come on baby light my menorah without star

Come on baby light my menorah without star full#

I didn’t want to promote this kind of suffering in myself or in others any more. Seeing my rabbi being so proudly, defiantly Jewish made me realize that if I hid my Jewishness, I would be perpetuating exactly what those who hate us wanted: that we should hide, that we should cower, that we shouldn’t be visible. She bore a defiant, triumphant smile on her face as they escorted her into the police van and, seeing the pictures, I felt a surge of energy, inspiration, and hope. She was wearing her colorful tallit (prayer shawl), her arms in plastic ties. I was worried that we were experiencing something akin to the rise of Nazi Germany here in the U.S.īut then, one day I saw photos of my rabbi being arrested with eighteen other rabbis at a protest against Trump’s Muslim travel ban. At times, all of this, and more, has made me want to hide my Jewishness and use my white privilege to blend in - to wear my beloved shema (one of the central Jewish prayers) necklace tucked inside my shirt, keep quiet about Jewish topics in public, even look into moving to Canada (good thing I married a Canadian! How lucky is that?). I’ve heard people shouting, “Kill all the Jews!” on the streets of my neighborhood in Queens grieved over the horrific, recent synagogue shootings watched the media coverage of anti-Semitic sentiments at Trump rallies. Our government and its policies, and even our culture, tells so many groups of marginalized people that they cannot be who they are, or who they are is not OK, not valid, not legal.Īs a Jewish person living under Trump’s presidency, I have often felt this way. I cannot hear the story of Hanukkah today without thinking of the times we are living in now. A small group of Jewish rebels, the Maccabees, rose up against Antiochus, took back the Temple, and the Jewish people were able to worship freely once again. Antiochus ordered the Jews to convert and assimilate to the dominant culture, or they would be killed.

Come on baby light my menorah without star full#

That is why we light the menorah and enjoy its radiance for eight days, that’s why we eat things fried in oil like latkes (potato pancakes) or sufganiyot (jelly donuts) or bimuelos (fried sweet dough balls).īut the full legend of Hanukkah, which I learned when I was older, tells of the Syrian King, Antiochus, sending his soldiers to Jerusalem to take over the Temple and dedicate it to Zeus. Most people are familiar with the miracle of Hanukkah, which doesn’t appear in the Torah but in later writings: The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed, and there was only enough oil to light the ner tamid (teternal flame) for one day, but the oil lasted eight days until the Maccabees procured more oil. Looking back, this image has a different resonance for me now. My parents’ disastrous misjudgment mortified me, and I pretended I did not know them. I’ll never forget the sight of all the other candles having long melted away, our menorah with its candles not even half way down, and all the families waiting to charge down to the banquet hall for donuts and coffee, glaring at the menorah with the lights that just would not go out. The service ended once all the candles had burned down, which generally was about the length of a typical Reform family service, about 45 minutes to an hour.īut one year, my parents accidentally brought long-lasting candles to the service, the no-drip kind that burn for hours. With the sanctuary lights dimmed, the lights from the menorahs looked like a small glimmering city. All the families would line up their menorahs on a long table in the sanctuary in front of the bimah (platform) and light their candles. When I was a child, I loved going with my family to the special Shabbat-Hanukkah service at our synagogue.