Last night was the first night of Hanukkah, the holiday that commemorates the Jewish revolt around 200 B.C. against Greek/Syrian repressors, who had forbidden them to practice Judaism, ordering them to worship Greek Gods. In gratitude for their hard-won freedom, the Jewish hero, Judah Macabee and his brothers rededicated the Second Temple, by lighting the Temple’s Menorah. Apparently, there was only enough oil to burn for one night, but as the story goes, the Menorah burned for eight nights. To reimagine this miracle, Jewish people are instructed to observe Hanukkah by lighting a candle on their menorah each night for eight nights. Hence, Hanukkah is often referred to as The Festival of Lights.
When non-Jewish friends ask me about Hanukkah, rather than explain the history, I share the miracle of a holiday that focuses on bringing light to the world at the darkest time of the year. Jews traditionally place their menorahs in the windows of their homes. For me, it’s a meaningful way to share with others my wish to let the lights of freedom shine for all people. Yet, some Jews think twice about letting the outside world know that theirs is a Jewish home. Menorah vandals have targeted public menorahs. In the last couple of years, a New York hate crimes unit is probing the recent vandalism of a menorah in Queens. A GoFundMe campaign raised $18,000 to replace a menorah vandalized by two “intoxicated students at Colgate University.” A Dartmouth College student shot a public menorah on the green with a BB gun. The menorah at The University of Cincinnati Jewish Center was vandalized for the fourth time. A menorah was vandalized in downtown Lancaster in 2021.
Menorah vandalism is yet another form of antisemitism. Antisemitic incidents in the U.S. reached record highs in 2021, according to an audit compiled by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), which shows a 34% increase from 2020. (Algemeiner, May 26, 2022) Antisemitism is real and it’s frightening. Jews have been murdered, assaulted, harassed. Members of Congress and the former president have used antisemitic tropes to characterize Jewish people. They also keep company with antisemitic extremists. Jewish institutions have been vandalized with swastikas and offensive language. Displaying a menorah in one’s window, wearing a kippah (Jewish skullcap) or a Star of David can be dangerous in a country that was founded on the principle of religious freedom.
Reports of antisemitism are triggering for many Jews. It’s difficult to hear about today’s antisemites without bein,g reminded of the Holocaust. I watched a zoom program recently sponsored by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. “Hope During the Holidays,” shared the stories of Jews who observed Hanukkah against the backdrop of the Holocaust. The program’s haunting photograph of a menorah in a window of a Jewish home with a Nazi flag in the background illustrated Jewish vulnerability. During World War II, European Christians celebrated Christmas in their warm homes, while Jews were starving, freezing and dying, imprisoned in nearby ghettos. However, both Christians and Jews engaged in spiritual resistance against the Nazis. In German- occupied Belgium, young Norbert and his mother, Leah, were sheltered by restaurant owners after Norbert’s father was taken by the Nazis. The restaurant owners acted out of compassion, despite the risk of imprisonment, execution, or deportation. The family’s daughter, Mona, became Norbert’s protector and the two remain lifelong friends.
Gerda Weissman, a teenager, separated from both her Polish parents and taken to a forced labor camp, miraculously found the will to celebrate Hanukkah. She sacrificed her ration of a potato and secretly made a menorah from it. Rather than try to find a match to light her potato menorah, she and her friend chose to, “light the flame of hope within us.” Gerda kept alive her traditions and preserved her humanity, in the face of horrific brutality.
On the night of December 2, 1993, in Billings, Montana, white supremacists trafficking in hate, heaved a cinder block through five-year- old Isaac Schnitzer’s bedroom window. His window had a menorah on it. Fortunately, Isaac was not injured. In an act of solidarity, the people of Billings responded by cutting out menorahs posted in the local paper and taping them to their windows. The action gained international publicity. What was not widely publicized were earlier actions in September of 1993, also motivated by hate groups. A group of white supremacists disrupted a small African-American church, frightening the congregation. Shortly after, the home of a Native American woman and her white boyfriend was spray-painted with four letter curses, a swastika and the words, “Die Indian.” About 150 community members showed up to repaint the home.
I bought my daughter, “The Christmas Menorahs: How a Town Fought Hate,” when she was three years old and read it to her many times. Today, I question why the stories of Black, Native American, as well as Latinx oppression in Billings occurring in the same time period were not widely publicized.
The candles of my menorah will glow in my window all eight nights of Hanukkah. They will bring light to the darkness, a reminder that we all need to stand together for each other against the forces of hate that threaten all of us.
Sara Weinberger of Easthampton is a professor emerita of social work and writes a monthly column. She can be reached at columnists@gazettenet.com.