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HANUKKAH IN AMERICAby Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon "We were living among people whose Jewish identity was affirmed in every part of their society." It was bone-chillingly cold. That's mostly what I remember-an actual aching, freezing pain that rose from the flagstone floors, penetrated the soles of your feet, and moved up your body until you felt a dull agony that no feeble kerosene heater could relieve. The nights were dark, frozen, and long, and the days were dark, frozen, and short. Nothing relieved the pernicious winter chill, certainly not the bleak natural world outside. That was the Hanukkah I spent in the Holy Land of Israel. It wasn't merely that we were in the holiest city of all, Jerusalem, a windy, mountain town built exclusively out of aesthetically-pleasing-but-guaranteed-not-to-insulate stone. It wasn't only that our apartment had heat for four hours a day, two in the morning and two at night, which at its apex heated the high-ceilinged space to a balmy 45 degrees. It wasn't the lack of hot water for showers, or the long, unsheltered walks we had to make to get anywhere we needed to go. It was just that infernal feeling in your aching bones that this winter would last forever, and you would never again be warm... And there was something else missing besides physical warmth. All my life, I have loved Hanukkah. Not, perhaps, above my chiefest joy, but nonetheless Hanukkah is a favorite holiday: for the beauty of the candles burning gradually down, for the great songs, for the marvelous smell and taste of latkes-a smell that remains in the house roughly until Purim-for the eternal drama of its good vs. evil story, for the spiritual warmth of the company of family and friends, Hanukkah is as satisfying a Jewish experience as you can have, the one Jewish holiday you don't really have to explain to a non-Jewish world. In the United States it's a big deal, a festival that most Jews observe, fully understanding that it is a far more authentic-and more enjoyable-holiday than any other December festival in existence. Yet in Jerusalem, Israel, the center and heart of the Jewish world, Hanukkah was simply not that big a tzimmes-or, should I say, latke. People lit candles and put them in windows, there was a big rally out in the distant suburb Modin, (hometown of the Hasmonean family, the Maccabees), there were a few small parties. Sufganiyot, jelly donuts fried in oil, were suddenly available at bus stations all over town. That was it: no Hanukkah bazaars, no big celebrations, no special music for a month, no presents for everyone... life pretty much went on as usual, hectic, wintry, and cold, not much alleviated by the Chanukiot, the Hanukkah menorahs sitting outside of houses in glass boxes. And so, to flee the unexpected disappointment of Hanukkah in Jerusalem, a few of us took a tiyul, a journey north to the spiritual center of Tzefat, picturesque hill town in the Galilee. Tzefat is the place where Kabbalah really came of age in the 16th century, and it retains a mystical, holy quality. What we didn't know was that we had journeyed to the only town in Israel that, in December, could legitimately claim to be physically colder than Jerusalem. I don't remember the details of that weekend especially well-I do remember wearing all the wool sweaters I owned at the same time-except that it was run by a group that really wanted me to become Orthodox. I don't remember the study sessions, or the services, or even the candle lighting. But I do remember three things from that weekend. The first was the cold, of course, a memory of profound chill that still sets my teeth to chattering. The second was the starlit beauty of the town of Tzefat, iced over but shimmering in a pristine, unearthly glow. You could easily imagine God being closer to winter-time Tzefat than any other place in the world, as you could easily imagine the same of Jerusalem in summer or fall. You could understand the passion of men and women who fought to keep their country, their heritage, and their Judaism complete and pure. And the third piece that I remember was the camaraderie of other Jewish students, all seeking another connection to God, to Hanukkah and to one other. We all felt, I believe, some of the same disappointment. Here we were in a country where we were not inundated by "seasonal" carols in every elevator, where commercial messages of the urgent need to purchase expensive gifts did not explode from every available surface. Here we could truly celebrate a Hanukkah that captured the meaning of the Hebrew word: dedication, commitment, education. And here people just didn't seem so motivated. And then it hit me: in Israel, you could be a Jew all the time, could celebrate the chagim, the festivals as a matter of course. Hanukkah was a perfectly nice holiday, but no Rosh Hashanah. We were living among people whose Jewish identity was affirmed in every part of their society. They didn't need Hanukkah the way we do. But in America we need these holidays-like Hanukkah. Surrounded by a culture that reflects other values than our own, inundated by messages of an alien religion and practice, we need to define ourselves openly and outwardly through holiday celebration. We can't just assume that our Judaism will thrive on its own; we must pro-actively seek to make it real, relevant, exciting, and vital. We must light candles every night. We have to make Hanukkah a big deal, just as we need to make Shabbat, Purim, Pesach, and Sukkot matter, too. These celebrations alone don't define us as Jews. But they surely help us to define ourselves to the outside world - and to our children, grandchildren, and friends as dedicated Jews seeking meaning in a world enraptured by the superficial and the trivial. And perhaps that's what we needed to learn from the cold of that Israeli winter. For that dedication, that kind of Hanukkah alone can bring us closer to God, and to one another. And the warmth of that contact can bring us heat, and thus, light. May you be blessed with a Hanukkah of commitment, dedication, learning-and physical and spiritual warmth. Chag Hanukkah Samei'ach! From the December 1999 Temple Times |
