Chanuka: Insularity or Influence?
The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash
Chanuka: Insularity or
Influence?
By
Rav Elyakim Krumbein
It is customary to view the spiritual encounter between Judaism and
Hellenism as a battle of ideas. I would like to claim that there is another
side, one that is human and existential, that makes the struggle much more
complicated.
As the Gemara in Shabbat (21b) implies, on Chanuka we publicize the
miracle also to "Tarmodai," that is, to gentiles. This is odd, since the
Maccabees symbolize Jewish separatism, for they favored self-insulation from
non-Jewish culture. The mityavnim the Jewish hellenizers against whom
the Hasmoneans fought, were the ones who sought to engage the gentile world.
What are we doing on Chanuka looking for a common ground with the world at
large, or secluding ourselves in our own religious
culture?
As a matter of fact, the ultimate ideal is for Judaism to bring its
message to the world. There are things in Greek culture which we can accept, and
there others that we cannot. The positive side of Hellenism was designated by
our Rabbis with the term yofi (beauty). The aesthetic in its broad sense,
cultural and moral, is part of the universal heritage of mankind, Jews included.
Thus, we have a common language with the world at large. This language should be
the means to communicate our message.
What is that
message? That the universal moral values of mankind are rooted in a
transcendental world of sanctity and spirituality. The ethical sense is not some
dim natural tendency, nor a blind, inexplicable instinct. The exalted feeling
that a person experiences when engaging human values, actually does reflect
something exalted, an image of God created by Him, a grandeur beyond
comprehension which received its verification when God revealed Himself to man.
This is our ideal; this is our contribution. Through it we try to sanctify God's
Name in the world.
Life would be so simple, if only we could view our connection to the
spirit of universal culture in terms of the ideas such as these. But reality
makes these ties exceedingly difficult. This is because our weakness is liable
to turn this message, this essential dialogue with the nations, into a deceptive
show. For there are two ways to initiate this kind of dialogue with the nations.
On the one hand, it is possible to do so out of recognition of the inherent
worth of universal morality, and out of the desire to enrich and illuminate it
from the unique standpoint of the Torah. But, unfortunately, it is also possible
to undertake the dialogue for other reasons such as to flee and deny other
aspects of Judaism, those values which universal culture rejects. It is possible
to talk about universality for reasons which are cowardly, rather than noble.
The motive might be to publicly abdicate the parts of our heritage which cause
us to be shunned, excoriated and hated by gentile society.
Every time we make the havdala benediction, we note the difference
"between light and darkness, between Israel and the nations." Israel is to the
nations as light is to darkness. This idea is not acceptable in the general
climate of opinion. Chazal homilized on the verse which compares Jews to
"Kushites" "Just as the skin of the Kushite is strange, so are the deeds of
the Jews strange in comparison to the other nations" (Moed Katan 16b).
The remark conveys the inherent, natural divide between Jews and gentiles a
strangeness felt both as a Jewish self-consciousness and also as an attitude on
the part of non-Jews.
How natural and understandable is the desire to erase this
havdala; after years of persecution, to once again be accepted as a human
being, a member of the universal brotherhood, no longer a strange life-form. The
lure is great, but the price is high: denial of selfhood. The dream of
acceptance may cause one to do things for the good impression they will make,
even though they don't really contribute to one's well-being, for they are
liable to drive one to sacrifice Jewish identity. We ought to carry on a
dialogue about universal values out of belief in their truth and greatness. But
the question will always loom are we only using this as a cover-up, in order
to distance ourselves from those other truths, the ones which find no favor in
the eyes of gentile culture, in order to be "accepted"?
There is a touching story found in Megillat Ta'anit, and which is
cited in the Gemara (Ta'anit 18a, and Rosh Ha-shana 19a). The
Romans had issued a decree (again!) against learning Torah, observance of
Shabbat and circumcision. The Jews reacted by doing something very modern - they
demonstrated. They shouted: "Aren't we all children of one father? Aren't we
children of one mother? How are we different from any other nation? Why do you
persecute only us?" And a miracle happened. The government retracted the
decrees; the Rabbis declared a holiday.
In truth, the solution is so simple. All the gentiles want to hear is
this. "Just declare that you are no different from any other nation, and we will
accept you with open arms." And it is no lie, for Jews really are part of the
brotherhood of man, like anyone else. But on the other hand, those Jews at the
demonstration also said havdala every week. There is an aspect of Jewish
identity which is basically different, whether or not it is to our, or anyone's,
liking. This identity is the source of anti-semitism, and hence it is also
generates that tragic Jewish characteristic: self-hate.
A Jew could be willing to shoulder this burden, if he knew why. If his
Jewish identity nurtures him spiritually, if it fills his experience, then the
suffering may be worthwhile. But take a female college student, who hardly
received any Jewish education, but was sternly warned by her father that she
must "marry Jewish." Does she have the fortitude to withstand the glares of her
male classmates? ("Not good enough for you?")
This reminds us of the story told by Chazal (Avot De-Rabbi Natan
16) about the time that a Roman official, in a gesture of courtesy, sent two
women to Rabbi Akiva for the night. The sage, of course, had nothing to do with
them. The Roman later foamed at Rabbi Akiva's "conceitedness." "Aren't they
people, just like you? Didn't the One who created you create them as well?" The
gentile was using universality as a means of pressuring the Jew. Rabbi Akiva
might have responded by invoking the Divine law. But, interestingly, he gave a
different answer. "I could not do otherwise," he said. "They smelled to me of
nevelot and shratzim." Rabbi Akiva meant that apart from any
technical prohibitions, such fraternizing contradicted his innermost Jewish
identity. His aversion to it was the same as the instinctive, almost biological
Jewish aversion to eating treif. This Jewish identity, he was not
prepared to sacrifice - not even on the altar of the "brotherhood of
man."
This predicament is central to the Jewish experience in our time. Let me
give one more illustration.
How well I
remember that point in history it was right after the Six-Day War that the
world media began to pay inordinate attention to the Middle East. Catastrophes
were relegated to the back pages in order to make headers out of minor items
about Israel, which as a rule were derogatory. It took me a while to understand
the phenomenon. Today I believe that the world community simply feels that we
duped them.
The State of
Israel was founded, because we (the Zionists) assured everyone that we are a
nation like any other. Just give us what everyone else has, we said a state
and homeland and you will see us becoming a member of the international
fraternity, paying homage to democracy, the free market, and the pursuit of
happiness. Like the Romans of old, the world community seized the opportunity.
They gladly consented, for they sincerely wanted to relieve us, and themselves,
of the burden of Jewish particularity.
But then came
the Six-Day War. The world began to sense that the Jews want to come back to the
Biblical heartland. They want Hebron, they want the Temple Mount; in short, they
are not relenting their claim to a unique identity, to a unique relationship
with God, and to a unique role in history. This was not part of the bargain, as
far as the world was concerned. And so they increased their corps of inspectors
and watchmen, to make sure that we kept our promise. The world demands assurance
that all the Jews want is security and survival like any other people, and that
they have given up all that annoying nonsense about their spiritual identity. In
fact, the official Jewish spokesmen, the leaders and politicians, are constantly
broadcasting declarations that all we want is peace, and that there is nothing
we won't give for it. Yet somehow, the world is still suspicious that they are
being hoodwinked; they don't seem convinced. One hopes that there are still Jews
who aren't convinced, either.
The Chanuka
lamp can be lit only at night, because, as the Gemara says, no one lights
candles by day. This statement is odd, because the candle is there to make a
statement, not to physically illuminate. On Pesach, for example, our
"advertising" is done with means that make an impression by their strangeness,
such as dipping twice instead of once, and so on. But on Chanuka, since the
message has to reach gentiles as well, we must beware of "gimmicks." The
dialogue must be there, but it must be based on the utter truth. The innermost
truth of Jewish identity, the ner ish u-veito, is the foundation. We have
much to say about justice and morality, but we say it from the place of our
uniqueness. The connection between morality and sanctity is a teaching of
Judaism; the non-Jewish world can absorb it only by listening to the Jewish
people; and only Jews who do not shrink from their identity can spread it.
Therefore on Chanuka, it is the innermost light, lit in the home or the Temple
sanctuary, that paradoxically sends its message outward, to the public domain,
the reshut ha-rabbim.