Image: A row of candles, aflame. Photo by Gil-Dekel/Pixabay.
What’s with all the crazy spelling?
Why isn’t there one right way to spell the name of that holiday that usually falls in December?
Here’s the problem: the right way to spell it is
That’s right. It’s a Hebrew word.
All the spellings you see are attempts to make the word easier for English speakers, and some of those sounds are tricky. The first letter (on the far right) makes a sound a bit like a cat spitting. I like to transliterate it as “Kh” because no one is tempted to pronounce that like the CH in “choo-choo.” However, I’ve never seen the holiday spelled Khanukah, so I don’t spell it that way either.
The rest of it is pretty straightforward, except that the one that looks like a backwards “C” has a hard K sound. For a Hebrew grammarian, that means the letter is invisibly doubled. That’s why some transliterations have one K, and some have KK.
The bottom line is that none of the English transliterations are really correct, nor can they be, because Hebrew and English are quite different. So we are stuck with approximations like Chanukah and Hanukkah.
The real answer, of course, is to learn a little Hebrew. Then you can skip the transliterations and go straight to the source!
One of the things I enjoy doing is “reading” objects as if they are texts. The first time I did it was back in 1981, when I wrote a master’s thesis with the fancy title Anamnesis in the Baptistery of the Orthodox. The orthodoxy in this case was Christian orthodoxy in about the year 500 CE, and without getting too far down the rabbit hole, I will just say that the Emperor Neon decided to redecorate a building built for Christian baptism, and I studied (“read”) the building to see what his redecoration could tell us about baptismal theology at the time.
That’s a very long intro to explain why I suddenly have the urge to read my chanukiah. Some things I’ve noticed in my reading:
A model of the Temple Menorah. Public Domain.
1. A chanukiah may be reminiscent of the menorah in the Temple, but it has important differences. We know from Exodus 25:31-40 that the Temple Menorah had six branches and a center post. It was made of pure gold, and it was made with oil-holders like almond blossoms and knobs. The oil-holders carried linen wicks for the flames. The branches held seven lamps. Besides this description, we have a picture of the Temple Menorah in the Arch of Titus, a work of art the Romans made to celebrate their destruction of the Temple in 70 CE.
Now, it makes sense that many chanukiot resemble the Temple Menorah, because the Menorah is at the center of the story in the Talmud, in Shabbat 21b, about the cruze of pure oil that kept the Temple Menorah burning for eight days. However, there is no requirement that our chanukiot look like the Temple Menorah. Some chanukiot look quite different.
2. The Temple Menorah burned only a certain purified olive oil. The Shulchan Aruch, a 16th century compilation of Jewish law, says that while olive oil is the best, any light that burns “cleanly”is suitable. It mentions the use of wax candles as common in the 16th c. Today there are circumstances in which electric lights are used, when safety is a consideration.
3. On a kosher menorah, all the candles are on the same level and the shamash (the candle with which we light the others) is on a slightly different level or is set apart. The reason for this (again according to the Shulchan Aruch) is that we are not allowed to have benefit from the eight candles – we must not use their light to do anything other than the commandment for which they are intended, to advertise the miracle. Therefore we have the shamash nearby, but set apart, so that we have its light to cover any benefit from the others. One thing I see here is a very practical thing: the shamash is there to make sure we perform the mitzvah correctly. But I also see in it a lesson about the Jewish community. All of us are equal before God – just as the candles are on the same level – but the shamash, the servant candle, is slightly set apart. It is not better, in fact, it does not participate in the mitzvah, but it is important because it serves. Sometimes leaders in the community may feel set apart – lonely even! – precisely because we serve. We have to have appropriate boundaries with those we serve. We have to keep confidences. All this I see in the shamash candle.
4. We place the candles in the chanukiah from right to left, in the same direction as we read Hebrew. That seems appropriate, since the chanukiah is a text from which we learn the story of Chanukah again every year. However, we light the candles from left to right, since the newest candle is the one farthest to the left. Why would that be? Again, I think about our communities: it is natural to honor those who have been in the community longest. But it is essential that we honor our newest members as well, because they need to feel welcome if they are going to become truly a part of things. Then we all stand together and shine.
5. Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disputed about the way to light candles. The dispute went on a long time – from Shabbat 21b I get the impression that there may have been a long time when some Jews lit one way and some the other. It eventually was settled that Beit Hillel was correct: we light one candle on the first night and then increase because we always must increase in holiness. I suggest that there is also another thing going on here: we are increasing joy. In winter in Israel it is often cold and wet, and Chanukah comes at the darkest time of the year. It would be depressing to see the light decrease, but it is exciting and joyful to see it increase. Yet again, the rabbis are good psychologists!
6. Not all chanukiot are perfectly kosher. Some Jews prefer a kosher chanukiah. Some prefer one that perhaps breaks one rule but enhances the holiday with its beauty.
Tree of Life, by Scott Nelles.
Using something beautiful to fulfill a mitzvah is actually a mitzvah in itself. We call it hiddur mitzvah, an enhancement of the commandment. For instance, here is a chanukiah in the shape of a tree, suggesting to us the Tree of Life. Torah is often called the Etz Chaim, the Tree of Life, and ultimately the point of Chanukah is our faithful adherence to Torah, despite fashion or convenience. We remember the Maccabees and rededicate ourselves to the Tree of Life.
Another example is the Menorasaurus Rex, a chanukiah that looks like a dinosaur.
Menorasaurus Rex, by thevanillastudio
It certainly isn’t kosher, and it doesn’t look like the Temple Menorah, but I can imagine a child who loves dinosaurs being enchanted by it. If it gives pleasure, if it raises questions, that can only be good. I can imagine the dinosaur representing the awesome rage of Judah Maccabee, as he fights with the Syrian Greeks! The Book of Maccabees tells us that he and his sons were fearsome fighters, so perhaps the dinosaur is more appropriate than it first appears!
Try “reading” the text of your chanukiah. Why did you acquire that particular one? Was it a gift from someone dear to you? Did it catch your eye in a store? What about it appeals to you? How does it speak of the holiday? I look forward to your comments!
Image: My chanukiah, 2nd night of Chanukah. Photo by Rabbi Ruth Adar.
The nine-branched lamp we use at Chanukah is most correctly called a chanukiah, (pronounced khah-noo-KEE-ah.) It is a calendar of a sort, measuring out the eight days of the holiday, with an extra candle to light the others.
However, you will often hear people refer to one as a menorah (muh-NOH-rah or meh-noh-RAH). That is also correct: in Modern Hebrew, menorah means lamp. The thing on your nightstand is also a menorah, but it is unlikely to work as a calendar.
Image: Eight candles, and the light that serves them. Photo by Saildancer/Pixabay.
Chanukah is a holiday with a complex history. For Jews today it’s usually celebrated as another of the “they persecuted us, we won, let’s eat” holidays, a simple story about Greek outsiders and Jewish patriots.
If you know the history, though, you know it’s more complicated than that. It was a civil war as much as a war against outsiders. The Books of Maccabees tell us that there was terrible bloodshed. At first, it was celebrated as a great military victory; a few hundred years later the triumphalist slant on the holiday was rejected for the miracle story in the Talmud. And much later, in the 20th century, the story was complicated again by the establishment of a Jewish State and the necessity of military power to defend that state.
I am left with the name of the holiday: Chanukah. It means “dedication.”
I ponder this holiday, and the present situation in U.S. politics. It seems to me that this is a time that calls for clarity in how we dedicate ourselves.
Amalek, those raiders who became the embodiment of evil in the Bible, made their first attack on the stragglers: the old, the disabled, and the sick at the rear of the caravans of Israel. So I take my cue from our scripture that one way to recognize evil is to watch for those who prey on the weak.
So I dedicate myself to quit the usual labels. I’m not going to use the old labels for “us” and “them.” I’m going to see who picks on the weak: the sick, the disabled, the poor, the disenfranchised, the “strangers” that Leviticus tells me to love.
I’m going to see who picks on the weak and I’m going to fight them.
I’m going to fight them by writing letters (old fashioned letters!) and making phone calls to my elected officials.
I’m going to fight them by showing up at rallies.
I’m going to fight them by helping to spread verified information via social media.
I’m going to fight them by giving financial support to organizations that fight them.
I’m going to fight them in the voting booth, the next chance I get, probably some local election.
I’m going to pay close attention to local politics. That’s where everything starts, and it’s where my efforts are going to pay off the most. And again, I’m going to apply the Amalek rule to see whom I will support. If a local politician speaks up for the weak, I’m going to support them. If they prey on the weak, I’m going to fight them.
The old labels do not serve us. We have settled into our camps, and it looks to me like outsiders, people like Vladimir Putin, are profiting off our automatic enmities. So if a politician calls herself a conservative, but she looks to me like a person who fights for the underdog, I’m going to support her. If a politician calls himself a liberal, but he serves the powerful, I’m going to fight him. I am done with party names, too. I will not automatically support anyone.
For those who serve only themselves, I ask Hillel’s question: What ARE you?
Right about now (late December) the world seems full of Christmas, and many liberal Jewish publications seem full of stories about interfaith families that are having a wonderful December.
But what if your interfaith household is having a tough time this year? Here are some tips for you, in this moment:
Know that you are not alone. The holidays hit a lot of people hard. Your particular issue may be “interfaith” but there are also people in single-faith households that get stressed out, fight, or feel horrible this time of year. Depression is not unusual, either. So even though the marketing on TV tells you that everyone else is happy, don’t you believe it.
Kindness is more important than holiday spirit. We can’t control how we feel, but we can choose what we do. Choose kindness whenever you can.
Keep your agreements if you possibly can. Let’s say you have agreed to something, and now you find that it is uncomfortable. You can say to your partner, “This is harder than I thought it would be.” You can renegotiate for next year after December is over (see #7 and #8 below) but for now, keep the agreements you’ve made. It will make any future renegotiation easier.
This year is just this year. It isn’t how it’s always going to be. Next year might be completely different.
Make a little time and/or space for your tradition. If the house feels too Christmasy, this might be a time to go to synagogue, mosque, or temple. If it feels not Christmasy enough, it might be a time to go to church, or to any of the places where Christmas is in abundance.
Make a little time and/or space for yourself. What restores you? Go do that. Go for a run or to the gym. Get that pedicure. Meditate. Listen to your music. Be kind not only to others, but to yourself.
Don’t try to process December during December. If it’s already December, the Christmas goose is in the oven, and the Chanukah fat is in the fire. Yes, you and your beloved may need to have a conversation, maybe even a conversation with a skilled counselor helping, but now it’s all too raw. Be as kind to one another as you can, survive to January, then have a conversation when you aren’t in the middle of it.
Know that help is available. If that conversation is going to be tough, or you don’t know where to begin, call your rabbi or minister and ask for help. That may be enough, or they may refer you to an individual or couples counselor who can help. One thing: you want a counselor with experience in interfaith issues. It’s OK to ask for what you need.
Take depression and other mental health issues seriously. Sometimes the only issue is December, but sometimes December can highlight deeper troubles, like mental health issues or addiction. Don’t brush those things under the carpet and hope they’ll go away. Seek treatment for mental health issues. If the sick person won’t seek treatment, other family members need the support of counseling, Al-Anon, or a NAMI group.
One of my neighbors has the brightest, most colorful light display imaginable. Last year I found out why he does it: he lives in that house with his 90 year old mother. Years ago, everyone in that cul-de-sac had holiday lights. Now most of them are elderly and he has gradually added to his light show as theirs have become too burdensome. He enchants the whole street, including me.
This year I noticed something else: the first lights he puts up are all blue and white. It’s only after Chanukah that the red and green lights are lit. That can’t be a coincidence.
I am fond of my neighbor: he’s a good man. I smile every time I round the corner and see his light display. It isn’t my holiday, but I love to see his lights shine.
Image: Ten menorahs on a table, each with 6 candles lit. 10 people sit behind the table in the dark.
The final meeting of the Fall session of Intro fell on the 5th night of Chanukah, so I invited the class to bring their own chanukiot to class. (Thank you, Lisa Hanauer, for the great suggestion.)
We sang the blessings, then paused for a quick class photo with the glowing candles, before we turned the lights back on to learn.
I was still glowing on the drive home – what a lovely, lovely memory of a wonderful group of students!
Rabbi Wolpe didn’t mention that this will also add bits and pieces to the service tomorrow morning, all of it special:
We add Al HaNissim to the Amidah during Chanukah. It’s a prayer of thanksgiving for the miracles of Chanukah. This version is a lot more entertaining that merely reciting the prayer, but I can’t resist posting it:
For a translation and an explanation of the prayer, here’s an explanation from the Orthodox Union website.
Because it is also Rosh Chodesh Tevet, we recite a short Hallel (Praise) prayer tomorrow morning. This is a recording of Hallel sung by the Women of the Wall on Rosh Chodesh Shevat 5771, but it’s pretty close to what you will hear in a liberal synagogue tomorrow morning:
The video starts sideways, I don’t know why, but bear with it – the Hebrew is clear and beautiful. Hallel is a set of hymns of praise that likely go back to Temple times. Houston Congregation for Reform Judaism has a lovely piece on the Meaning and History of Hallel.
This is the liturgical equivalent of a Chanukah party: we’re celebrating, praising, telling stories, and most of it comes with rousing tunes. I hope you enjoy your Chanukah convergence: I plan to do so!
Time is growing short. There are only three unlit candles on the menorah tonight.
To whom shall I dedicate myself this Chanukah?
Once upon a time, and still in too many neighborhoods, Jews are despised among all the peoples of the earth. There’s a rich irony there, since our Torah is emphatic about a command to love the stranger, to be fair with the one who is not like us.
This command, like many of the mitzvot in Torah, runs counter to human nature. It is natural for us to love those like ourselves. It is easiest to hate and mistreat those who are different. We have suffered from this psychological fact not just in Egypt, but in Europe and America as well. We who have suffered from difference know it all too well.
Tonight I read an article in the Los Angeles Times that reminded me of the mitzvah. The headline reads “After terror attacks, Muslim women say headscarves have made them targets for harassment.” I found the headline alone very interesting: do we know this only from Muslim women? Are there no police reports? Is no one gathering data? Does anyone care?
As a feminist and as a Jew, I am horrified by this news, but I am not surprised. After all, hijabi women (women who wear head coverings) are noticeable in a way Muslim men are not. It probably doesn’t help that photos of one of the San Bernardino murderers show her wearing hijab. However, Westboro Baptist Church members wear crosses and carry crosses and we manage to distinguish between them and Christians who mean us no harm.
I posted the article to facebook, hoping to find ideas for supporting hijabi women (for Chanukah is a festival of religious freedom, is it not?) and was pointed to an article on the subject, also from facebook and reprinted in the Stranger. Sofia Ali-Kahn writes that there are things we can do to support Muslim women. Here are her suggestions, paraphrased a bit:
If you see a someone being harrassed, intervene or call for help.
On public transportation, sit next to the hijabi woman and say asalam ‘alaykum (That means ‘peace to you.’).
If you have a Muslim work colleague, check in. Tell them that the news is horrifying and you want them to know you’re there for them.
Teach your children. Tell them how you feel about this issue, and what to do if they see bullying.
Call out hate speech. This is most important when you are among people who may not know a Muslim.
Learn about Islam, and organize such learning.
Write Op-Eds and letters to the editor.
Call your elected officials, and encourage them to speak out against hate speech in all its forms.
Out yourself as someone who won’t stand for Islamophobia. Speak up. Be public about your support for religious freedom.
Engage the Muslims in your life. Make sure you really feel comfortable standing for and with your Muslim friends, neighbors, coworkers.
There have been times, and still are times, when Jews feel isolated in the world, when people have not spoken up for us. We know what it feels like to be anxious and wary, afraid of what cruelty may come at us out of nowhere.
Torah calls us to treat the stranger with kindness. The Chanukah story reminds us that we have been persecuted for our difference. Let us stand with our neighbors against the voices of darkness. Let us light the fifth candle and dedicate ourselves to love.
Image: The image with this article is by Robert Couse-Baker, some rights reserved. For more information, visit his Flickr page.
Two great teachers had an argument about lighting the menorah. Shammai argued that we should light all the candles on the first night, and then decrease by one candle each night. Hillel disagreed, saying that we should begin with just one candle. Hillel’s view prevailed. Later his students taught that we light that way because in matters of sanctity, we always increase.
Tonight we will be at the middle point, where light is balanced with the dark. We have seen the lights increase for the past four nights, but there are still as many empty sockets on the lamp as there are candles burning. Chanukah takes its time! We are not allowed to rush, forbidden to light more candles than the day provides.
We are accustomed to speed; Chanukah calls us to slow down. We light the candles, and we may not perform work by their light. So life stops for a little while, and we pay attention to one another, or we play. For eight nights, we have to stop and enjoy ourselves: poor things! We have to stop working!
In the age of smartphones, this is no small thing. Perhaps the best gift of Chanukah is the habit it offers us: for a little while, every night, we pause– to play.
