Hanukkah - The Festival of Lights

Hanukkah - The Festival of Lights

Dr. Liron Biran Nisenholz

For over two millennia, Hanukkah, the festival of lights, has carried profoundly different meanings for different generations- from ancient martyrs to medieval rabbis, from Zionist pioneers to contemporary communities worldwide. Join me in exploring the rich, complex history behind the candles and discover how a single historical moment has been remembered, reinterpreted, and reimagined across time.
The story of Hanukkah takes us back to Judea in the 2nd century BCE, during a period of intense cultural change. Following Alexander the Great's conquests, Hellenization was spreading throughout the ancient world, and the Jewish community found itself caught between tradition and modernity.
Imagine being part of a community watching its leadership adopt the values of a dominant culture while abandoning ancestral traditions. By the 2nd century BCE, this was the reality for many Jews. The upper class began embracing Hellenistic culture, viewing traditional Jewish practices as outdated and even embarrassing. Around 168 BCE, when the Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV issued decrees attempting to "purify Judaism" by making it more universal, the situation reached a breaking point. Three crucial precedents were established that represented a profound crisis: The High Priesthood was corrupted as the position was often purchased and appointed by foreign rulers rather than according to ancestral law. Jewish religious practices were prohibited, and the sacred Temple in Jerusalem was desecrated, an act so shocking that even the most pious Jews who previously felt bound not to revolt against foreign rule began to see it as a divine call to action.
Faced with this crisis, the Jewish community had to make a choice, one that still resonates today when we think about how to respond to oppression. Some chose the path of militant resistance: the Maccabee revolt, led by the Hasmonean family, represented a belief that humans must act on behalf of God when earthly powers conflict with divine law. Others chose martyrdom, believing Jews were under divine protection and that the only appropriate response was to remain faithful and die for God's commandments if necessary. The harrowing story of a mother and her seven sons, whose first version appeared in the Book of Maccabees, telling of their choice of torture and death rather than compromise their beliefs exemplifies this second path. What's particularly moving is how the mother strengthened her children's resolve even as she watched them die one by one, speaking to each in their native language about the God who would restore them.
But here’s where things get really interesting. The way Hanukkah has been understood and celebrated has shifted dramatically across the centuries, reflecting the changing needs and concerns of Jewish communities in different times and places.
When the rabbis of the Talmudic period told the story of Hanukkah, they chose to emphasize something that might seem small: a single cruse of pure oil that miraculously burned for eight days when the Temple was being rededicated. Why downplay the military victory? The shift from celebrating warriors to celebrating divine intervention wasn't accidental. Passover already served as the primary holiday commemorating national freedom, so there was no need for another political liberation narrative. More importantly, the Hasmonean struggle was primarily fought to preserve the Torah of Israel, making religious aspects more central than political history. And if we're being honest, the rabbinic sages felt ambivalent toward the Hasmonean dynasty and their hunger for both religious and political power. However, the great medieval scholar Maimonides maintained that both miracles mattered: the military triumph of the few over the many and the oil miracle. Perhaps we don't have to choose…
Fast forward to the 19th and early 20th centuries, and we see yet another transformation. For the early Zionist movement, the Maccabees became powerful symbols of Jewish strength and self-determination exactly what they felt was missing from contemporary Jewish life. Leon Pinsker captured this sentiment poignantly in 1882: "How poor is our part in life!... Such has become the fate of the people upon whose knees the Maccabees were born!" The implication was clear: we once were warriors; what happened to us?
This led to what Max Nordau called "Muscular Judaism" a movement promoting physical strength and warrior spirit as essential to Jewish renewal. Perhaps most striking is the poem "We Carry Torches," which explicitly rejects the miracle narrative: "No miracle happened to us we found no cruse of oil... We carved into the rock until we bled and there was light!" It's a powerful statement: we make our own miracles through determination and effort, not through divine intervention.
While history has often focused on male warriors, two remarkable women play crucial roles in the Hanukkah story—though their narratives have sometimes been sidelined or forgotten entirely.
The first one is Hannah, daughter of Mattathias. According to the Midrash, when the Greeks decreed that every bride must submit to the local ruler before her wedding night, most people accepted this horror as inevitable. But Hannah refused. At her own wedding feast, surrounded by guests and family, she did something shocking: she exposed herself publicly, then challenged her brothers. If they were ashamed to see her naked before righteous people when she had committed no sin, shouldn't they be even more zealous about preventing her from being handed over to be violated? Her courage and her pointed question sparked her brothers' revolt. Sometimes it takes one person's refusal to accept the unacceptable to change everything.
The second one is Judith. This story is both clever and brutal. Judith, described as exceptionally beautiful, used the enemy king's desire for her as a weapon. She fed him cheese to make him thirsty, encouraged him to drink heavily, and when he fell into a drunken stupor, she beheaded him with his own sword and brought his head to Jerusalem. When the enemy armies saw their leader was dead, they fled. This is why some communities have the custom of eating dairy products during Hanukkah- to remember her strategic use of cheese.
Here's a beautiful tradition that many have never heard of: Eid El-Banat (The Girls Festival). On the first of Tevet (after the seventh night of Hanukkah), Jewish communities across the Balkans and North Africa celebrated a women-only festival honoring Judith's heroism. Women would gather for meals featuring dairy and wine (echoing Judith's story), ask forgiveness from one another, pray together, and dance. The day honors the merit of righteous women throughout Jewish history. Today, this tradition is being revived in Israel, reclaiming a nearly lost piece of heritage.
But why light? And why now? 
There's a beautiful Talmudic story that connects Hanukkah to something deeply human. When Adam, the first person, saw the days growing shorter and shorter after the autumn equinox, he panicked. He thought the world was ending, returning to the chaos that existed before creation. This, he believed, must be the death sentence for his sin. So, he fasted and prayed for eight days. But then came the winter solstice, and the days began to lengthen again. Relieved and grateful, Adam celebrated for eight days. The rabbis suggest this might be the origin of winter light festivals- a primal human response to the darkest time of year.
Think about it: across the world, different cultures have developed remarkably similar traditions. India's Diwali celebrates the triumph of light over darkness. China's Lantern Festival fills the sky with glowing lanterns on the first full moon of the new year. Scotland's Hogmanay features massive torch-lit processions. And Jews light the menorah for eight nights. We're all responding to the same fundamental need: to bring light, warmth, and community into the darkness of winter. Hanukkah, in this sense, isn't just a Jewish story- it's a human story.
Walk into any Jewish home during Hanukkah and you'll likely see a menorah in the window, smell latkes (potato pancakes) frying in oil, maybe hear the spin of a dreidel or see children opening gifts. These practices connect us to the past: we light one more candle each night for eight nights, we eat foods fried in oil to remember the miracle, we gather with family to retell the stories. But the meanings we attach to these practices continue to evolve. Some emphasize religious freedom and the right to practice one's faith without persecution. Others celebrate Jewish pride and resilience in the face of oppression. Still others focus on the universal human need for light in darkness- both literal and metaphorical.
As you light the candles this season- or simply observe others doing so- consider what draws you to this story. Is it the courage of those who stood up for their beliefs? The miraculous persistence of light against the odds? The women whose strategic brilliance changed history? The simple human act of kindling light when darkness feels overwhelming? Perhaps it's the reminder that we each must decide what's worth preserving and what's worth fighting for, in our own ways and in our own time.
Hanukkah's power lies not in providing easy answers, but in asking enduring questions- about faith and resistance, about tradition and change, about how we create light in dark times. These questions belong not only to one community or one moment in history, but to anyone seeking to live with integrity in a complex world.