Hanukkah, Purim And Why Israel Needs More Hanukkah
By: Benjamin Birely
Tags: Israel, Jewish, Judaism, Holidays, Hannukah

Photo Credit: Yaron Kaminsky

It’s not a surprise that the Jewish canon doesn’t contain the Books of the Maccabees. Despite their heroism, the Maccabean revolt produced a short-lived, dysfunctional and Hellenized priestly dynasty that paved the way for Roman rule in the end.

“Judah Macabee”, Arthur Szyk

Within a generation after the revolt, its second major leader and the nephew of Judah Maccabee, John Hyrcanus, was forced to surrender Jerusalem back to the Seleucids after a devastating seige on the city and help them fight the Iranian Parthians.

So much for Judean sovereignty.

His son, Aristobulus I, who starved his own mother to death and possibly murdered his brothers upon seizing power, took the title “basileus”.

He loved the Greek title — in fact, a passionate Hellenist, he loved most things Greek.

While his territorial conquests, destruction of Samaria and alleged forced-conversions of local non-Jews were his claim to fame, he was by definition an illegitimate usurper — for a cohen gadol can never truly be a Davidic King of Israel.

His younger brother, Alexandros Jannaeus (again with the Greek names), sided with the Sadducees and violently persecuted their main opponents, the Pharisees, the forerunners of Rabbinic Judaism.

His sons, Hyrcanus II and Aristobulus II, were ultimately responsible for inviting and succumbing to Roman intervention in local politics, resulting in full Roman control of Judea, Samaria and the Galilee.

The last Hasmonean king, Antigonus II, turned to Julius Caesar for political and military aid before making a last-ditch effort to buck Roman rule with Parthian help. In the end he failed miserably and was executed by the Romans, thus ending the dynasty once and for all.

In short, as far as Jewish sovereignty, self-determination and religious integrity go, their track record was checkered to the say the least.

Presumably, this is one reason the Talmud doesn’t address Hanukkah the same way it does all of our other holidays or observances.

“What is Hanukkah?” the Gemara abruptly asks in the middle of an equally abrupt discussion on Hanukkah candles — as if we should be asking this question ourselves.

“The Story of Hannukah”, Ori Sherman

The answer? Not the story of Hasmonean victories, but that of a one-day oil supply miraculously lasting eight days, enabling the successful purification and rededication of the Temple.

The Rabbis fixed the commandment of lighting the Hanukkah candles precisely to mark this miracle — and not to celebrate the failed Hasmonean dynasty.

However, unlike Purim, there’s no positive commandment to have a festive meal (the Rambam disagrees, but he’s a lone voice.)

Both Hanukkah and Purim celebrate Jewish survival in the face of seemingly impossible odds, but there’s a key difference.

In the Book of Esther, Haman seeks to destroy Jews for being Jews. He wanted genocide for the sake of genocide. The miracle of Purim isn’t just his downfall, but also our opportunity to actually defend ourselves against annihilation— lest we forget the part of the story where we rise up and kill our enemies.

Hanukkah is an entirely different story. Antiochus IV had no interest in genocide. What he did have an interest in, however, was political stability and a Hellenist world order that had no tolerance for rebellious zealots. Rather than a story of Jews being saved from a genocidal maniac, Hanukkah is the story of a group of Jews choosing to revolt against a specific imperial ideology and set of hegemonic spiritual and cultural values in the name of Judaism — or, perhaps more accurately, Judean-ism.

As the adage goes: Purim was a fight for the Jewish body, Hanukkah for the Jewish soul.

And so, on Purim we’re commanded to celebrate with our bodies — to feast, get drunk and run amok (the costumes only started in the Middle Ages). But on Hanukkah, we celebrate with lights, representing the miraculous rededication of the core of Jewish spirituality, the Temple in Jerusalem.

Modern Israel is very good at the Purim narrative. The entire basis of modern political Zionism is creating a safe haven for all Jews —i.e. for Jewish bodies, even those who have very limited Jewish ancestry — and every stream of Zionism from liberal Zionism to Religious Zionism focuses on the physical survival and success of Jews in, and our conquest of, the Land of Israel at any cost.

Purim in Tel Aviv, Photo credit: Oded Balilty/AP

Israeli culture is one big Purim — a vibrant, boisterous, in-your-face, celebration of Jewish physical existence, safety, dominance, strength and prosperity. A close look at Israel today, from the far right of the settler movement to secular, liberal and hedonistic Tel Aviv, shows Jewish identity in Israel is largely about being Jewish for the sake of being Jewish, a Jewish state for the sake of a Jewish state, national pride for the sake of pride — as if simply being isn’t just a start but the whole point…

As if the IDF’s impressive might, Tel Aviv’s night life, the latest app or high-tech company, Black Friday shopping (even during a pandemic), and trips abroad (yes, even during a pandemic) are all enough. Or, as if building a new settlement outpost solely for the sake of more Jews living in the occupied West Bank —again, at any cost — is enough.

Almost as if no challenging moral, ethical or spiritual responsibilities and dimensions come with being here — or with being at all.

But what about our spirit? What about Jewish values, ideas, ethics, morality, philosophy and soul searching, secular or religious? What about the light?

What about Hanukkah?

Perhaps the Gemara’s answer to “What is Hanukkah?” can be read as a challenge to look beyond physical survival and ask ourselves what are our values and where is our light— to look beyond our bodies, and search for our soul.

A challenge Israel so badly needs today.