Hanukkah Reflections
by Karen Ebling
Bits of trickled information over the years hinted at my Jewish heritage. Our Germanic or Eastern European surname indicated connection to my father’s family. With southern evangelical roots and a wandering into progressive mainline Christianity as an adult, I yearned to know more of my deeper heritage, my forebears, my Christian connections to Hebrew legacy.
An affirming moment came during a pilgrimage to Israel, standing in the Research Room of Yad Vashem, The World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Jerusalem. There I discovered dozens of recorded surnames in the Central Database of Shoah Victims’ Names, with both the same and variant spellings of my unique family name. That is when I knew, I felt in my bones: these were my people, my share humanity, my alikeness.
With a yearning the burned deeper each passing year, I purchase a menorah last Hanukkah season and set out to learn more about this Celebration of Light. These reflections came during each of the eight days of Hanukkah, as I light a new candle daily at sundown.
Repair of the World: Hanukkah 1
Tikkun olam, translated from the Hebrew as “repair of the world” has become a catchphrase in contemporary Jewish life for doing good in the world. The idea of tikkun olam brings us to a place of our human responsibility, a call to action. In Christian practice, the tradition of worship often brings us not so much to action, but rather to contemplation and peace. Tikkun olum reminds us that these precious moments of Christmas are a dead end without the response of action. With tikkun olam, we not only bear responsibility for our own moral and spiritual goodness, inspired by the birth of Christ who lived among us, but also for our place in the world at large. It demands action far beyond the feel-good seasons of our faith.
Simply That: Hanukkah 2
The Christian Christmas story is a Jewish story. It was written by and for Jewish people, about a Jewish family who had a Jewish baby. Simply that. Theologians, biblical scholars, and curious students of the gospel have debated whether we diverged over the years from the original and intended Jewish story. Why, where, and how did we get off track in the retelling, as we gave profound artistry to the very Jewish narrative? We argue the details, claim correctness, and ballhoo various bits and parts of the story as unlikely fact. The birth of our baby Jesus is the simplest story of all. What we know to be true is this: a baby was born, and his birth story continues to be repeated year after year. The story has never stopped being told. Simply that.
Moral Generosity: Hanukkah 3
These days my mailbox is filled with various non-profits seeking generosity. That is the word they use most often; generosity. In Jewish practice, the idea of tzedakah takes us a different way. It is a moral obligation to give, whether we feel moved to do so or not, whether we have wealth or not, whether the time feels right or not. Rather than “charity,” the word tzedakah means something closer to “righteousness,” or perhaps more accurately “right-ness” in our English language.
Once I served on a criminal jury where, in the determining guilt or innocence, I concluded I could not agree fully with law as it was written. The judge reminded me, with a stern nudge, that I was called as a juror to base by decision on the law, as it stands, not my opinion of the law. He said I must serve, whether I felt moved to do so or not.
And this is how tzedakah works. We practice generosity for the sake of rightness. We are called to act upon what is just, at that time and in that place. In our generosity, we do not give to other simply when we are moved by a story, a photo or a well-crated marketing piece. Like jury duty, tzedakah is our mandatory call, a right-ness obligation, a practice of justice whether we feel up for it or not. Without tzedakah in practice, both in law and in our giving, our society is broken, and we fail those most in need.
Shamash: Hanukkah 4
Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights in the Jewish holiday year, an eight-day celebration. Yet the Hanukkah menorah has holders for nine candles. Eight candles are lit on each successive night at sundown. On night one, the first candle is lit; on night two, the first and second candles are lit; and so on. These eight candles are known as mitzvah candles. The word mitzvah in Hebrew means “good deed.” These eight candles are the light of Hanukkah with the world at large, hence each waxy candle provides a mitzvah good deed.
But what about the ninth candle in the menorah? It is called the shamash, or the helper. The shamash is lit first, then used to light each of the mitzvah candles. Otherwise the shamash has no purpose. It is simply a helper. The shamash is not considered holy by observant Jews like the eight mitzvah candles. It sits aside, separate, only for lighting the mitzvah candles. The Hebrew root word for “education” serves as the same root for the word Hanukkah. Jewish children learn the shamash is much like the teachers in their lives, who spark each child to grow so they, too, can light the world. Thank someone who has taught you something in life, someone who has stood alongside to keep your flame alive. Then go forth and do the same. Be a shamash, my friend. Be a shamash.
Shared Light: Hanukkah 5
The Jewish writings preserved as the Torah begin with a creation story, introducing the first humans along the timeline of creation. Jewish assertion that all humans descended from Adam and Eve is more a moral concept that we are all created equal. My ancestors are no better than yours, vice versa. Where we commonly fall short is with this idea of shared alike-ness. In practice, our behaviors, actions, and attitudes never seem to fully reflect this idea of how much alike we really are. How could this perspective sameness change our response to our neighbor if we really practiced it?
In the Torah creation story, light was created to shine upon us all equally. Perhaps light is the most equalizing element of all creation. If we hold onto this notion during this Celebration of Light - that we share the same light - then illumination falls upon our common humanity.
Hanukkah 6: Breaking News
I was sitting at my keyboard to write a reflection for today when Breaking News flashed across the screen: the horrific machete stabbing of five Jewish people celebrating Hanukkah in suburban New York at the home of their beloved rabbi. Dozen more in the home stood by in horror as they witness the violence. I mourn together with the world, my imagination wandering into the story as if it were my own friends gathering tonight, text message going back and forth.
“Want to come over tonight for some candle lighting?” Come see my new menorah. We have plenty of food for dinner after sundown.”
“Sure, see you then, and thanks for the invite.”
These friends probably had fresh latkes in the fryer about that time. Laughter and children’s voices filled the room. Just a typical Hanukkah night, a Celebration of Light. Then darkness fell.
I struggle with words. There is no light to be found on a day like today. The murder of Jews, the increasing attacks on synagogues. The anti-Semitism is a grim product of all the darkness of our world. In my memory, I stand again in that Research Room of Yad Vashem; once more I read the names of three murdered women who shared my surname; Ernestine, Bronya, and Yevgeniya. My tears flow. It is not enough to send thoughts and prayers.
Leaning Mitzvahs: Hanukkah 7
A confession, this first year of lighting my new menorah each of the eight days of Hanukkah fell somewhat flat. Perhaps last night’s news did me in. I could blame it on the mitzvah candles, the ones that were a few millimeters too skinny to fit snugly into the menorah holders. I ended up with left-leaning and right-leaning candles that could drive someone like me over the edge.
I don’t care if my countertop is messy with junk mail or my laundry is piled for folding. I can walk past all that to straighten a catty-wumpus hanging picture on the wall. I admit doing that very thing once, in a doctor’s waiting room. I either had to straighten that art across the room or cancel my appointment, walk out, and go home. I know. It’s an issue.
So after serval days of Hanukkah trying all known home remedies to hold the candles precisely vertical and parallel, I gave up and put away the holder and candlesticks in a drawer, a day short of the end of the season - and promptly ordered a tin of Stick-Um from Amazon. I will pull it out next year and try this again.
Hanukkah 8: Wrapping It All Up
Today is the eighth and last day of Hanukkah. Our household is finally wrapping up, or more appropriately unwrapping, our last day of Christmas. While Christmas Day is firmly set on December 25, the eight-day celebration of Hanukkah floats with the phases of the moon. Finalizing the Hanukkah Festival of Light today makes for a nice dual ending, as when the plot lines of a good book wrap up in the last chapter.
We live in a world where the depths of darkness creep in, day after day. We immerse ourselves in remembrances of the Holocaust tragedies of Ernestine, Bronya, and Yevgeniya. The stories of mass violence against modern day Jews take us deep into the darkest nights of the soul, where we can hardly see the flicker of candlelight coming through the window. With errant candles put back in storage, we return to live in a messy world where all seems awry, where left-leaning and right-leaning leaves us feeling out of sorts. Yet year after year, we overcome the darkness.
Eugene Peterson wrote in The Message , “The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness. Even the darkness couldn’t put it out.”
Simply that.May your own Celebration of Light come forth, this eason and throughout the coming year, Shalom.
This reflection was written by Retreat House friend Karen Ebling for House of Light. After a career as a corporate leader in technology companies, Karen sort-of retired to be a business and financial consultant for nonprofits, churches, and businesses. She often finds herself sitting alongside early-and mid-career colleagues as a career advocate and business coach. Today she works for Grace Presbytery as a property and real estate director.