How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household

by Blu Greenberg

  The king did not take kindly to resistance. Having all the power on his side, he crushed the resistance with smashing force. The resisters were given a choice, which represented no choice at all to them: paganization or martyrdom. One of the legends of Chanukah is that of Hannah and her seven sons. One by one, the boys were called into the public square and ordered to bow down to the statue of Zeus. Hannah encouraged each child in his refusal. She was tortured by being forced to watch each one die before her very eyes. After her last son was executed, Hannah took her own life.

  But despite this or similar incidents, the king did not get the message; he did not take heed of Jewish determination; he did not understand the implications of Jewish martyrdom. Foolish king that he was, he continued with a heavy hand everywhere. The only thing left for the faithful was to escape or to fight. But with what? With a small, scraggly, unarmed band of farmers, country poor, uneducated, the lowest and most vulnerable strata of society? Jewish children of the next twenty centuries would sing of them as the mighty warriors.

  Who organized these guerrillas? An outlaw named Mattathias of the Hasmonean family. But wait: Mattathias was no outlaw. He was a priest, a pious man, a family man, well educated, a person of status and respect in the town of Modi’in, a peaceful little town not far from Jerusalem. Some might even describe Mattathias as a moderate Hellenist, who appreciated certain aspects of Greek culture.

  In the year 167 B.C.E., however, pig sacrifices were forcibly introduced into Modi’in. There were many Jews who acquiesced, but Mattathias was not among them. On the contrary, he stabbed a Jew who sacrificed in the new cult, killed the king’s agent, and pulled down the sacrilegious altar. Brave but not kamikaze, he could no longer remain safely in Modi’in, so he took to the hills. Thus, he became an outlaw, as did his five sons. Little by little they were joined by other Jews who also wanted to remain faithful to the Torah. Some of them were called Chasidim (pious ones), and initially all they wanted was to be able to escape religious and political oppression and live their lives with fidelity to Jewish practices.

  But that wasn’t meant to be.

  The Hasmonean priest, Mattathias, was not a young man, and he died shortly after he fled. His son, Judah, who came to be known as Judah Maccabee (Judah the hammer), took over the planning and execution of guerrilla strategies.

  One of the remarkable effects of this small band of mountain soldiers was to polarize the population. Until now, many Jews quietly obeyed the Greek edicts, passively adjusting to the vicissitudes of the times, unwilling to risk their own necks. Many went along with the Greeks, thinking it wasn’t all that terrible. However, when either/or choices were forced upon them, a good many of the populace, including some moderate Hellenists, went over to the side of the Maccabees, as Judah’s band came to be known.

  All of the things that we know are conducive to guerrilla warfare—familiarity with the terrain, a sympathetic local population, and a win-or-lose, fight-to-the-death attitude—helped carry the Maccabees along successfully despite their numerical weakness against the great Greek armies. Finally, after three years of struggle, the Jews recaptured the Temple mount, cleaned and scoured and purified the Temple, demolished the pig-sullied altar, and rebuilt and rededicated a new one. They also rekindled the Great Menorah, the six-foot-high, golden, seven-branch candelabrum that stood in the inner sanctuary. On the twenty-fifth day of Kislev, in the year 165 B.C.E., Judah offered Korban Tamid, the daily sacrifice, the first in many years. The dedication ceremonies lasted for eight days.

  There are several reasons to explain the eight days: the dedication of the first Temple, in King Solomon’s time, lasted seven days and people left on the eighth day; another tradition from the apocryphal work, Book of Maccabees (II, 10:6–8), tells us that the Jews were belatedly celebrating Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret. Three months earlier, holed up in the mountainous caves around Jerusalem, they had been deprived of that joy. They vowed then that they would celebrate Sukkot in Jerusalem if they ever made it there alive. So even though it was out of season, they celebrated a full Sukkot, complete with etrog, lulav, myrtle, and willow, as well as with torches that were carried to the Temple on Sukkot from Biblical times onward.

  Would that not have been enough of a miracle for later generations to celebrate—the victory of the few over the many, the pious and faithful over the alien anti-Judaic master, and, not the least, the return of national sovereignty? But the victory was fragile, Judah was killed in battle five years later, the Hasmonean descendants betrayed one another in internecine strife, and the worst of them reinvited foreign intervention, which had been cast out at such cost by their ancestors.

  But the Rabbis of Talmudic times were not willing to forget the miracle that was. They grafted on to it another miracle, the miracle of the lights, to fix its celebration more firmly.

  “What is Chanukah?” the Rabbis asked themselves.

  “On the twenty-fifth day of Kislev, the days of the Chanukah festival begin. There are eight days, during which eulogies for the dead and fasting are prohibited. When the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oil stored in it. After the Has-moneans had established their rule and prevailed, they searched and found one single cruse of oil, still sealed with the seal of the High Priest. But there was only enough oil to last for one day. A miracle occurred, and the supply lasted for eight days. In the following year, they appointed these days as festival days, with the [recitation of] Hallel and with thanksgiving.”

  —SHABBAT 21B

  And that is why Chanukah later came to be called Chag Ha-Urim, the holiday of the miracle of the lights. No one asked why this miracle was not mentioned in earlier sources describing the original Chanukah in detail. It did not seem to matter.

  PREPARATION

  The basic preparation in advance of Chanukah is to set up the menorah or menorot (plural). A Chanukah menorah is an eight-branch candelabrum, plus one—the shamash. Unlike Shabbat candles, Chanukah lights may not be used for any purpose other than to remember the miracle and to publicize it. (Which, in part, explains the tradition that women not do their housework while the candles are burning—to avoid using Chanukah candles as light.) One doesn’t read by the light of Chanukah candles, nor use one candle to light another. Therefore, a Chanukah menorah will always have a ninth candleholder, a shamash, which is used as a “service” lighter. Of course, one could use a match to light all the lights, but the custom arose to keep the shamash burning the same length of time as all the candles, so that if someone inadvertently used the Chanukah lights for illumination, it would be the shamash supplying the light and not the holiday candles.

  To publicize the miracle, the menorah should be set up in front of a window, so that passersby can see and reflect on it. This often requires pushing a table over to the window. If the table is still too low, a few books at each end with a board across will raise the menorah to viewing height. If oil is used in the menorah, it is wise to cover the board with heavy-duty aluminum foil.

  The menorah can be made from most any material. The only specification is that the eight branches be at even height, while the shamash branch be distinguished in some way—higher, lower, projecting forward or sideways.

  Many people use oil, preferring pure olive oil from Israel, for it is specified in the Talmud as “preferred”; only pure olive oil was used to light the Great Menorah in the Holy Temple. However, candles may also be used, and many do use the thin, colorful Chanukah candles. Electric menorot are okay for decoration, but are not acceptable for fulfilling the mitzvah.

  The menorah—purists call it a chanukiah, for the word menorah should be reserved for the original seven-branched candelabrum of the Temple—has come to take a special place in Jewish art and self-expression. Judaism is not a religion of many artifacts; therefore, the few that we do have take on unusual prominence. More than Shabbat candlesticks, menorot are a distinctive feature of Jewish memorabilia; every Jewish museum has its collection, as do many synagogues and many indiv
idual families. Like synagogue architecture, Jews in every country stylized the chanukiah to reflect the unique approach to design of that particular locale. A chanukiah is not something you put away after its eight-day use. It is often displayed on a shelf or hung on a wall all year long. It is a sign that this is a Jewish home, filled with Jewish symbols.

  Some years ago, my nephew, then a twenty-year-old student in Jerusalem, was giving up his furnished one-room apartment. He stored his meager belongings with us for a few days. I found it touching to observe that in addition to his duffel bag of clothing, his entire worldly possessions included a few boxes of books, a Simon and Garfunkel poster, some framed photographs, two mezuzot, and a lovely chanukiah he had made a few years earlier out of wood and glass vials. This is what constituted a Jewish home for him.

  One can make a menorah very easily. Anything that can hold candles or hot oil (the oil gets very hot as it burns toward the end) and that can keep the wicks separate from one another and on an even line is a kosher menorah. For example, eight miniature ceramic cups, lined up and affixed with a small dab of glue to a wood or chrome bar, with a ninth cup off to the side, is a simple, easy-to-make, yet very beautiful chanukiah.

  We have several menorot that are copies of antique ones. They have cavities for oil and flat backs which hang nicely against a wall all year long. But some of them hang there even throughout Chanukah, for I cannot use them. They don’t stand by themselves. I have always wondered how they could have been used, for it would be impossible to hang them and light them in a window simultaneously. At best, they would dangle dangerously. And then I learned that originally the lights were lit outside of the house. In Talmudic times, the Chanukah menorah was positioned against the entrance of the house, opposite the mezuzah, which was to the right of the door. This was done to publicly affirm the Chanukah miracle. In times of danger, the Rabbis permitted the lamp to be hung inside the home. Later, this came to be the accepted way, with the chanukiah hung inside at the entrance opposite the mezuzah. Only in recent centuries have the free-standing menorot become so popular.

  No special meal is required for Chanukah, nor is work prohibited during the eight days of Chanukah. The only other preparations are those that contribute to the holiday mood: preparing gifts, gelt, and dreydels for the children, laying in a supply of potatoes and oil for latkes, and decorating the house to look like Chanukah. Jewish bookstores sell all kinds of decorations for Chanukah, but one can also put up crepe paper streamers and hang Chanukah signs to make it look festive.

  CELEBRATION

  Chanukah lights are lit each night just after dark. If this is not possible, they should be lit as soon after dark as most of the family has gathered. In our house, as in many Jewish homes, each member of the family has his/her own menorah, but we all light together: the menorot are all displayed in front of the windows; on the eighth day of Chanukah, it truly does look like a feast of lights.

  CANDLELIGHTING

  On the first night, only one light is lit, the one at the far right, as you face the menorah. On the second night, when two lights are lit, the second one, the newest one, is lit first. However, inserting the candles or pouring in the oil should be done in reverse direction, from right to left. Thus, on the eighth night, lights are prepared this way, as you face the menorah:

  but they are kindled this way:

  First, the shamash is lit with a match. Taking the lit shamash in hand, but without lighting the other wicks yet, we recite these blessings:

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Chanukah.

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.

  Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam sheh’asah nisim la-avotainu ba-yamim ha-hem bazman hazeh.

  Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who has performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.

  On the first night, we add the Shehecheyanu. As we come to the last few words of the blessings, we light the candles.

  Following these blessings, it is the tradition to sing several Chanukah songs, in particular “Hanerot Halalu” (“These Candles”) and “Maoz Tzur” (“Rock of Ages”), the golden oldie of Chanukah. Both of these songs are about miracles and redemption.

  At least one day of Chanukah, and sometimes two, falls on Shabbat, which appropriately enough is called Shabbat Chanukah. On Friday night, Chanukah candles must be lit before Shabbat candles, a good half hour before sunset. However, in order that they burn long enough into the night to be seen by passersby (at least thirty minutes after sunset) extra-size Chanukah candles or extra-large vials of oil are used. Some people use the short, stubby Shabbat candles in their menorah. I have found that by using thinner wicks, such as cotton bakery string, on Friday night, the oil lasts a very long time. On Saturday night, the Chanukah candles are lit immediately after Havdalah.

  Although Chanukah is a home-oriented holiday, the mitzvah of lighting candles obtains, no matter where you are. If you travel, pack a menorah and candles (oil is messy for travel). And don’t forget to repack it the next morning as you leave your hotel.

  After candlelighting, we distribute Chanukah gifts and gelt. I’m not sure of the origin of this gift giving, but I’m pretty certain one won’t find it in rabbinic literature. Nevertheless, Jews are human, too, and not highly ascetic at that, and since gifts never hurt anyone, especially children ages two to ninety, it is rather sweet that gift giving came to be associated with Chanukah. When our children were younger, we used to give each of them a small gift each night after candlelighting. Contrary to the nay-sayers, gifts do not distort one’s perspective on the holiday nor confuse it with Christmas in the mind of a firmly anchored Jew.

  Latkes, grated potatoes fried in oil, are a favorite Chanukah food, linked to Chanukah because of oil. In Israel and in many Jewish homes in America, doughnuts, also fried in oil, are served. Our family, however, remains faithful to latkes. We have a special reason. My father was ready to propose to my mother on their third date. He was quite certain he wanted to marry this wonderful woman, but he had to be absolutely sure, so he asked the key question as they rowed around Central Park lake: “Can you make latkes?” “Sure,” said my mother-to-be. Perfect, thought my father to himself. “Well, then, will you marry me?” And they lived happily ever after.

  Dreydel is the game of Chanukah. The players spin a four-sided spinner, with each side labeled for relative take. The four Hebrew letters, one per side, are nuhn (n), gimmel (g), hey (h), and shin (sh). These are the initials of the phrase, Nes gadol hay ah sham: a great miracle occurred there. Depending on what letter the dreydel lands, the spinner takes from or puts into the pot. Nuhn equals nothing, gimmel takes all, hey takes half, shin puts in. Big gamblers we aren’t; the game is usually played for pennies and nickels and even then the total stakes are often put into a pushke (charity box) after the game ends.

  Why the dreydel? Some conjecture that when the Greeks forbade the study of Torah, the children would keep a top handy. If the Greeks should come upon them in a group studying Torah, they would quickly pull their tops out and pretend they had been playing the game all along.

  In addition to candles, there are two other formal observances. One is the Hallel, the special prayer of praise of God that we recite during all festivals. The other is the Al Hanissim prayer, a short passage about miracles that is inserted into silent Amidah and into the Grace After Meals. With such minor liturgical increments for an eight-day holiday, no wonder that candles and gifts took up the slack.

  PERSPECTIVES ON CHANUKAH

  Next to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Chanukah is celebrated by a broader spectrum of Jews than any other holiday. It’s not just the lights, the gifts, the hunger for celebration at this particular tinselly time of year. It’s the larger message about the relationship of Jews and Judaism to broader cultures, not o
nly to Christianity, but to larger cultural values in general, values which we, as modern Jews, tend to share, embrace, and idealize. Chanukah reminds us that we are a part of it, but also apart from it, and that Jews will always live in the tension between the universal and the particular, between cosmopolitanism and parochialism. It is both easier and harder to be a Jew in America today. Easier, because there is great tolerance, and many Jews feel more comfortable about “returning” and living a more particularist life. Harder, because it is so easy to assimilate and there’s no coercion in either direction.

  Perhaps in that sense, the contiguity to Christmas is good, for it sharpens the real focus of Chanukah—where and how we locate ourselves in relation to a majority culture.

  The Rabbis could have let Chanukah go. Some scholars say that Chanukah had been neglected during the two hundred years following the Maccabean victory, but as Roman oppression grew, the Rabbis revived it: the memory of a successful national revolt couldn’t have been sweeter, and the fantasy of independence couldn’t have been more passionately re-created. On the other hand, precisely because that nationalist revolt had culminated in absolute failure—in the destruction of the Temple—the Rabbis could really have let it go. Restoration was becoming increasingly a dream of messianic days, and nationalism was removed from the immediate religious agenda.

  But the Rabbis didn’t let go. Instead, they revived Chanukah and attached to it a more profound meaning, the meaning of the lights. What was the significance of rekindling the menorah in the Temple? It was like turning the lights back on, like saying we are back in business, with our own offerings and our own order of faith. Despite the failure of the Maccabean revolt, it was a resounding religious success. The Hellenists might have overwhelmed the Judeans, but through the Maccabean revolt, the basic rule of Torah for the Jewish people was assured.