“Light One Candle”

*This sermon incorporates materialI learned from a conversation with my dear colleagues, Rabbis Judah Newberger and Rabbi Gerald Sussman. I waited to post it till I had their permission to do so.

© Rev. Susan Karlson
December 5, 2010

At an interfaith clergy meeting last week, we talked about the holidays approaching and wished the rabbis among us a “Happy Chanukah” though we understood that Chanukah was really a relatively minor holiday. One of the rabbis responded, “Well, it’s really a minor major holiday.”

I reflected on his response and got very curious—particularly as I had just told my daughter, whose father is Jewish, that Chanukah was not such a big deal in Judaism. Her response was that Chanukah was always the most meaningful celebration to her.

So Rabbis Newberger and Sussman made time this week to talk to me about Chanukah and what it means to them and their congregations and what it might mean to non-Jews. This is part of a growing understanding and deepening I have found among a number of clergy that get together here. In this relatively conservative borough I have found that the clergy active in interfaith dialogue and community action are very responsive.

This is some of what they told me. Chanukah has largely become a children’s holiday. It is not biblically based—there is no mention of Chanukah or its celebration in the Torah. For those reasons, it is a minor celebration. Deciphering what Chanukah means to contemporary Jews must be set in context. To both Rabbis Sussman and Newberger, there would be no Jewish religion or no Jewish people without Chanukah—so this minor holiday is a true “turning point” holiday.
What do they mean by that? Though there are no references in the Torah to the Chanukah stories, there are references in the apochryphal books, Macabees I and II, to the Maccabee family and the radical notion of resistance to assimilation.

Alexander and his successors were Greco-Syrians who ruled over what is now most of the Middle East. Religious persecution was rare in the ancient world. Different religions co-existed—each worshiped as they saw fit as long as they were politically obedient. There was a tacit tolerance of religious pluralism. When Antiochus IV came on the scene, however, that changed. He wanted regions to become Greek city-states and along with that came a vision to conflate religious worship and politics. Many of the Jewish city priests went along with this Hellenization but the country priests, the Maccabees among them, resisted.

This small band of country folk took on the Greek empire and somehow, they won. Theirs is an awesome story of a huge victory won by oppressed people but the story doesn’t end there and as in the wider Thanksgiving story I shared several weeks ago, we need to know the whole story. Ironically, the Maccabees’ descendants forced others to convert to Judaism, the only time in 3000 years of Jewish history according to my colleagues. They ruled by the sword, becoming corrupt and despotic, cruel and arrogant. Most of what is written about the Maccabees is negative and is a cautionary tale for Jews. Partly because of the corruption of this family, the legend was recast to emphasize God’s providing the miracle of the light burning for eight days when there was only enough oil for one day.

Reflecting on Chanukah as a “minor, major holiday” raises other thoughts about Chanukah’s significance for those who aren’t practicing Jews. There are many battles in this country today—which ones are worth fighting?

Here in Staten Island and across much of the nation, Muslims are defending their freedom to practice their religion amidst grave generalizations and misunderstandings about what it means to be a Muslim. In a climate of fear and vulnerability, it is difficult to practice religious tolerance and freedom. Stereotyping and innuendo often accompany anxiety—they are our default position when we don’t engage in dialogue and interaction with one another. Lighting one candle of connection and building relationships between us is a start. Passing the light from candle to candle in a community changes everything.

The story of Chanukah brings up a “thin line” dilemma. There is a kind of tightrope we walk between feeling comfortable within our own community and moving outside of it. We need to feel close to one another, to feel that here are a people that make us feel at home, that care what happens to us and that share certain common bonds. We need to care for one another—that’s what congregations do, that’s part of being in a religious community. Yet we also need to move beyond our close-knit circle—to step out into relationship with others from different faiths and dialogue with them and work together on issues central to us all. That’s part of building community with the Building Bridges Coalition and I Am Staten Island. That is imperative for a deeper spiritual understanding and being a truth seeker.

The other day, the president of this congregation and I had a conversation with the co-chairs of the Social Justice Committee about the direction of that newly reinvigorated committee. We talked about the importance of communicating what people are doing as individuals as well as acting together collectively. This congregation has always been a leader in providing educational forums and articulating issues to be addressed. As Unitarian Universalists, we excel at discussion and talk. Collectively, by and large, we are also generous and we give of our time, talent and our treasure.

My observation is that it is a little harder for us to build ongoing relationships or partnerships with other faiths or organizations—to ask how we might work together, whether it’s the problem with the environmental racism connected to the sanitation garage, with addressing and eradicating homelessness and hunger or with immigrant, gay or Muslim bashing, to name just a few.

The rabbis said that Chanukah brings up questions revolving around the customs and traditions of their ancestors and whether contemporary Judaism is selling them out. All religions grapple with honoring the practices and traditions of their predecessors while responding in new ways to new conditions.

You see, the conversation with my Jewish colleagues was helpful in understanding that these are choices we all face. How much do we value those who founded this church, those who supported it through gifts they left so that we can still meet here today; and do we praise or curse those who started the Jolly Holly Fair that we just held yesterday for 150+ consecutive years (since it involves so much work and preparation but is so successful)? How much do we determine our spiritual path and religious exploration based on the tendencies and beliefs of former and long time members? And what of those who join us now—are we still evolving as a dynamic, living organism? Do we adhere to customs and traditions without being aware of their deeper significance or do we throw them out without thinking about the implications? How do we speak about the deepest yearnings in our hearts when each of us has different needs embedded in our souls?

I don’t have an answer to these questions but in good Jewish fashion, I do have a story that speaks to these ponderings told to me by Rabbi Sussman. In mid-nineteenth century Russia, there was a law mandating recruits for the military serve twenty years. Some children were taken as cadets at the tender age of seven or eight. Often, kidnappers stole children to meet the quotas. Parents and families lost their children—many never seeing one another again.
The story goes that one young lad was kidnapped. Years went by. His parents had no word about him or from him. They still hoped one day that their son would return but this was really only a tiny ember—nothing in their existence kindled that small but steady flame.

You know that the Russian winters can be so very cold. One night a soldier was lost in the forest, freezing from the bitter cold. The light of a flickering candle in the window caught his eye. He went to the door and begged to come in and warm himself. Eventually, he realized that these people who welcomed him in were his parents and they were reunited. The glow of one small candle in the darkness led to their reunion and to his rediscovery of his Jewish roots.

Each of us only has to light one candle, to nurture that flame, to keep it going. We never know what results that light will have. We never know who might be attracted to that light, who might find their way home, who might be stirred by the example of our small, steady flame. And yet if we light one candle and join our candle to another and to another, then soon the darkness turns to light, the cold dissipates and our separate and mutual paths are illumined. May we light one candle and nurse that light with our entire being, with all that we have and all that we are. May your light grow stronger, brighter, and more true in this season.