Hidden in Hanukkah is a story of Jewish unity. At the end of this fractious year, we must heed it
Hanukkah rituals were built to tie us together through our differences — not erase them
The menorah is a profound symbol of unity. It’s time we see it as such. Photo by iStock by Getty Images
In this year, when the American Jewish community has been saddened and frightened by the deepening divides in our community since Oct. 7, the themes of Hanukkah are particularly resonant. Because hidden within the holiday is a profound story about moving from Jewish division to Jewish unity.
The holiday of light ironically commemorates a very dark period in Jewish history, when divides between religious and secular Jews turned violent. While secular Hellenistic Jews appealed to King Antiochus for inclusion in Greek life, the Maccabean Jews built a revolt against him. Hellenized Jews who collaborated with the Assyrians became, to the Maccabeans, the enemy; the Maccabean leader Mattathias exerted cruelty upon those who were caught.
But in their discussions of Hanukkah in the Talmud, the rabbis choose not to dwell much on this division‚ or really discuss the history of Hanukkah at all. Instead, they focus on the laws of candle-lighting, and in so prioritizing this ritual, they embed a message of unity.
Why? Because the ritual involves all Jews, no matter their beliefs. The menorah itself is a symbol of unity, demonstrating through its shape the way many branches can come together to create one single unit. The rabbis decree that, at minimum, at least one candle must be lit by the head of every household, but it would be better if every single person in the household lights. Better still, would be each person lighting eight candles. This ritual encourages universal participation, reminding us of the importance of Jewish unity, despite our differences.
It can be so painful to acknowledge disunity among our Jewish people, the divisions between our different branches. Particularly in times of urgency, like the one we live in now, some of us wish we could just ignore other Jews and forge ahead with our own perspective.
But doing so is not to our advantage. Jewish diversity has always existed, and can be our strength. But when we become distrustful of one another our enemies can exploit our divisions. Hence violence between Hellenist Jews and Maccabees, in the face of oppression by the Assyrian Greeks.
Today, as back then, Jewish sub-tribes of different political identities often view one another as the enemy. Right-wing Jews see left-wing Jewish peace-seeking as a security threat. And left-wing Jews see right-wing ones as inhibiting the path to peace.
The holiday of Hanukkah presents an opportunity to return to a place of Jewish understanding. We put menorahs in our windows not just to signify to non-Jews that God brought us a miracle, but perhaps also to signify to other Jews that we still believe that our many branches are connected at the base, and that we truly are one people.
The word “Hanukkah” means “dedication,” referring to the re-dedication of the Temple. This Hanukkah, more than anything else, we need to rededicate ourselves to Jewish unity — a unity that includes all differences, rather than erasing them.
How do we do this? We need to lower the internal boundaries we have constructed and invite Jews who disagree with us into our spaces.
As a young rabbi I have seen how, within our community, groups on both ends of the political spectrum increasingly reject one another. I saw one synagogue uninvite a young Jewish musician as a special Shabbaton guest because they were anti-Zionist. The musician was only coming to play music, not preach politics, but their position had apparently rendered them unkosher for the bimah.
On the other end, several students left a WhatsApp group for a yeshiva I attended when the founding rabbi refused to call Israel’s actions in Gaza a genocide. Once they found they disagreed, they foreclosed the opportunity for conversation.
In my own congregation, we have had hard conversations about what is or isn’t appropriate to say about Israel from the bimah. But one issue I feel totally sure about is my desire to prevent the Jewish people from breaking apart, from ostracizing one another. I know that our future depends upon our ability to remain united as a people, even as we express different political views.
The rabbis of the Talmud knew what it meant to disagree. Their entire mode of study involved debate. At times their debates became divisive: the houses of Hillel and Shammai issued such distinct rulings that they almost created communities that couldn’t intermarry.
Ultimately, though, they relinquished some of their strident views so that their followers could remain part of a single nation.
The rabbis understood that disagreement was an inevitable and important aspect of Jewish life. Yet on Hanukkah, a holiday commemorating a time of Jewish division, they created a ritual to remind us of our fundamental unity. To remind us that disagreement must not come at the cost of community. To remind us that one of the miracles of Hanukkah was that the Jewish people ultimately remained one people with one God, despite our division, and that we survive to this day to light the menorah.
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