Chanukah, the Zulu Water Spigot, and the Thing with Feathers

Rev. John Millspaugh
December 8, 2002

It will not surprise the more organized among you that some of my friends have already sent me their holiday cards. One friend must have been sending these greetings to people of various faiths, because his pre-printed text read, “Best wishes for a socially responsible winter holiday, practiced within the most joyous traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, with respect for the religious persuasion of others who choose to practice their own religion, as well as those who choose not to practice a religion at all. Love, Dan.” 

Now this was all too appropriate of a “seasonal greeting” to a Unitarian Universalist like myself. I supposedly honor many holidays at this time of year—Divali; Christmas; Winter Solstice, and more. I don’t know about you, but my appreciation is so broad that it usually lacks depth. I lump all these holidays together as “Festivals of Light” and never examine their individual meanings. Rarely do I explore their rituals or possible religious import to me as a Unitarian Universalist. This year I decided to change that, and go as deeply as I could into one holiday, Chanukah. I’ve been celebrating Chanukah for the past eight nights. The menorah you see before you is from my own personal practice. This sermon is about what I’ve learned from this holiday.

But before I begin, it’s important to note that there at least three good reasons I should not deliver this sermon. First, I’m not a Jew, so it is a bit bizarre that I’m celebrating and talking about a Jewish holiday. I grew up as a United Methodist. My religious paths since then—agnosticism, atheism, humanism, neo-paganism, mysticism and so on—have never included Judaism. Frankly, until a few years ago, most of what I knew about Chanukah came from Saturday Night Live in the form of Adam Sandler’s “Hanukah Song.” If you don’t know it, I’m not going to repeat it here…but let’s just say it doesn’t convey much about the true religious meaning of the holiday.

And a second important reason for me to perhaps not talk about Chanukah here is that all too often, well-meaning UU religious “engagement” of other religious traditions smacks of misappropriation. As we delve into the beliefs and practices of our neighboring faiths, we often unintentionally disrespect and distort them. No one I know has found a sure-fire method to keep that from happening. To engage another world religious tradition in this way is to take a significant risk.

So third, if we’re going to take a risk like this, why do it with Chanukah of all things? Chanukah seems less of a religious holiday than an anti-holiday. One of the main ways of observing it is by playing a children’s gambling game! No special synagogue service is held for it. It is the only significant Jewish holiday never mentioned in the Bible. And its religious significance is LESS than that of MANY Jewish holidays of which most non-Jews have never HEARD. Chanukah has become one of the best-known Jewish holidays mostly because of its proximity to Christmas. Over the centuries, Chanukah has incorporated traditional Christmas customs, like elaborate gift-giving and decoration. Chanukah, which has its roots in a revolution against assimilation, has become the most assimilated, secular holiday on the Jewish calendar.

So…what’s a goyishe UU minister doing standing up here risking misappropriation in order to talk about an often secularized minor Jewish festival? Jeez, when I put it like that… [walk away from podium as if to sit down, then return] No…No. This is what we do. As Unitarian Universalists, this is what we’re called to do. We’re challenged to creative engagement with our world’s other religious traditions. All of these winter holidays—Chanukah, Christmas, Solstice, Divali—all are part of our religious heritage, as members of this species homo sapiens. And we cannot ignore our heritage lightly. We are called to engage our neighboring faiths. We can indulge our complacency and avoid all risk by saying “Merry Christmas!” to some of our friends and “Happy Chanukah!” to others, and leaving it at that. But if that’s the extent of our engagement with other religions, we lose out, and the world loses out. These holidays have been around for thousands of years precisely because they have so many gifts to give. 

And Chanukah of all things turns out to be well worth our attention. I first started celebrating Chanukah years ago when a Jewish girlfriend introduced me to it, and believe it or not, this unassuming and often private festival is one of the most stirring and relevant religious holidays I’ve encountered. Chanukah has a depth that its simple rituals belie. So, as outsiders and insiders, let us turn to Chanukah with an openness to what it has to teach.

To understand Chanukah, we must understand its history. The story of Chanukah begins with the Greek Alexander the Great, who conquered the Jewish homeland of Judea. In the decades following, the Greeks tried to make Judea Greek, to eradicate Jewish culture and religion for the sake of their own. They focused their efforts on Jerusalem, Judea’s most important city and home to the great Temple.

Now, the Greeks were smart. They knew that the Jews were enlightened people who revered education, literacy, and deep thinking. So they tried the soft, seductive approach first, rolling out the best of Greek philosophy, theater, and religion. And this mass public relations campaign worked. Some Jews did leave behind their customs and culture, to do as the Greeks did. For example, some of them joined the Greek gymnasium, the most Greek of organizations, which the Conquerors had built right under the walls of Jerusalem’s Temple.

And this gymnasium was a big deal, an incredible affront to the Jewish culture and religion. To be explicit, the gymnasium consisted mostly of “naked [men], some [of whom] were visibly not Jews, exercising, running, wrestling and throwing discuses around, [all of whom could be seen] from the temple mount! Now athleticism and nakedness were not a big deal in Greek culture, in war, in athletics and of course in art. But athleticism was not a regular part of Jewish life, and nakedness was definitely taboo. Running around naked below the temple was a big problem for a lot of people, just as it would be if we UU's could see such men now,”[1] off in the distance, wrestling around right outside our meeting house, as we’re trying to focus on our religious service. Now there may be some preachers our there who are strong enough that they could keep your attention right through that, but for myself, I’m glad we’re without such a display.

[Smile] Okay, come back to this service, back to this service. The particular form of Grecian tyranny I just described

sounds humorous to our modern ears, but it was very intentional, and very effective, religious oppression. And things got much worse when the Greek ruler Antiochus IV took over. His was a reign of terror. Some examples: he enacted a law that forced Jewish brides to sleep with Greek soldiers before they could marry their husbands. He leveled the Temple altar, replacing it with a Greek altar on which he forced Jews to sacrifice to the Greek Gods. He banned Sabbath observance and Torah study. He denied Jews most of their religion and culture. Can you imagine what it was like to live under his rule? The streets were lined with Greek soldiers and dotted with Greek altars. There was pretty much nothing that the Jews could do about it. The Greek soldiers had a far superior military force: well organized, well trained in strategy and the use of modern weapons. The Jews stood no chance. Their only choice was to submit.

And yet…they resisted. In 167 BCE an old Hasmonean priest named Mattathias began the resistance, and his son Judah Maccabee led the revolt after Mattathias’ death. The Jews fought the Greeks heroically, or depending on your perspective, almost foolishly. They faced INCREDIBLE odds. This was a war of bare hands and stones against armored troops. As the war progressed, both forces gained strength, but the two sides remained ridiculously unbalanced. For example, as the Jews trained archers and slingers, the well-funded Greeks gained war elephants. As Jews continued to die, those remaining realized that all they had to do to end the war was accept Greek culture as their own. The Jews, in the face of these absurd odds that only a fool would confront, remained committed, held close to hope, resisted, and miraculously, managed to win.

But upon their return to their Temple in Jerusalem, the Jews who remained found the Temple laid waste, their holy fire extinguished, their ritual objects stolen. They grieved their loss keenly, but instead of throwing up their hands, they held close to hope. Over the course of many weeks, they rebuilt, renewed the altar’s sacred fire, and rededicated the temple. The ceremonies lasted eight days. The very next year, the rabbis proclaimed that a new holiday would be added to the Jewish liturgical year to commemorate the miraculous restoration. Every year since, that is to say every year for the past 2,165 years, the Jewish people have celebrated the eight-day Chanukah ritual.

And there is another miracle that is now associated with Chanukah. According to the Talmud, “when the Maccabees […] tried to light the menorah, they discovered that the lamp oil had been spoiled by the Greeks. [Only one flask had an unbroken seal, and it] contained only enough oil to light the menorah for one day. Yet that tiny amount miraculously burned for eight days, long enough for more oil to be brought to Jerusalem.”[2] So the legend says. And many Jewish families now light the menorah in part to remember the miracle of the oil. But it is worth noting that many Jewish sources now refer to the story of the oil as a later legend added to enhance the holiday. And we know that Chanukah was celebrated for hundreds of years before any text mentioned the miracle of the oil, so the meaning of Chanukah, from the first year it was celebrated until today, goes much deeper than the miracle of the oil.

So that’s the history of Chanukah. Of the many meanings that Chanukah carries forward through the centuries from our ancestors in faith, I’m going to focus on just three that I think are particularly relevant to our faith as Unitarian Universalists. First, Chanukah is a story of conquest, second, it is a story of devotion, third and most fundamentally, it is a story of hope.

Chanukah is a story of the physical conquest of the Jewish people, yes, but perhaps even more sinister, it is the story of the seduction of their minds and hearts. Through their public institutions and events, the Greeks systematically promoted their own ends in Judea. Their methods were quite successful— they hooked many Jews, like fish on a line. So the holiday of Chanukah in our modern age becomes a time to consider—“How have I been hooked?” It’s a time to become reflective, and ask, “Who or what has gotten hooks into me, and is cheerfully stringing me along? Who has taken over some part of my mind and heart for their own purposes, and done me harm in the process?”

Maybe it is an industry that has convinced you that you can find happiness through its products or services, or that it really is okay to overlook its cruel methods for the sake of its bottom line. Maybe it’s a politician who has persuaded you that thinking for yourself is unpatriotic. Maybe it is someone in your personal life who has convinced you that your behavior determines their happiness or fulfillment. Chanukah is a time to consider how our minds and hearts and spirits have been the object of another’s successful conquest, it’s a time to recognize subtle invasions and full-scale occupations. Time to begin noticing if our most holy temple has been ransacked and waters poured on our holy fires, and time to begin doing something about it.

Okay, so Chanukah is about overcoming conquest. And second, Chanukah is about dedication. The very word “Chanukah” means dedication. After we recognize what hooks have gotten lodged in us and begun to free ourselves of them, to live lives of wholeness and true fulfillment we must remember what most deserves our dedication. What deserves our attention, why are we here, what do we want our lives to be about? Chanukah is a time to remind yourself and those around you of what you most value, to reconsecrate yourself to those ideals. It is a time for renewed dedication to the deepest and the most high.

So. Chanukah is first about overcoming conquest and secondly about rededicating ourselves to what we most deeply value. Is this beginning to sound a little idealistic, something that might depend on hope beyond hope? If that’s what you’re thinking, by God you’re right. So be it. Chanukah is the story of the value of hope against hope. It is the story how hope can upset of the natural order of things. It is the story of a moment in history when, because of HUMAN HOPE, the inevitable -- didn’t happen. “The ordinary, the expected and the natural were overwhelmed by the extra-ordinary, the unexpected and the spiritual.”[3] That’s a radical claim, but hope is a radical commitment that leads to radical results. What is hope that it can be that powerful? Emily Dickenson wrote:

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tunes without the words
And never stops — at all —’”

“These lines capture something of how hope feels: flighty and frail but also tough, resolute, singing on stubbornly through fat times and lean. Anyone who bands migratory [birds], or who picks up a bird stunned from crashing into a window, holds this paradox in the palm of the hand: a quivering wisp … that can fly thousands of miles, a speck of life … that can burn on steadily through storms.”[4]

Chanukah’s message to us is that hope is never irrational, even when we face overwhelming difficulty. And here’s why: Hope itself creates the ground for hope. It was only at the moment that the conquered Jews decided to hold closely to hope “and attempt the impossible, precisely at that pivotal moment of decision, [that] they were able to link up with a force beyond themselves and achieve the impossible. The Jewish people reached for that which was beyond their grasp”[5] and in that seemingly irrational and useless act, initiated events that would have been impossible without their dedication and wild hope.

Again, hope transformed reality in the true story that Steve told during the children’s time. Only by their commitment to hope, and their lighting of that candle, was that young couple able to find the strength to make it through the gunfire and the sewers and their own fears to reach Israel.

And I have witnessed firsthand the power of hope. Now I know that hope is the furthest thing from foolish, for it connects us to our own agency and reminds us of the ever-evolving power of the universe to heal and be reborn. I spent four months in South Africa in 1994, living in the economically devastated Zulu township of Ntazuma four months after Nelson Mandela was elected President. 

Unemployment in Ntazuma was over 60%. Alcoholism was rampant. The land was blistered dirt. My male friends all carried handguns; one had a rocket launcher. Mandela’s pronouncements might as well have been coming from another planet. The more time I spent in this pretty typical township, the less hope I had for its prospects.

One day I asked one of my neighbors if he thought Mandela’s election would ever affect the plight of Ntazuma, and I was stunned by his answer. 

“Oh yes John” he said. “Yes, things will change, I believe it. I will work to make them change. I believe that sometime very soon, mmm, within ten or fifteen years, we will have our own water pump. It will stand on that corner, there!, and people will be able to come from all around to get water. You may think I am dreaming, but I believe this can happen, and I will do my part to make it happen.” Now this was a man who had everything against him, who lived in a broken world, but because he hoped, he was able to seize his power with both hands. He kept hope not by trying to solve all of his world’s problems, but by trying to affect what he could. His hope would go on not only to renew him, but to renew his community. His hope created the ground for hope.

All too often we are apathetic, saying “there’s nothing that I can do” and “that's the way it is,” effectively giving up on our lives and our communities. Imagine what we could do in this world if we lived from hope the way this man did. So much is in bud.

There is a restorative power afoot in the universe, and when we return to hope, we can dwell in that power, align ourselves to it, and burst forth with it. Now WE are a privileged people. Let US dream LARGE dreams.

So. Among its many rich meanings, Chanukah is about overcoming conquest, rededicating ourselves to what we most deeply value, and living in hope. [And now I say to you and you say to one another,] Happy Hannukah!

Shalom, Salaam, Namaste, Blessed Be, and Amen.

Let us join our minds and spirits in silent meditation.

As we consider overcoming conquest, rededicating ourselves to what we most deeply value, and living in hope, may we watch the lighting of the Menorah with new eyes. 

[The menorah is lit.]

Notes:

[1] “What does Hannukah Hold for Adults?,” a sermon by the Rev. Liz Lerner. Delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Silver Spring, Maryland; December 17, 2000.    (Return to article)
[2] Eric A. Kimmel, ed. A Hanukkah Treasury. pg. 11.    (Return to article)
[3] Shimon Apisdorf, Chanukah: Eight Nights of Light, Eight Gifts for the Soul, pg. 60.    (Return to article)
[4] Scott Russell Sanders, Hunting for Hope: A Father’s Journeys, pg. 18.    (Return to article)
[5] Rabbi Eliyahu, quoted in Shimon Apisdorf, Chanukah: Eight Nights of Light, Eight Gifts for the Soul, pgs. 108-109.     (Return to article)