What Would the Maccabees Do?

Hanukkah 5783

Monique B, UMJC Executive Director

Hanukkah begins on Sunday night and lasts eight nights, and this year our very minor Jewish holiday overlaps with a very major Christian holiday. You may have heard of it.

Jewish people have enjoyed a sense of welcome, limited at times, within American society since before our nation’s founding. As a result, we have developed a uniquely American way of celebrating Hanukkah, with eight nights of gifts to our children (to rival the Gentiles’ haul of gifts under their trees), Hanukkah-themed decorations for sale at the local Target or Bed Bath and Beyond, and Chabad-sponsored menorah lightings in our town squares.

When our Gentile friends or co-workers ask us “what’s Hanukkah about, anyway?” we tend to give them sugar-coated references to light, miracles, and funny games with spinning tops. But this is only half of the story.

The full story of Hanukkah must include the catalyst: a tyrant invaded our ancestral land and made our way of life illegal. He offered wealth and power to Jewish priests and landowners, in exchange for tolerating the subjugation of pious Jewish peasants. In so doing, he corrupted our priesthood, paving the way for a complete desecration of our sacred Temple, making it impossible for us to make kosher sacrifices on a tainted altar. Soon his regime outlawed circumcision of infants and the study of our sacred texts. Antiochus’ soldiers occasionally forced random Jewish leaders to make pagan sacrifices in front of their neighbors, a potent humiliation tactic. If his regime had remained for a generation or two, the unique way of life of the Jewish people would have been forever erased. The Messiah would not have come. The nations would still be worshiping rocks and sticks. 

Under Antiochus’ regime, many of our people accommodated the new reality for the sake of survival. They pretended to be good pagans in public, and held on to the scraps of Judaism they could still practice in private. But a band of religious zealots planned a rebellion in the caves of Judea, and waged a prolonged campaign of guerilla warfare that finally drove out the occupiers. When we recaptured Jerusalem, we had to immediately contend with our polluted Temple. Before our way of life could be restored, before a single sacrifice could be made on the rebuilt altar, before anyone could seek ritual purification, the eternal flame of the Temple menorah had to be relit. And so it was, and so we endured as a stubbornly resilient people. Foreign empires be damned.

For over two thousand years we have dared to light miniature menorahs and display them outside our homes, not as an act of nostalgia, or an attempt to compete with Santa, but as an act of defiance. Throughout our people’s history we have been beaten down by tyrants who seek our extermination. Every civilization that has sought our destruction has become a memory to be studied in dusty museum archives. But we are still here. The people of Israel live.

As antisemitism rises around the world, it is right for us to remember this era in our people’s history. It is no longer safe to be Jewish in Putin’s Russia—the Jewish community is leaving in droves. On the subways and streets of New York City, Jewish people are attacked once every 16 hours. In the last few weeks, those attacks have increased in ferocity and in frequency, inspired by Kanye West and Kyrie Irving’s endorsements of Black Hebrew Israelite ideology—which preaches that the “real” Jews are black Africans, and that we are the fakers. On the airwaves, and on social media platforms like Twitter, Telegram, Gab, and Truth Social, antisemitism and Holocaust denial are trending.

Everywhere that Jewish people have ever gone, in every society where we have sought asylum, the welcome mat has eventually been pulled. We are too strange and too stubborn to fit into Gentile societies—this was true for our patriarchs and matriarchs, for Moses, Daniel, Esther, and the Maccabees. It is still true today. Our very identity predates the concepts of race, religion, and nationality. So we are eternally treated as a “problem” to be solved. And our enduring survival in spite of everything they have thrown at us aggravates our haters even more.

What are we to do, as Messianic Jews living in 21st century America, when antisemitism is trending? We tread on especially treacherous ground, because some antisemites call themselves Christians, and for them, we are the only “acceptable” kinds of Jewish people, due to our fidelity to Yeshua. Sometimes they visit our synagogues, pray alongside us in our pews. If they stick around long enough, they inevitably heckle and pester us about our unique mission. “It’s too Jewish,” they say. “Too Jewish,” like that’s a bad thing. “Too Jewish,” as if it’s ever remotely possible for a synagogue, of all places, to be too Jewish.

What should we do when we face people like this? How do we discern our friends from our foes in such a turbulent environment? Should we serve as tokens for antisemites who call themselves Christians, enjoying a limited sense of elevated status in their midst? Should we depend on their donations and make excuses for their ignorance? Or do we have a special duty to correct their skewed perspective, and call them to make teshuva?

If our community is going to stand for anything, if it is going to mean anything in the broad scope of human history, and in the kingdom of heaven, let it be this: that it is entirely impossible to follow the Messiah of Israel while harboring resentment, envy, or hatred for the people of Israel. If we are going to be known for anything, it should be for making our homes, our neighborhoods, even our workplaces, more Jewish than we found them.

As you light your Hanukkiah this weekend, place it proudly in your windowsill. When your neighbors ask, “What’s Hanukkah all about anyway?” tell them that a tyrant invaded our ancestral land and tried to make our way of life illegal. We drove him out, and he met the same fate as everyone across history who has sought our destruction. We’re lighting these candles to thank the God of Israel for the miraculous and enduring survival of the people of Israel. Our people have walked through endless trials, and we’re still here. If that’s not abundant evidence for the existence of God, then nothing is.

As we add to our daily prayers during the week of Hanukkah:

You delivered the mighty into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few, the impure into the hands of the pure, the wicked into the hands of the righteous, and the degenerates into the hands of those who cling to your Torah. And you made for yourself a great and holy name in your world, and performed a great salvation and miracle for your people Israel, as you do today.