day of the last straw when Mattiyahu said the Hebrew eqivalent of: "No. Thus far and no further will I go." And he began the rebellion that became a war against an empire. And after three long years and the deaths of Mattiyahu and many of his sons, the war was won. A band of rag-tag but determined rebels against a mighty king and his empire.

That empire has gone the way of all empires now. As have many after it, from the glory and oppression of Rome to the "thousand-year Reich."

But the spiritual children of the Maccabees remain.

Children of the Maccabbees, whether free or fettered.
Wake the echoes of the song, where you may be scattered.
Yours the message cheering, that the time is nearing,
That will see all men free,
Tyrants disappearing.
That will see all men free,
Tyrants disappearing.
(From Maoz Tzur--Rock of Ages)

The Children of the Maccabees understand that there is point past which a tyrant cannot push a free individual. The Children of the Maccabbees know that, when push comes to shove, a free people will rise up and throw off the yoke of tyranny. And they know that in every generation, there are those who will rise against us to enslave us and that such people must be fought. Now we fight to subvert of their intent to enslave us with our own free action. Now we fight their propaganda through the written word. And we pray that these will be sufficient.

But we know as Mattiyahu did that the free individual can only take so much before she arises to throw off the yoke of the tyrant.
And we know, as Judah the Maccabee knew, that free people at some point decide to die on their feet rather than live on their knees.

We remember Judah Maccabee.

And like Judah, our R3volution comes from love, not fear.

Love of who we are and love of the freedom to be.

And we will never surrender our liberty.

We remember Judah Maccabee.

Eight Happy Nights: Hannukah 2008 Is a Wrap!

A NEARLY WORDLESS SPECIAL

The sun has just set today, ending the minor Festival of Hannukah.

Although it is a minor festival according to the Jewish calendar, it is a major holiday in our hearts. That may be because it is a festival of identity and freedom, celebrated amidst the American Christmas. It may also be because it requires no long worship services, no intense preparation; it is relaxed, and people can go about their usual business during the days. It is only while the candles burn that we pause to enjoy the growing light each night, to enjoy songs and presents, to relax with one another.

On the first night, we lit candles at the house of friends in Edgewood.

Latkes--potato pancakes-remind us of the miracle of the oil. They are also warm and crisp on a cold winter's night. And nobody can eat just one!

There is a legend that Mrs. Maccabee's latkes were responsible for the Hannukah lights!

On the second night, the Engineering Geek led us in a rousing version of Maoz Tzur -- Rock of Ages.

He then reminded us of a family Hannukah story: how and why the Shammash (candle used for lighting the others) stays balanced on his musical Menorah. And how he convinced a gullible friend one Hannukah that it was by balance and magic that it does not fall!

On the third night, we saw that the light was growing. Little by little, the glow was beginning to fill the room.

On that night, the first of two snowstorms for the week had ended, but the Engineering Geek, the Boychick, and his friend A., and I were all snowed in together. This was the night of our best discussion about the Maccabees.

On the fourth night, we had been able to venture out for an hour, and A. was able to go home for he had to visit his grandma the next day.

This was a peaceful night. The three of us sang songs, and then settled down to listen to The Festival of Light CD (Produced by Six Degrees). This eclectic collection has jazz, klezmer, blues and Israeli, including my favorite version of Maoz Tzur on it.

The fifth night was December 25, and because it was during Hannukah, the Synagogue Men's Club did not put on the almost annual Movie and Chinese.

So after spending a quiet day at home in the snow, we made our own Chinese Dinner and we watched an Israeli movie after the candles burned down.

The sixth night was on Shabbat. We lit the candles just before dark, and enjoyed them in the dining room. We ate our Shabbat dinner and sang Shabbat songs, while they burned.

After, it was dessert, the Birkat Ha-Mazon (Grace after Meals) and then a quiet walk in deep snow. No movies on Shabbat!

On the seventh night, we began when we could count three stars in the night sky. Before lighting the Hannukah candles, we said good-bye to Shabbat with the sweet ceremony of Havdalah--Separation-- and sang of a good week to come.

Here, the Engineering Geek and the Boychick look at their fingers in the light of the braided candle as we chant the blessing for fire. The Hannukah candles stand ready in the Menorot.



On the last night of Hannukah, we celebrated many things. The Boychick's 15th birthday. The Chem Geek Princess's return home from England. And the presence of A. and his mom to celebrate with us!


By the eight night, the room is filled with the warm light of candles!

We remembered the miracles and wonders the deliverances and battles fought by our ancestors in those days at this season . . .

Hannukah -Shabbat-Snow Day

The snowstorm that started Friday afternoon continued through Friday midnight and gave us about 8 inches of fine powder.

We are snowbound again, and thus have a nature-made Shabbat as a day of complete rest at home.

Here, the dark, stormy day is seamlessly becoming dusk, as the snow piles up around the leafless Aspen tree on the back patio.

Shabbat is nearly upon us.






On Erev Shabbat, the Menorah is lit before the Shabbat candles. Here, we have turned on the purely decorative window Menorah in the late afternoon, to enjoy it as we prepare the Shabbat Table.

We moved the table that we use for the Menorot from the great room to the dining room, so that we can enjoy the Hannukah lights while we eat the Shabbat meal.




After lighting the kosher Menorot and singing the blessings, the Boychick opens a present.
Although gift-giving is actually more of a Purim custom, in the United States, small gifts are usually given for Hannukah. It is an example of the many ways Jews have borrowed from the cultures they have lived among.

The as yet unlit Shabbat candles are in the foreground. Once they are lit, no other light will be kindled.

In the foreground, the Shabbat table is set, the Kiddush* wine has been poured in goblets and in the silver Kiddush cup, and we are getting ready for the transition from lighting the Hannukah lights to celebrating Shabbat.

*Kiddush, from the Hebrew word for holiness--literally 'Separation'--is the blessing said over a cup of wine that marks the transition from ordinary time into holy time. The wine is a symbol of joy and abundance. Jews tend to sanctify time rather than space.

I have laid the table on my special 'Hannukah-Winter" tablecloth, and I have put silver and blue garland decorated with dreidls and Stars of David on the chandelier above. Although there is no specific decor for Hannukah, it is customary to Hiddur Mitzvah, beautify the commandment, for any Jewish observance. Blue and white for Hannukah is a modern custom, tying the victory of the Maccabees to the hard-earned miracle of the modern State of Israel by using the colors of the Israeli flag.

The storm ended in the night last night, and as the stars came out, the temperature dropped precipitously and the winds became very strong, blowing snow into drifts everywhere.

The golden sunshine is deceiving in this picture, as the temperature was 9 degrees F.

Our morning walk was frigid, though the dogs were happy to go out, and we had to stop frequently to remove packed snow from between canine toes!

We are a little tired of being snowbound, so we are waiting for the snowplow. A few hours away this evening would be a nice diversion!

Hannukah, Teenage Angst, and Snowstorm Malaise

Here we go again!

I love snow. Normally. Really, I do. But in the past two weeks we have had one storm after another. And this week, I have left the subdivision once. On Wednesday. For an hour at the grocery store.

The storms have come one after another, and the county is not doing a great job plowing our road. So we have been snowbound.

And our Hannukah has been strange. Not bad. Just strange. For the second and third night we had the Boychick's friend A. (also Jewish) snowed in with us. For some reason, the Boychick decided that it would be cool to demonstrate teenage angst about the Hannukah observance.

Before we light the candles, we usually talk about the meaning of Hannukah. On each night, our discussion is framed by a Hebew word expressing a Jewish value or a Maccabean value. On the first night that A. was here both boys acted like they had never heard of the Maccabees when we talked about Jewish Identity and the importance of knowing who we are.

This irritated me a bit because, after all, we have spent thousands of dollars and countless hours sending these little tw . . . uh, young men to Hebrew School and Machon. "What do you mean, you don't know much about Hannukah?" I said. Forcefully.

The Engineering Geek said to me (out of the side of his mouth), "This is the result of all those years of discussing the damn December Dilemma* rather than telling the kids straight up who they are and what they are expected to do about it." That may be true. But certainly they have discussed the Maccabees recently? The boys say that they haven't. But I don't want to get started on the state of Jewish education in the Reform movement these days . . . been there, done that, got the blog entries. And anyway, there was that eye-rolling, 'this is just so tiresome' teenage angst to deal with. So I made them watch the Sam Glaser/JewishFan You-Tube. I will leave the heavy sighs and peach-fuzz lip facial expressions to your imagination.

*It is rather peculiar that in the Reform Movement's Jewish Education, they spend more time talking about how it feels to be different in December, and how it's not so bad to have a Christmas tree in a Jewish home, rather than teaching a solid understanding of why we celebrate Hannukah, why it's not a major holiday, and what it has to do with Jewish Identity. In fact, it reminds me of a joke. But I will tell it later . . . Just think about Jessica Tansley's line in Driving Miss Daisy: With a nose like that, she has no right to be hollaring 'Merry Christmas!' But I digress.

On the nights of Hannukah, while the candles burn, we have a rule that all family members will stay in the room, and we will do something together. Usually, we sing some Hannukah songs, open a present, play games, or read aloud. But no TV and no computers.

On the same night as the Maccabee Ignorance Claim, we played dreidl for a while, after A. and the Boychick both opened their presents. A. actually got into it, but the Boychick used those special teen signals to let us know exactly how juvenile and tiresome it all was. Life. With. Parents. Is. Just. So. B-O-O-O-RING.

Bruce and I exchanged glances. And pretended we did not notice any of it. They. Do. Turn. Back. Into. Humans. Eventually.

But when they are being especially obnoxious, when they are performing for their friends, doing anything together as a family takes much more effort.

Over the next nights of Hannukah, I have been ready. On the third night I sat the boys down and said to them:
"Remember in the You-Tube how they said that studying Torah was a capital offense? Do you know what that means? Do you know what they did to the mothers and babies that were circumcised in defiance of the tyrant's decrees?" And we read Hannah and her Seven Sons from one of the books of Maccabees. (These are in the Jewish Apocrypha).

Then the EG asked them: Suppose you lived in those times. First, you were told you had to sacrifice to the genus of Antiochus. Then you were told you had to sacrifice a pig on the altar. Then you were forced to eat pig. Then you were forced to watch your sons compete naked in the gymnasium. Then you were forbidden to teach and study Torah on pain of death. Then you were forced to watch an execution of a woman and her baby because the baby had a bris. At what point would you stand up for your values? Why that point?"

They both responded with some sighs and angst, but then as they disagreed with one another, we actually had a reasonable conversation. Reasonable for teens.
And the Boychick's attitude has become more cooperative since A. went home. Not because A. is a problem, but because there's no one to perform for except parents. And we are not impressed.

Outside, we now have around six inches and the snow is still falling steadily.
Earlier we took the dogs out. They have to go, rain, shine or blizzard.

And our little Tomboy Lily made me reconsider my grumpy reaction to yet another blizzard.

She just loves snow! Her ears perk up, she gets excited. She romps and plays in it.

That's the thing about the dogs. They are always happy about something. They get excited about the important things: Snow. Snoozing. People coming home. Walks. Dinner. Being together.

They may create mischief now and then. But there's never a moment of angst.

Happy Hannukah!

Hannukah: I Remember Judah the Maccabee

Rabbi Sam Glaser brings us a song about Jewish identity, Hannukah in the midst of an American Christmas, with apologies to John Lennon.

JewishFan brings us the story of Judah's fight for Jewish spiritual survival.

Enjoy!

HAPPY HANNUKAH!

Hannukah: Celebrating Jewish Identity

Last night, Jews all over the world lit the first candle on the Menorah, and upon singing the blessings, ushered in Hannukah, the Festival of Lights. The word Hannukah comes from the phrase Hannukat ha-Bayit, which means Dedication of the House. On Hannukah, Jews remember the war with Antiochus the Tyrant, who called himself Epiphanes--"god made manifest." When the war was over, the victorious Maccabees held an eight-day celebration to rededicate the Holy Temple to the service of the Eternal One, G-d of Israel.

Here at Sedillo, as the Solstice sunset lit a fiery sky, we also began the preparations for Hannukah.

This first night, we celebrated with friends in Edgewood. They made a roast and the obligatory latkes, the potato pancakes, fried in oil, to remind us of the miracle of the oil--the miracle of Hannukah. The story goes that when the war was finished, the Maccabees came to the Temple in Jerusalem, to purify it from the depredations of the Syrian Greeks, and dedicate it (khannuk) once again to the service of the Eternal. They found only one small cruz of oil that bore the seal of the high priest, and thus was fit to light the great Menorah. The oil was not enough to keep the Menorah lit for the seven days it would take to purify more oil for the Rededication of the House. But they lit the great seven-branched lamp anyway, and TAMO (then a miracle occured, as the Boychick says) and the lamp burned for eight days.

The oil in the story represents the burning flame of identity within each Jew, passed on from generation to generation, from individual to individual. This is the fire of Torah, burning white fire upon black fire; that covenant that we mark upon the bodies of our sons, and that burns within, transforming our hearts.

Each year, as our children light the candles, the light growing from day to day, we remember Judah the Maccabee, son of Mattayahu the Priest of Modi'in. When Antiochus the Tyrant decreed that all the conquered peoples of his empire must lose their unique identities in order to create a false unity in service to the king, there were many Judeans who went along for the sake of peace, and to consolidate their own wealth and power. But when Antiochus decreed that to bring a son into the covenant by the ritual of B'rit Milah (circumcision), that to teach and study Torah, that to pray as a Jew, that these were all capital crimes, Judah and his brothers stood up and said that they would rather die fighting to be Jews than to live on their knees, subject to the whims of a tyrant.

The covenant of Torah is a Covenant of Law. The Law is supreme over all human beings, and even a king is subject to it. That Antiochus put himself above the Law by calling himself "Epiphanes" made him, in the eyes of the Maccabees, a tyrant and a fool. Thus they called him "Antiochus Epimanes" -- Antiochus the Fool.

The miracle of Hannukah is the miracle of passing the flame of our identity, the knowledge of who we are. We are am k'shei oref -- that 'stiff-necked people' that bows before no man because we understand that no human being is above the Law. In every generation, we have chosen to live the covenant, we have chosen for ourselves and for our children, so that we and they might have the fullness of life and freedom. And too often, we have paid for our freedom with our lives, for that stubborn flame of identity that burns within will allow us to accept no human being as a god to rule us.

To be a Jew is to accept no substitute for freedom. Our story began with our liberation from slavery; slavery of the soul and the mind, as well as of the body. Our story continues as we pass down that stubborn insistence that human beings must be free, that they must be able to choose good from evil, and the Law declares that no one else may choose it for them; that each one is responsible for his own choice.

It may be that in the coming days, we will be required to remember who we are once again, and to stand up for our freedom to live under the Law, bowing to no tyrant. Thus, each year at Hannukah, we rededicate that flame of identity that burns within us. And as we watch our children ignite the fire, candle by candle, we see each one catch flame, the light growing with each passing day of dedication.
For as Zechariah admonishes us, it is:

"Not by might,

and not by power,

but by spirit alone,

says the Eternal."

The Match Consumed in Kindling Flame

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame,





















Blessed is the flame that burns in the heart's secret places,

Blessed is the heart with strength to stop it's beating for honor's sake,

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.









Poem by Hannah Sennesh, a bright light and martyr of our people.
Photos: Hannukah 5768, by Elisheva Levin

Fog, Fire and Ice

The weather has been giving us some spectacular moments to make final exam week and the end of Hannukah more exciting.

Yesterday was my day to study all day for my Neuropsych assessment final exam.

But before I began, I saw the river of fog in the valley below our mountain. The freezing fog had only recently lifted from the hilltops, and the trees were frosted with it.

It was a good day for brewing up a cup of Licorice Spice tea and curling up with my 25 pound Neuropsych book. All day it was gloomy, with snow showers and sleet. I felt very cosy in my warm office. A perfect study day. I got a lot done, even though I spent the first hour organizing papers for the class into binders.

By the time the guys got home from Boy Scouts, I was ready to stop studying for the day. We had another one of those intimate, quiet, no fuss Hannukah candle lighting times. We sat and listened to music as the candles burned down. As the light increases, we are able, more and more to do without the electric lights. I was feeling especially content because I had spend the day well, and could relax in the candlelight. I am sorry that tonight is the last night!

As we got ready for bed, I looked out and saw that the sleet followed by snow had coated the Aspen tree outside our bedroom.

First fire in the Menorah, and then a little bit of ice--enough to make the tree beautiful--and then snow, to end a gray, indoor sort of day.

We did park the vehicles up at the top of the driveway, just in case...

And in the morning, we were glad that we did.

Three inches of new snow fell while we slept, and I had visions of neuropsychological tests for memory, attention, and aphasias dancing in my head.

This morning, the clouds looked threatening, but the drive into Albuquerque was uneventful. We had an excellent discussion of our various papers on adult neurogenesis as our final meeting in Neurophysiology. I felt a little choked up as I left. I will miss that group. We have studied together now through Neurobiology and Neuroanatomy and Physiology.

I had a few hours to review before the Neuropsych final, as the clouds rolled into the city, another gray day perfect for curling up with notebooks at the SUB. And, as an added bonus, they had done the hanging of the greens and the air in the building smelled wonderful!

Now, as we go into the last night of Hannukah, my weather cricket on the computer is chirping at me. Snow advisory. Three to five inches here in the Sandias. I guess tomorrow might be another cosy day.

Hannukah by the Numbers

Fourth. Eleventh. Fifth. Ten. Four. Six tenths. One.


FOURTH.
Friday night was the 4th night of Hannukah and Shabbat. It was a quiet night.
First we lit the Hannukah candles. Next, after enjoying the increasing light, we lit the Shabbat candles. A relaxing dinner. A quiet walk with the dogs. Early to bed.

But we also put the brisket in the oven, a slow roast, to prepare for Saturday night.



ELEVENTH.
Saturday afternoon at the Dojang.

A very special graduation ceremony for N. His first belt advancement for Taekwando.

Six weeks of hard work, and lots of driving on my part, and N. successfully tested into the rank of Eleventh Gup, Yellow Belt.

A lovely ceremony in which the students honored what the old belt meant and honored the new belt.







FIFTH.
Last night was the fifth night of Hannukah.
The light has expanded to the left side of the menorah.
And the table is set for our annual family and then some Hannukah Latke feast and party.

I got out the good china, the crystal and opened a bottle of Chilean wine I received as a Hannukah gift last year. We fried latkes to go with the brisket and carrots, and got out the applesauce.

TEN.
The table was set for ten people, four who live here, five who drove up to be with us, and one who had to work, but was with us in spirit.



FOUR.

Everyone's a Lobo! Woof, woof, woof!
Three UNM students and one alum snuggle under a new Lobo blanket on the couch. L. is my daughter of the heart, J. is my Holiday child, A. is MLC's young man, and MLC herself, in the red shirt.

SIX TENTHS.

It began to snow while we were eating the Hannukah feast.

Six tenths of the total precipitation fell as rain in the early evening ahead of the snow. But nobody got up to look out of the window until the snow began to fall.

Then, one after another, all of us found an excuse to pass by the window and check it out.

ONE.

Morning on the fifth day of Hannukah.
We got one inch of snow overnight.
The pinyon and juniper outside the window sport new, white trim.

You know, it snowed on the 5th day of Hannukah last year, too!
That's Hannukah by the numbers!

Chag Sameach!

Hannukah in Medias Res: Second and Third Nights

Ah, Hannukah at semester's end.


There is nothing quite like trying to celebrate a holiday in the midst of things.


Bruce is completing an important analysis at work, and the customers have come from New Orleans to be briefed on it. He had a school star party on Tuesday night, and a Green Builders Association meeting on Wednesday night.


N. had yellow-belt testing on Wednesday, which meant getting to enought classes in the past few weeks so that he was ready for the testing demonstration.


MLC had a calculus test, a biochemistry test and a physical chemistry test, all during this supposedly "closed week."


And I had to turn in my research paper on Adult Neurogenesis and Depression on Monday, give a WAIS-III demonstration test with a real subject on Tuesday night, write an annotated bibliography on cognitive profiles in autism spectrum disorders and drive the carpool boys to Machon and take Nate for his testing on Wednesday, and (are tired just imaging this yet?) give an in-class summary of the bibliography on Thursday.






Yesterday, I finally managed to get out some of my Channukah "pretties" and get the house vacuumed, and have a normal dinner at home before lighting the candles.


It is definitely a challenge to celebrate in what the poets call "medias res." It is really difficult to manage to get family time and down time in the middle of it all.


In fact, the first lights of Hannukah found us staggering the candle lighting and present opening with different people at different times. I came home a few hours before dusk, had something to eat, and just after sunset, N. and I lit candles and he opened one gift. I was anxious because of the test I'd have to give between 7 and 9 PM--which is past my bedtime! But as we sat and watched the candles burn, and talked about the meaning of Hannukah, I found myself moving into a much needed state of relaxation. We played dreidl for a while, and then I had to leave. But the hour spent praying, talking, giving, and playing changed my outlook for the rest of the evening. Later, Bruce came home, and he and N. lit Bruce's candles, and N. opened another gift and they had some Hannukah down-time in the midst of things.


Wednesday night found us even more insane. N. and I left the house at 5 PM to drive to Edgewood to pick up the carpool boys since it was my turn to drive to Machon. Upon driving into the city, I dropped N. and his Taekwando bag off at Blackman's, the scooted down to the synagogue and dropped the boys off. Then it was back to Blackman's for the testing.



I could not really relax during at the beginning because I was anxious for N.'s success. But soon I was mezmerized by the beauty of the choreographed movements, the forms, the kicks, the falls. N. did beautifully even though he started in...well...medias res, the middle of things.




Bruce picked the boys up at synagogue and brought them back to Sedillo after his meeting. N. and I enjoyed a hamburger and fries in celebration of his test completion, and then we came home and lit candles for the second night.



But last night, things kind of came together. When I came home, intending to take N. shopping, he was watching some of his new Star Trek: The Next Generation (Season II DVD set), acquired on Wednesday evening. I sat down with him. Then we decided to defer shopping until to day, and clean a little, fix dinner and have an island of peace during candlelighting.

It was as N. was reading to us out of the Dangerous Book for Boys, sent to him by his Aunt Madge and cousin D., that I got it.

This is what Hannukah is about. Hannukah is a minor holiday, it is not the Jewish Christmas. It is not related to Christmas at all, except that it usually comes during December. As we had talked about on Monday, and Tuesday, when we commented on making Hannukah happen in the midst of things, the story of Hannukah is the story of Jewish determination to be who we are.


Judah the Maccabee, and his brothers, fought a guerrilla war because they were determined to preserve their unique identity despite the Hellenistic Syrian king's desire to make them into Greeks.

In some sense, we face the same phenomenon today, except that the war is internal. The dominant, secular culture urges us to join in with the Christmas frenzy. Not to turn us into Christians, but to turn us into unthinking consumers, and to absorb us, as well as Christians, into a culture of interchangable parts. A culture in which holidays are not Holy Days, but rather a concentrated period in which we sacrifice our uniqueness on the altar of the new Moloch, the improvement of the GNP at the expense of our humanity and our unique identity.

Lighting the candles, deliberately slowing down, reminding ourselves of the miracle of Jewish survival, reminds us that we have an identity beyond the busy-ness and the achievements, and the pressure to assimilate to a shallow, consumer culture.

When Hannukah comes in the middle of things, we must choose more deliberately to not work while the candles burn, to sit down with one another, to think about who the Eternal has created us to be. And this is the meaning of Hannukah. The reason for the lights, the latkes, and the dreidl.

Nes gadol haya sham. A great miracle happened there. The sons of Mattiyahu in Modin prevailed in remaining Jews and making a new birth of Jewish life. Many great miracles have happened in other days at this season. The Jewish people have survived crusade, pogram, and holocaust.

Nes gadol hoveh po. A great miracle is happening here. When we "light our candles, sing our songs, and play our games" in the middle of it all, we are bringing holiness and light into a dark world. We are, by the Spirit of the Eternal, putting ourselves in touch with who we really are. We are placing our lives, our bodies and our very selves on the front lines of the battle to be Jews.

Who would have thought that the letters on a simple little top, would remind us of the words of the prophet Zechariah, read in the Haftarah of the Shabbat in Hannukah?

"Not by might, and not by power, but by my Spirit," says the G-d of Armies."



Year after year, during Hannukah we learn holiness in the middle of things.

These Lights are Holy...

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

Ha-nerot halla-lu anachnu madlikin...

We kindle these holy lights...










...al ha-nissim...

... for the miracles,

and wonders,

and salvations,

and battles...






...ba-yamim ha-hem, ba-z'man ha zeh...

...that You performed for our ancestors,

in those days,

at this season.

...ha-nerot hallalu kodesh hem...

...On all of these eight nights of Hannukah,

these lights are holy. We may not use them,

but only gaze at them intently,

...v'al y'shuatecha...

...so that their light may arouse us to give thanks to Your Great Name, for all Your miracles,

and all Your wonders,

and Your acts of deliverance.

Chag Sameach Hannukah!

Hannukah Lights

This weekend we were busy and I did not get a chance to make an entry.
On Shabbat, we went to a Bar Mitzvah--we were ushers because N. is the next Bar Mitzvah. When Shabbat was over, I was busy with getting my e-mail caught up. Yesterday, I mopped the floors and cleaned the bathrooms while Bruce worked on preparing to put a new tub into our bathroom. But we did get up early yesterday to see the totally awesome conjunction of Mercury, Jupiter and Saturn. They rose at about 6:00 AM and were visible until just before sunrise on the south-eastern horizon.

Friday evening we had my daughter's gentleman-friend over for Shabbat dinner. I had baked him a pie since he helped with the tub last weekend. He came in and immediately asked why we don't have our "Hannukah Lights" on. (Our house had white twinkle-lights on the eaves when we bought it. We have not taken them down but neither have we ever used them. They are white light and would ruin night vision for astronomical observations). The conversation went like this:
A.: "Why don't you have your Hannukah lights on?"
Me: "They are not Hannukah lights and anyway Hannukah does not start until next week."
A.: Aw--why not turn them on? They are on the house."
Me: "We don't do that."
A.: "But why not?"
Me: "We don't do that."
And the conversation went on to other things.

The point here is not that A. was trying to get us to celebrate Christmas, but that A. does not understand what Hannukah is. I have noticed that Christians, whether nominal or religious, who celebrate Christmas according to the customs here in the United States, tend to think of Hannukah as sort of a Jewish version of Christmas. They may be somewhat aware of the story we tell about Hannukah (the miracle of the lights) but they do not get at all the meaning that Jews ascribe to that miracle. So here, in short, is an explanation of the meaning and purpose of the celebration of Hannukah.

Hannukah is a minor holiday (that is it was not biblically ordained) and it commemorates the victory of the Maccabees (a priestly family) in a guerilla war against the Selucid tyrant, Antioches IV (called Antioches Epiphanes--meaning Antioches who is god made manifest). That war was the end result of an assimilationist religious policy that Antioches mandated for all the nations of the Selucid empire. (This empire was ruled by Hellenized Syrians from Antioch). The purpose of the policy was to unite the empire under one religious system in which all subjects were required to pay homage to Antioches and were also free to worship their own gods as secondary deities. This was acceptable to most of the subject cities of the Selucids, but it was not acceptable to certain Jews in Judea and the Galilee. Many of the Jews living in these places were quite Hellenized--they spoke the Koine, they went to the gymnasium, and they even tolerated the command to make sacrifice in homage of the emperor twice a year. The high priests often also had Greek names (such as Jason or Alexander). For this reason, as the edicts came down from Antioch, the response of the Jews as a whole was to tolerate them, while secretly they called the emperor "Antiochus Epimanes" which means "Antiochus the fool." However, there were some Jews, such as the priestly family of Mattiyahu in Modi'in, Judea, whose tolerance was limited. When the emperor commanded that pigs be sacrificed in his honor in all of the temples of the Selucid empire (including Jewish synagogues and the Temple in Jerusalem), these Jews protested. Circumcision and the study of the Torah was then forbidden--which created an open rebellion by the sons of Mattiyahu, including Judah called Maccabee. After three years of war, Antioches gave up and the Maccabees became the rulers of Judea and the Galilee. They had missed the celebration of Sukkot (a major festival that lasts 8 days), so when they rededicated the temple (Hannukat ha-bayit), the proclaimed a holiday to last 8 days beginning on the 25th day of Kislev (approximately mid-winter in the Hebrew calendar). That is the holiday of Hannukah--meaning rededication. The story of the lights does not appear in the books of the Maccabees (which are NOT part of the Jewish Bible because they were written in Greek and not Hebrew). The miracle of lights is a Rabbinic midrash that appears in the Talmud, when the celebration of Hannukah was already customary among the Jews.

The meaning ascribed to the celebration of Hannukah is that of resistance to assimilation. We live among the nations but we have our own identity. We say the Al-Hanissim prayer during the eight days, reminding ourselves of "the miracles, wonders, and battles" which the Eternal "did for our ancestors in those days at this season." Those miracles, wonders, and battles resulted in the survival of our people as a people apart. Hannukah happens for eight days sometime between Thanksgiving and New Years Day on the western calendar. However, it is not even remotely related to Christmas--which is a major Christian Feast and also a major Madison-Avenue mid-winter Event. Religious Christians celebrate the Feast, but most secular Americans celebrate the Event. As a Jews, my family does neither, though we do recognize that our Christian neighbors are celebrating a major feast. I enjoy looking at the lights and I appreciate the joy Christians feel at this time. However, it is inappropriate for me, as a Jew, to keep Christmas as a Christian feast because I am not a Christian. It feels even more inappropriate for me, as a Jew, to celebrate the Event of Christmas, which has pagan roots and tends to ignore the religious aspect so important to my Christian neighbors.

Hannukah is a holiday during which Jews celebrate the right and responsibility to be who we are. In our celebration of Hannukah, we commemorate the miracle of our persistance as a people who have retained our identity despite the many times tyrants have tried to make us assimilate throughout our long history. For these reasons, I find it disingenuous to put up "Hannukah" lights or have a "Hannukah Bush" in my home. These assimilationist practices are contrary to the purpose of commemorating the victory of the Maccabees. As our rabbis taught us, that victory should not be remembered primarily as a military victory but as a victory of the Jewish spirit. The miracle of the lights is a metaphor for the miracle of the continued existence of the Jewish people as a people with a unique identity among the nations. At Hannukah, as we chant the blessings and sing the songs, I am reminded that it is my responsibility and my privilege to guard the stubborn flame of Jewish identity for my children and their children.