Spreading Light in Dark Times

Hanukkah 5781

Monique B, UMJC Executive Director

2184 years ago today, a pagan despot sacrificed a pig on the altar of the Temple in Jerusalem. Antiochus chose the short days and dark nights of Kislev for this disgusting deed on purpose. His goal was the complete demoralization of the Jewish people, who clung stubbornly to monotheism, despite their pagan occupiers.

Right after desecrating the Temple, Antiochus dispatched his troops across Judea to enforce a new decree: Judaism was now illegal. Observance of Shabbat, circumcision of Jewish infants, and studying Torah were now punishable by death. As a show of compliance, Jewish leaders would be forced to eat treyf in public, and make elaborate sacrifices to foreign gods.

The soldiers only made it 12 miles out of Jerusalem before encountering outright defiance. You see, Modiin was home to Mattityahu the Kohen, the father of five strapping young men. When Antiochus’ representative arrived to put on their demonstration of public humiliation, Mattityahu threw a spear through him (and the Jew who stepped forward to play along, too).

“Whoever is for God, follow me!” was his rallying cry, as Mattathias and his sons retreated into the Judean wilderness to organize their rebellion. Together the Maccabees (“the Hammers”) and the Hasideans (“the Pious”) fought a lopsided guerilla war. Their goal was to do more than simply shoo away the Greeks — they sought a return to the era of the biblical Judges, when strongmen (and women) would rally simple Jewish farmers, herders, and sailors to take up arms as the need arose.

For three years the Maccabean coalition fought, on multiple fronts. The Seleucid-Greek Empire deployed their greatest weapons of war — even armored elephants came to Israel’s shores — in their attempt to put down the rebellion. They forgot that the God of Israel was on the other side, the same God who delights in redeeming the Jewish people through miracles.

Three years to the day after Antiochus placed a pig on the altar of our holy Temple, the Maccabees liberated and rededicated it, creating the new festival of Hanukkah which we celebrate tonight. Once again the Temple blazed with the light of the newly consecrated menorah, once again Jerusalem was restored to its status as the holy city on a hill, shining the light of God’s oneness over a world plunged into darkness.

We come to Hanukkah this year in a time of profound darkness. 2934 Israelis have died of COVID so far. In America the number is even more staggering, at 290,000 dead (including over 3000 just yesterday). In both countries, the virus has taken an extreme toll on Hasidic and Orthodox Jewish communities, where children and the elderly live side-by-side in densely populated homes.

To slow the spread of this terrible plague, we are asked to isolate ourselves. But we are not a people who thrive when we are left alone. Judaism isn’t a way of life for rugged individuals. Every aspect of Jewish life is meant for community — Shabbat doesn’t feel right without a dinner table full of hungry guests, a bris depends on a living room full of nervous uncles and cousins, a wedding demands a circle of joyous and sweaty dancers, a funeral requires a minyan of supportive mourners. Every single ritual we do is tangible and communal: we touch and kiss the Torah, we share the challah, we place our hands on the children to give them our blessing, we bathe the bodies of the dead.

Tonight we begin lighting candles together, likely in groups that feel far too small. We’ll connect through screens that filter out the smell of latke grease that tends to linger in the air. If there is a toddler in your life, you might not get their chocolate gelt fingerprints on your freshly ironed blouse. Instead, you’ll blow kisses to each other over FaceTime. I want to validate your disappointment — this is not the way Jewish life is meant to be lived. Some connection is indeed better than none at all, but real community life (the kind with the sticky fingerprints and the floor full of crumbs) is a thousand times better.

I want to bless you that you should find joy in these difficult circumstances. That you should be inspired by the Maccabees, who clung stubbornly to their hope for brighter days, even on the very darkest nights. The Maccabees drew their name from a glorious acronym — Mi Chamocha Ba’eilim Adonai (“Who is like you, O Lord among the Gods?”). May their choice to rise up and worship God, even in confining circumstances, serve as a template for us today. They had the boldness to declare, “A Great Miracle has Happened Here!” even in the midst of suffering. May we do so as well.