I contacted the writer for permission to print it to which he kindly agreed. I think this is the best explanation of the holiday I've ever read. I think you will agree.
Enjoy and have a joyous holiday.
“A TIME OF DARKNESS…A TIME OF LIGHT”
D. de London
“It was a time of darkness. Rude war raged across the land. Flame and sword left naught in the wake but blackened stone and broken bone. Erstwhile brethren contended upon the battle field for the minds and bodies of the people, the little people who wanted no more than to be left in peace to plow and plant and harvest, each in his own field and at peace with his neighbor.”
Sounds familiar doesn’t it. History is replete with far too many stories of this kind. One such story however, over two thousand years ago, resounds down the long centuries to our own time, still affecting much of who and what we are, what we think, and how we ought to treat each other.
I’ve often wondered why Alexander was called ‘The Great’.
There’s nothing ‘Great’ about monumental butchery. However, he did spread a certain ‘civilized’ attitude behind him as he went about the business of overwhelming nations and peoples too weak to withstand his military persuasiveness. Perhaps one of the most noteworthy aspects of his so-called ‘empire’ was that it began to break up within days after his death in 323 B.C.E. The two principals, the Egyptian Ptolemies in the south and the Syrian Seleucids in the north pushed and shoved back and forth across the timeless battle ground of Judea until the Seleucids more or less consolidated power in the region around 198 B.C.E. The Syrian king Antiochus IV, firm believer in things Hellenistic, felt that to get a tighter grip on his portion of the ‘empire’ everyone needed to share the same belief. Sort of a ‘one mind’ approach, just as long as it was his. He stamped coins with his face on one side and his seal on the other, he issued edicts forcing conversion of the Jewish people to Greek Pantheism, with himself as its head of course, erecting statues of himself everywhere, including the Jewish holy places, to encourage conversions. Antiochus appointed a new high priest to the Jewish people, however as that didn’t seem to speed up the conversion process, another high priest was appointed, a bit of a scoundrel and thief, seemingly more intent on filling his pockets than anything else, and things went down hill rather rapidly from there. The Holy Temple was plundered, stripped of its treasures, Jewish observances were banned, the Holy scrolls were burned in public, the high altar destroyed, and the Great Lamp dismantled and hauled to the deep places far beneath the Temple. Sheep and goats were allowed to roam the Temple grounds. It is thought that nearly forty thousand Jewish people, men, women, and children, were slaughtered in the ensuing conflagration that swept across the area, an unchecked tide of religious and politically motivated murder. The Light was nearly extinguished.
In 167 B.C.E., more or less, soldiers of the king were given orders to visit the tiny village of Modin, a short way north of Jerusalem, long known to be a place of stiff resistance to enforced conversion. The elderly and highly respected priest of the Hasmonean family, Mattithias, faced off with the arrogant soldiers, refusing to bow to the portable image of Antiochus, refusing to eat swine, refusing to give up the Holy scrolls, refusing to give in. A short scuffle between villagers and soldiers resulted in the death of several soldiers, and one or two villagers, but it was enough. To spare further atrocities in his home village of Modin, Mattithias and his five elder sons fled to the nearby mountains. The Flame was rekindled.
The news spread like wildfire. Small groups of men, and women, families, joined the little band in the mountains, and soon began hammering away at the Syrian battle group that had been sent to search them out and remove this irritant to the king and his grand project of domination. Antiochus was a bit unhappy with the lack of success and sent an even larger force to attack after sundown the next Sabbath. Caught off guard, many of the Jewish rebels were killed. One story that persists to this day, perhaps apocryphal, but illustrating the intensity of feeling held by these freedom fighters, tells of a young woman, Arianna by name, newly wed to a younger son of the aged Mattathias, who stood over her husband’s body, sword in hand, meting out death to any who came within reach until a coward’s arrow pierced her back.
The Syrian attack failed in its mission. The resistance movement grew phenomenally, the rebels, now known as the Maccabees which means ‘hammerer’ fought on, winning skirmish after skirmish. Their numbers grew as did their influence with the people of Judea. Over the next few years, Antiochus lost larger and larger numbers of men with little to show for the losses. The now ancient Mattathias died, leaving his son Judah to assume command. They won ever larger engagements, staging surprise attacks, melting back into the hills they knew so well. They all knew, with the certainty of the land they fought for that they must win eventually, or be erased from the face of the earth for all time; that the Flame would be extinguished, never to be rekindled. The father had reminded his son that, “Victory in battle does not depend solely on the size of the army, but on the size of its heart and the will to win”.
The Maccabees grew stronger, militarily and politically. Antiochus grew angry, desperate, and perhaps more than a bit careless in his anger. Massing half his vast army, he marched into the Judean hills for one final blow, to wipe out this Maccabee irritation, once and for all, a final solution as it were to his Jewish problem. Beneath those hills on the plain near the small town of Emmaus the Syrian commander Lysias and twenty thousand Syrian troops formed up to meet ten thousand well armed and very determined Maccabees.”
“Let’s see, where were we, oh yes, on the Judean plain near the small town of Emmaus. Twenty thousand Syrian troops about to fall upon ten thousand Maccabees. Judah the Hammer feinted to the center, then fell back into the hills, the Syrians gave chase, and the Maccabean wings far out on the left and on the right closed in, encircling the Syrians. In the ensuing confrontation the Syrian general Lysias was killed, the will to fight on seemed to drain out of his army. The Leaderless remnants of the once mighty Syrian army that survived straggled back across the hills to the northeast, retreated to Syria, it’s back broken.
Over the next few months the now triumphant Maccabees marched throughout the land, routing out small pockets of Syrian loyalists, mopping up as it were. At length they came to Jerusalem to find the city desecrated and deserted, desolate, cold and dark, the few remaining inhabitants cowering, fearful of men under arms, whoever they might be. Judas Maccabeus called his council to decide what to do first. They agreed the Temple must be restored and the city brought back to life. The Temple, quite frankly was a mess. Small groups of men were sent out into the countryside to gather food, and convince the people to return. So the men and women and children set about the task of restoring the Temple with the same dedication they had shown in defeating the vastly superior Syrian army. A ring of guardsmen stood watch by day as the women worked within the Temple grounds. At night, while the women slept, the men worked on by torchlight. At last the pieces of the Great Lamp were discovered in the caverns deep beneath the Temple, brought up into the daylight and reassembled. But no consecrated oil could be found to light it. From the shadows, from the ashes, rose a boy, the smallest of defenders, “I have oil, I have oil to light the lamp”. In his hands he bore a single clay crucible, still sealed, enough to light the Great Lamp for one night. It was enough. The Light was rekindled. An old man, a very old man, the oldest of defenders, wisely suggested a small portion of the sacred oil be spared, to be put in the hands of Judas Maccabeus himself, to be blessed, and poured into another larger vessel of oil that it too might lend its blessing from the lesser to the greater, that the Light might burn brightly and give its blessing to the labor. And so it was. The men and women and children labored day and night, the Great Lamp shed its Light upon their labor, and the people marveled at the glow of the Light coming from the Temple, one night, two nights, and on for eight nights, and on the morning of the ninth day, the great doors were opened to the people. And they came, by twos and threes, by the tens, and by the hundreds, the Temple had been cleansed and the Great Lamp once again shed its Light upon the land and in the hearts and minds of the people.
It was the twenty-fifth of Kislev, 165 B.C.E. The temple had been restored, the people freed from persecution. The Flame had been rekindled. The people rejoiced and celebrated for many days this rededication, this first “Chanukah”. It was so decreed that the eight nights and days be kept forever as a celebration of the few over the many, for the right of all men to believe as they choose without fear. The indominable courage, the steadfast spirit overcame nearly insurmountable odds, prevailed because the few would not give in, refused to bend, stood fast and were willing to fight and die for what they believed.
The battle for religious freedom was not won forever. It was, and still is a fight to be fought over and over, even to this day. While this may not have been the first war for religious freedom, it is the first to be so recorded. The unshakeable courage and unbending spirit of the Maccabees infused the Jewish people with an unbeatable faith in themselves and a hope for the future. If so few could stand against so many, future generations of the Jewish people would surely survive.
The Great Lamp still sheds its Light of Reason in the hearts and minds of all people who fight against ignorance and bigotry, superstition, and senseless persecution.”
“The story so far has been pretty much factual. Condensed a bit to be sure, but all of the essential real-world facts have been covered as accurately as written records allow. Over the generations the story grew just a tad as stories of this kind do. The Rabbis of later times attempted to down play the military aspects and emphasize the source of the courage, the spiritual strength of the few in defeating the many. This, they said, was the miracle, not a magical or supernatural miracle, but the miracle of strength to stand for what one believes, regardless of cost. Yet somehow the military side of the story has remained quite alive. Even after all this time, it still seems to stir the soul, just a bit, to hear the tales told around a fire in the night. Perhaps the shades of the Maccabees are hovering just out of the firelight, listening, reveling in the tales as they are relived, once again. (I’d like to think so).
For well over two thousand years, generation after generation of Jewish People all over the world have joined hands and hearts to celebrate the eight nights of Chanukah. Just about sundown, (most Jewish holidays begin at sundown), on the first night the Menorah (an eight branched candle stick with a ninth place for the servant candle) is placed near a window, and two candles are lit, the Shamash, which is the servant, is lit first because all others are lit from it, and one more is lit and placed on the far right. Each night another candle is added until all eight are lit. Everyone in the family has a turn lighting a candle as the miracle was for everyone. The blessings are said, and in those homes where such is possible everyone sits down to a sumptuous feast, the table spread with all manner of good things to eat and lighted with more candles to add a special glow to the festivities. There are small presents for the children after the meal, songs and games, and of course the stories of the Maccabees.
Throughout the centuries, in good times and bad, in times of darkness and times of light, the Jewish people have managed to keep the Flame alight. In our own time, what has become known as the Holocaust nearly extinguished the Flame, yet from the horrors of the death camps, from the ashes of the six million, again rose the will to survive and the miracle of the rebirth of the nation of Israel. Even now the few stand against the many for the right to live in peace. Once again a crucible of oil was found, the Flame rekindled.
At sundown, on the 25th of Kislev, 5769, December 22nd of the year 2008 of the Common Era, Jewish people the world over will rekindle the Lights of hope and rededication. In the silence of many hearts will echo the words, “Mine is but one small light held against the darkness, but it is a promise that the Flame will burn eternal.”
At sundown join them, and light a candle. Happy Chanukah”
The author is a guest columnist for the Newport Independent, a poet, and published author in the field of ancient historical research.
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