At the Confluence of Shared Light and Particularism
Today, the eighth day of this Festival of Light, I have decided to let my “Ocho Candelikas” continue to add to the beauty of this sunny St. Pete Monday as I view them and the world beyond from my balcony. I am reflecting on the days of Chanukah this year from start to finish and beyond, in both directions …
Even before the holiday began, I was reminded of “the December Dilemma,” the name that grows out of the complications of celebrating our Jewish holiday in the shadow of the dominance of Christianity in America’s “secular” culture. Living in the District of Columbia for the past several years, this dilemma was far less prominent; it hit me smack in the face this year. Living in a place where Christmas is everywhere as soon as Thanksgiving ends is an experience that so many Jews in the U.S. know very well.
My beloved and I returned to our home to find our lobby decked out in full “Christmas spirit,” including a crèche/nativity scene along with a Christmas tree, Christmas wreaths, garland, and a variety of nutcrackers holding down the fort. The next day, I was expecting my Bat Mitzvah student for a lesson and I didn’t want her to experience this exclusively Christmas greeting in the lobby of her rabbi’s building. I asked if the crèche might be removed to focus on the less religious aspects of Christmas decorating. I was told that this wasn’t possible and no changes would be made, save for the addition of a menorah from a resident who wasn’t yet back from Thanksgiving travels. A small menorah appeared the next day in one of our lobby windows. It was small, but it was a start. The next day it was moved “out of the way.” I returned it to the window, and later that day, I was told that it was not able to sit in the window because it muddled the symmetry of the wreathed windows. I tried to explain to our HOA leaders that we traditionally place the Chanukah menorah in the window to display the light outwards into the community—a display that signifies the community’s appreciation (or, at the very least, tolerance) of our existence within extended society. I am told that a fellow resident-owner is “in charge” of the decorations in the lobby. Although I reached out a number of times to this person, I still have not received a response to my request to speak with her about the shared space of our building’s lobby, which welcomes us and visitors into the building that houses us all. Clearly, I am still frustrated, and my disappointment lingers.
On the first night of Chanukah, we were reeling from the news from Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia, as we lit the shamash (helper candle) and then the first night’s candle. The images and stories—so many dead and injured from a terrorist attack on people purely because they are Jews—overshadow the typical delight of this act of lighting candles and singing the blessings and songs. Each time Jews are targeted and attacked, the pain and fear ripple out and are received as waves of grief by the diverse, diasporic Jewish communities across the globe. We are a trauma-informed people in our lived experiences and our DNA. The science of epigenetics teaches us that trauma lives for generations within the progeny of trauma survivors and incidents like these trigger those markers within our emotional core.
Jew-hatred (antisemitism) has been performed, practiced, and passed down for millennia. It is a form of othering—a human behavior so pervasive and common that it is called out repeatedly in scripture as something we should NOT do. The term "antisemitism" was coined by a Jew-hater and is frequently misspelled and misunderstood, so I prefer to use a term so ugly and clear that it calls you to see it for what it is. Jew-hatred grows in times of nationalism and religious extremism. In the wake of the terrorism inflicted by Hamas on October 7th, 2023, during another Jewish holiday of joy (Simchat Torah), and the actions taken subsequently, Jews around the world continue to suffer the assaults of Jew-hatred. The assaults come from the places we traditionally expect it, on the narrow, nationalistic, religiously zealous political right, and they come from the places where we once felt allyship and shared purpose, friends and colleagues who too easily conflate the words and actions of members of the Israeli government with the beliefs and values of all Jews. This, too, is antisemitism or Jew-hatred. The conflation of acts and behavior of Jews in the West Bank and the war in Gaza with the thoughts and behavior of all Israelis is also erroneous and dangerous.
One would think Americans could understand this! We don’t judge all Americans by the actions of one bad actor or lose our patriotism because of statements by or the behavior of our president or military actions we disapprove of. Why, then, do so many educated and typically thoughtful people easily look at a Jew as somehow representative of a country they don’t live in and may never have even visited? Why is it so easy to hold us responsible for all actions of this far-away country without even considering that we may have the same frustrations with the situation and that we may dislike or deplore the actions being taken in Israel. Why?
And why do I hear volumes from my interfaith clergy colleagues about Gaza, yet nothing when Jew-hatred rears its ugly head again and again? “Why can’t you see my pain,” I want to cry out, “as I, too, weep in the wake of such devastation in our wider human family and, on top of all that, ache from the particular targeting of my people?" Why?
The early days of Chanukah also held the grief of the murder and injury of Brown students studying toward their future adult endeavors. Two lives cut short in terror. And then the devastating murder of the Reiners, two creative and passionate artists, beloved and deeply committed to creating a better, more inclusive, and sustainable democracy. Beyond the shock and sadness is the importance of supporting individuals and families living with mental illness and addiction and other healthcare needs. Yet, contemporaneous with this horrific tragedy was news of the loss of healthcare for so many Americans as our elected representatives to Congress failed to extend Obama-era benefits with heels dug in on a destructive political agenda.
AND … despite all of this heaviness and sadness and lament, Chanukah was filled with LIGHT and JOY and SHARING. Sharing my appreciation and light-offerings of this sweet and complicated little festival of light with the Jewish community, Jewish friends, and others who are interested in living and learning within multicultural, multifaith connections.
If you read all the way to here, thank you for your time. What was your experience of Chanukah this year? Regardless of what you believe or celebrate or observe, how can we connect and collaborate to grow more kindness and acceptance and appreciation of our differences and our shared values?
In blessing and appreciation,
Rabbi Jessica Shimberg
