It's starting to look a lot like ... Chanukah.
Tonight we light the first candle, for it's the first night of this minor, eight-day Jewish holiday that's become a major one in our time. Maybe because of its proximity to Christmas and the temptation to provide some sort of Jewish equivalent.
So tonight we'll recite the old but ever-new new blessings. There'll be songs sung, latkes eaten, and children's games played with a spinning top. But just what does Chanukah celebrate?
Answer: A successful Jewish revolt against a Syrian empire ruled by the Seleucid dynasty of Greek kings some 2,200 years ago.
Well, not exactly. The revolt was not so much against the Syrian emperor, Antiochus Epiphanes (Antiochus the Divine!), as against his attempt to impose Hellenistic culture on ancient Judaea.
Well, not exactly. It's not noised about, but this now celebrated revolt against the Syrians was really something of a civil war between those Jews who proposed to adopt more of the then-fashionable Greek culture and those who rejected it. The rebels viewed its games and gods as a desecration, and fought for the old ways, the ancient practices and beliefs.
It may not be the politically correct thing to say, but this religious festival commemorates a military victory -- of tradition over assimilation, of fundamentalism over modernism, of the atavistic over the supposedly advanced.
Well, not exactly. The military aspects of the struggle are scarcely mentioned in today's celebration of Chanukah. The focus has shifted over the centuries. The very name Chanukah, or Dedication, now refers to the cleansing of the Temple in Jerusalem after it was defiled by pagan rites. Over the centuries of exile, the rabbis succeeded in de-emphasizing the military aspects of the holiday -- much too violent, chauvinistic and provocative for their tastes. After all, the holiday isn't named for any particular battle or campaign or hero. It isn't the Feast of the Maccabees, who led the revolt. Therefore, the real theme of Chanukah is the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem.
In the glow of the candles, the heroic feats of the Maccabees have become transmuted into acts of divine intervention. The blessing over the candles recited each night of the holiday goes: "Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who wrought miracles for our fathers in days of old."
Miracles, not victories. We celebrate His gracious providence, not our military prowess. At Passover, the story of the Exodus from Egypt is told with the same moral attached: It is He who delivered us, not we who freed ourselves. Freedom is a gift from God, not men.
The story of Chanukah doesn't merit inclusion in the Old Testament. This swashbuckling saga of heroic deeds in battle has been relegated to the Apocrypha. A mere military victory rates only a secondary place in the canon. The victory is celebrated not for its own sake but for what it reveals of the Divine. A messy little guerrilla war in the dim past of a forgotten empire has become something else, something that partakes of the eternal.
There is more than a single theme to this minor but not simple holiday. One can almost trace the ebbs and flows of Jewish history, its yearnings and fulfillments, its wisdom and folly, its holiness and vainglory, by noting which themes of Chanukah have been emphasized when in Jewish history. History may say a good deal more about the time in which it is written than the time it describes. The message of Chanukah changes from age to age because the past we choose to remember is a reflection of the present and what it values. When Chanukah is celebrated with pride, a fall is sure to follow. When it inspires humility, we may yet be redeemed. I
f there is one, unchanging message associated with this holiday whose significance changes with the changing times, it can be found in the portion of the Prophets designated to be read for the sabbath of Chanukah. It is Zechariah 4:1-7, with its penultimate verse:
Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts.