The lessons of Hanukkah this year

As the days grow shorter, the light becomes dimmer and the temperature falls precipitously, all of us look forward to Hanukkah's arrival. Our kitchens will be fragrant with the smell of latkes, while our living rooms and dining rooms will soon be glowing with the festive lights of the Hanukkah candles. This year, as we move closer to the solstice of Dec. 21, the shortest day of the year, our hanukkiyot will reach their peak, when all of us will marvel at the magnificence of the festival lights driving out the inevitable darkness of the season.

Each night, as we light our hanukkiyot, we say the blessings that take us back to the age of the Maccabees. The first blessing commands us to light the Hanukkah candles, while the second reminds us of the miracles of our ancestors, when the Temple's Ner Tamid [Eternal Light] lasted for eight days, even though we had only enough oil for a single day. It is the Hanukkah miracle we teach our children and the one we recall each and every night.

This year, however, the miracle of those days long ago won't evoke quite the same feelings. This year, when I light the Hanukkah candles, I will instead be thinking about our ancestors who were comfortable living among the Seleucids [Greeks] in ancient Israel. Our ancestors believed that if they adapted to the ways of their Greek neighbors – if they assimilated into Greek culture – surely their religious practices and culture would be protected; their Jewish identities would remain untouched.

But as history teaches us, the exact opposite occurred. The more we assimilated, the more the Seleucids wondered why it was necessary to maintain our Jewish identities at all. And when Antiochus IV rose to be king, he issued a proclamation prohibiting meaningful Jewish observance, and thus, lit the spark for Judah Maccabee's military revolt and miraculous triumph. Instead of keeping us immune from the effects of rising antisemitism, our accommodation to Greek culture only seemed to make it worse. In short, the more we appeased the Seleucid authorities, the more emboldened they became in their oppression.

These days, the reality of Jewish life in the United States seems ever closer to those ancient times. On the afternoon just before Yom Kippur, the director of the F.B.I., our nation's chief law enforcement officer, said on Fox News that the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) – a crown jewel of Jewish civic engagement – was acting "like a terrorist organization." This verbal attack – by a high-ranking government official – was intended to chill the speech and conduct not just of the ADL, but every group dedicated to protecting the rights of minorities.

In response to this false and unprecedented attack, the ADL decided to say…nothing. Not only did it remove thousands of pages of civil rights material and educational curricula from its website, the ADL also urged other Jewish legacy organizations, including the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism and the Union for Reform Judaism, to be silent. Instead of protest, the ADL chose acceptance; instead of a principled defense, the ADL chose appeasement.

Perhaps the ADL believes that in these times of rising antisemitism, discretion is the better part of valor. Perhaps it believes that "gam zeh ya-avor," "this too shall pass," and if we can keep our heads down long enough, we'll weather this storm.

But if history is any guide, Hanukkah teaches us exactly the opposite. We believed that as long as we fit in, as long as we didn't rock the Seleucid boat by making too many waves, our Jewish way of life was protected. Sadly, our appeasement only led to more religious oppression, fewer options and an outcome that would eventually result in the Maccabee's armed rebellion.

There is, however, another way; a way inspired by the inner light of Jewish unity. As most of you know by now, in October, there was a horrific antisemitic attack on a Jewish student at Smithfield High School. The Jewish Alliance and the Sandra Bornstein Holocaust Education Center combined their organizational skill and moral authority to respond powerfully and decisively. On Nov. 3, at a Smithfield School Committee meeting, Rhode Island's Jewish community, proudly and eloquently, stood as "Am Echad," one people.

We were strong, we were unified, and led by Adam Greenman, Wendy Joering and leaders from every congregation in Rhode Island, we lived the Jewish values of justice, dignity and speaking truth to power. One speaker after another reminded me that we were motivated not by revenge or punishment, but rather by responsibility and accountability. Indeed, the evening was nothing less than an early Hanukkah present: a night when the lights of Jewish unity and principle shone brightly, a night when every member of our community was a "shamash," the helper candle that lights all the others on the hanukkiyah.

This year, as we light our Hanukkah candles and place them in our windows, let us recall the days of old. Let us recall that the candles our ancestors lit stood against religious bigotry, against intolerance and against the whims and caprices of unchecked power. May the flames we light today also stand for freedom, peace and dignity, and may this Hanukkah teach us that the lights we kindle inspire the hope we need to sustain this beautiful, fragile world. Hag Sameach.

RABBI HOWARD VOSS-ALTMAN is the spiritual leader of Temple Habonim, in Barrington.