Al Reguel Ajat

Donniel Hartman, in his book, “Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself,” tells the story of a famous Hasidic master who, walking down a street, heard the cry of a baby coming from the home of one of his students, a cry that pierced the night. He rushed into the house and saw his student enraptured in prayer, swaying in pious devotion. The rabbi went to the baby, took her in his arms, sat down, and rocked her until she fell asleep. When the student emerged from his prayers, he was surprised and saddened to see his master in his home, holding his baby. “Master,” he said, “what are you doing? Why are you here?” “I was walking when I heard crying,” he replied, “so I followed and found her alone.” “Master,” the student replied, “I was so absorbed in my prayers that I didn’t hear her.” The teacher replied, “My dear student, if praying makes one deaf to the cry of a child, there is something wrong with that prayer.”

Hartman explains that humankind’s desire to live an intense relationship with God often distracts us from the fundamental moral principles of tradition and, inadvertently, renders us morally blind. A life of faith, while presupposing moral sensitivity, also unleashes immoral impulses that flourish under the cloak of a so-called religious piety. Decency toward our neighbors must always take priority over acts of religious devotion. Faith in God should not be understood as an inspiration to worship Him, but rather to change the behavior of those who worship Him. Hartman analyzes the phenomenon and calls it “divine intoxication,” which is when the obsession with paying greater attention to the divine takes away from awareness of the human condition. He calls it “divine manipulation” when God is used to serve human selfishness. Hartman argues that believers must simultaneously be inspired by and judge the divine word and that putting our fellow human beings first is the true path to fulfilling the divine mandate.

In the Talmud itself, there are agadoth that criticize giving priority to the divine over attending to our relationships with our fellow human beings. Ketubot 62b tells the story of Rabbi Rehumi, a student at Raba’s academy in Mahuza. Rabbi Rahumi remained at the academy all year and only returned home to be with his wife on the eve of Yom Kippur. On one occasion, Rabbi Rahumi was so focused on what he was studying that he forgot to return home. His wife would wait for him at any moment, saying, “He will come soon, he will come soon.” When he didn’t arrive, she became so depressed that tears began to flow from her eyes. And at that moment, in the academy, the roof collapsed and killed Rabbi Rahumi. The message of our sages could not have been clearer or more forceful. Hartman concludes: Believers must demand that their religious traditions adhere to the highest moral values. Decency toward one’s neighbor must always precede acts of religious devotion. Devotion to God must follow responsibility toward one’s fellow human beings.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Donniel Hartman: “Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself.”

The Midrash is a method of interpreting biblical stories that goes beyond their simple meaning. It fills in the gaps in the biblical narrative that are only hinted at in relation to an event. The purpose is to understand difficult passages, such as the story of the sacrifice of Isaac, recounted in Genesis 22 and which leaves many questions. The Midrash explains Akedat Yitzchak thus:

“God said to Abraham: Take now your son. Abraham replies: I have two sons, which one do you mean?” God says: Your only son. Abraham replies: They are both only sons, Isaac is the only son I have with his mother, and Ishmael is the only son I have with her who is his mother. God says: The son whom you love. Abraham replies: I love them both. God says: Very well, then Isaac. Why all this argument? So that Abraham’s mind would not be confused by what she was going to ask him: And offer him there as a sacrifice on one of the mountains.

Abraham pondered in his heart, saying, What shall I do? How shall I tell Sarah? And Abraham said to him: Prepare food and drink. And during the meal, he said to him: When I was three years old, I became conscious of the Creator, but this boy has not yet been taught about the Creator. Now, there is a place far away where young men are taught about Him. Sarah said, «Take him in peace.»

And Abraham got up very early in the morning. Why early in the morning? Because Sarah might reconsider what she said yesterday and refuse to let Isaac go. We will leave while she is still asleep. And he saddled his donkey and took two of his servants with him… On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar. And Abraham asked Isaac, «Do you see what I see?» Isaac replied, «I see a mountain, radiant and majestic, with a mysterious cloud hanging over it.» Then Abraham took the wood of the sacrifice and laid it on Isaac his son. And they both went together: one to bind, one to be bound, one to sacrifice, and one to be sacrificed.

And fear and terror fell upon Isaac, when he saw nothing suitable for a sacrifice. Then Isaac spoke… and said, «Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the sacrifice?» Abraham said, «God has chosen you.» Isaac said, «If He has chosen me, my life is His, but I grieve for my mother.» And he laid him on the altar. And Abraham’s eyes looked at Isaac’s, and Isaac looked up to heaven. Tears flowed from Abraham’s eyes. He took the knife to cut his throat as deep as possible. At that, God opened the firmament and said to the angel, «Why are you standing here? Go and stop Abraham.»

Then the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven and said, «Abraham, Abraham, what terrible deed are you about to commit?» Abraham asked him, «Who are you?» He replied, «An angel.» Abraham said, «When God told me to sacrifice my son, He Himself spoke to me. If He wants something else now, He Himself must speak to me.» Then God opened the firmament and said, «By Me I swear.» And Abraham said, «I will not come down from this altar until I have said all that I want to say. Did you not say to me, ‘Count the stars, and so shall your seed be?’ And where will they come from?» God: They will come from Isaac. Abraham: When you commanded me to sacrifice Isaac, I should have answered you: Yesterday you told me: In Isaac your seed will be called, and now you tell me: Offer him now as a sacrifice. Even so, I restrained my impulse and did not respond as I should have. Now I tell you: When Isaac’s children sin and fall into disgrace, you must act with compassion and remember that you were going to sacrifice Isaac.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Sefer Ha Agadah, edited by Chaim Nachman Bialik and Yehoshua Hana Ravnitzky.

Both Conservative or Masorti Judaism and Orthodox Judaism consider the observance of halakha as fundamental. Both maintain that Jewish law, halakha, is defined by the Torah, the Mishnah, the Talmud, the codes, and rabbinic responsa. Both believe that the commandments or mitzvot reflect divine will and derive from the covenant between God and the people of Israel.

What, then, is the difference? The difference is not in which mitzvot we fulfill (they are the same for both), but how we apply them. A Masorti rabbi understands the world differently than an Orthodox rabbi. As a matter of principle, Masorti Judaism recognizes the value of scientific advances and therefore seeks to interpret Jewish tradition in light of these postulates. He maintains that the reason for following a tradition is because that tradition is based on truth.

Another difference is the attitude toward change. Our society is characterized by constant social change. A society that does not adapt to changes in its environment becomes irrelevant. For Masorti Judaism, change only occurs when it is definitely necessary. The history of halacha is full of examples of changes that have occurred in each generation. Today, one of those changes is the role of women in Judaism. Women today are fully integrated into society, are educated, hold important positions in politics, social and economic institutions, and enjoy equal rights with men. We understand that halacha developed in a time when this was not the case, but that has changed, Masorti Judaism grants equal rights to both sexes.

The Masorti movement believes that Judaism is constantly evolving. The Talmud itself reveals the rabbis’ passion for open discussion and willingness to present various opinions on a topic, provided they are rooted in the mitzvot, love of God, learning, and reason. Jewish law lends itself to more than one interpretation. Our sages combined their commitment to tradition with the courage to adapt it to a new environment. They did not hesitate to present new visions or rules that contrasted with established practices.

Solomon Schechter, one of the great ideologues of Conservative Judaism, said that ultimately the highest authority in Judaism resides in the consensus of the Jewish people, who, through their practice, are the ones who truly decide what is valid or not. Biblical scholars have shown that the Torah has a history, so it is difficult to accept that it was literally given to us in its entirety at a given moment. The Masorti movement understands the giving of the Torah metaphorically and sees the Jewish people not as mere passive recipients of its mitzvot, but as creators of them under the guidance and inspiration of God.

It is very satisfying to know that we observe tradition in the same way our parents and grandparents did. A stance that is too open to change, risks losing that entire historical heritage. But a closed stance risks becoming anachronistic. Masorti Judaism is the balance between the two. The difference is not in what, but in how.

By: Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Masorti Olami and other sources.

Celebrating Purim, like Hanukkah, does not derive from a divine commandment, unlike the festivals mentioned in the Torah, so it is a holiday of more recent origin. Some biblical scholars, such as Hayyim Schauss, maintain that Purim initially arose among Persian Jews, who had adopted the custom from their neighbors, who annually celebrated the end of winter with a festival filled with laughter, games, and jokes.

From Persia, it spread to Babylon and later to the Land of Israel. They also base their argument on the fact that both the Greek translation of the Bible, the Septuagint, and the works of the historian Flavius ​​Josephus refer to Purim as Furdaia, a distortion of an ancient Persian festival called Farwadigan. In any case, whatever the true history of Purim, by the second century CE, a Mishnah tractate called the Megillah had been devoted to the details of its observance.

The Book of Esther, Megilat Esther, nowhere mentions the name of God, nor does it speak of the Temple in Jerusalem, nor of any religious practices, such as praying or eating kosher. It could be considered the most secular of the books of the Jewish Bible. Its only religious merit is that it was the origin of the festival of Purim. Chapter 9 states: “Therefore, they called these days Purim, from the name of Pur… So these days were to be remembered and celebrated throughout every generation, every family, every province, and every city.”

The origins of the Book of Esther remain obscure. Due to the style of the Hebrew text and the lack of corroboration of the events and figures described there with the history of ancient Persia, scholars believe it was created much later, at the end of the Second Temple period. Some also consider the story to have parallels with various Middle Eastern myths, especially with the Babylonian gods Marduk and Ishtar, whose names were transformed into Mordechai and Esther, and whose stories were adapted to the circumstances of the Jews in the Babylonian exile. Theodore Gaster believes that Purim originated with the Babylonian New Year, when the gods determined the fate of mankind with a lottery, «puru» in Babylonian.

The Mishnah’s tractate Megillah establishes that we should celebrate Purim with: a feast where one must drink heavily, giving away food, the «mishloach manot,» reading Megillat Esther in the synagogue, and including the paragraph «al hanisim» in the daily prayers.

Surprisingly, the practice of wearing masks and costumes on Purim is not mentioned in the Talmud or the Midrash. The first to mention it was R. Yehuda ben Eliezer ha-Levi Minz, in the 15th century, in Teshuvot Mahari Minz; however, he does not explain the origin or the reasons for the disguise. Some rabbis and historians believe that this custom was copied from the European Christian carnivals celebrated at the same time of year, although a symbolic explanation is now sought, saying that Esther hid (disguised) her Judaism or that Mordechai was paraded dressed as a prince.

The festival of Purim is one of the most beloved celebrations within Jewish tradition. But its time and true meaning remain to be fully “unmask”.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Rabbi Ronald H. Isaacs, Theodore Gaster, and Adele Berlin.

Josephus ben Mattithiahu was born in Jerusalem in 37 CE, during the Roman occupation of the Land of Israel, and died in Rome at the end of the first century CE. As a young man, he was sent to that city to negotiate the release of some priests held hostage by Emperor Nero. When he returned, he found a nation in rebellion against its occupiers.

Despite his feeling that the struggle was in vain, he agreed to command the Jewish rebel forces in Galilee. During the fall of the city of Jodfat (Jotapata) to Vespasian’s army, Josephus and his men took refuge in a cave, agreeing to commit suicide rather than surrender. Josephus, however, was one of the two who did not commit suicide.

When Vespasian took him prisoner, he remembered an oracle stating that the general would be the next emperor of Rome and told him so. When the «prophecy» came true, Josephus spared his life and richly rewarded him. Emperor Vespasian was the founder of the Flavian dynasty, so Josephus changed his name to Flavius ​​Josephus in gratitude to his protector. For the remainder of the war, Josephus assisted the commander Titus, Vespasian’s son, in his fight against the Jewish rebels, trying to negotiate a peace with them, but was unsuccessful.

Josephus witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, for which he was considered a traitor to the cause.He emigrated to Rome with Titus’s retinue and dedicated himself to writing the history of the war he had witnessed, first in Aramaic and later in Greek. He later wrote a long treatise on the history of the Jews. Both works, «The Jewish Wars» and «Antiquities of the Jews,» along with his autobiography, are among the most important sources we have for understanding the last two centuries of the Second Temple period (530 BCE to 70 CE).

Louis H. Feldman, a professor at Yeshiva University and an expert on the work of Flavius ​​Josephus, considers him one of the first systematic commentators on the Bible and one of the leading historians of the early Common Era (1st century). He describes him as pro-Roman and opposed to extreme Jewish nationalism, but also as a zealous defender of Jewish religion and culture.

Professor Magen Broshi of the Israel Museum in Jerusalem has worked to corroborate the accuracy of the sources Josephus used in writing his works and concludes that, in terms of archaeological evidence, the writings are quite accurate. His population figures also appear to be quite reliable. It seems he obtained his information from the reports of Roman army commanders, since he wrote everything while already living in Rome. But in other areas, Josephus was somewhat vague and even exaggerated.

Josephus interpreted the Jewish revolt as a confrontation between the corruption of the Roman governors sent by Emperor Nero and Jewish religious nationalism, already divided into factions, such as the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes. Was Flavius ​​Josephus a traitor to the Jewish people? For many years, he was considered that way, although his contributions as a historian have recently been revalued, giving him a new place in Jewish history. What would have happened if he had been listened to during the revolt? No one knows.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Louis H. Feldman, Magen Broshi, G. Goldberg, and others.

From the beginning of Rabbinic Judaism until the mid-20th century, all rabbis had been men. This changed with the arrival of liberal movements, which began ordaining women rabbis institutionally since 1972, when the first female Reform rabbi was ordained. Reconstructionist and Conservative Judaism followed suit a few years later.

The Orthodox movement has completely opposed accepting that a woman can be a rabbi. But in recent years, changes have begun to occur in this branch of Judaism. Although the term orthodox means «one who faithfully follows the principles of a doctrine,» voices of change have emerged within the Orthodox community in recent times. One such voice is that of Abraham «Avi» Weiss, a Modern Orthodox rabbi who received his degree from Yeshivah University.

Weiss coined the term «Open Orthodoxy» in 1997 to describe a form of Orthodoxy that, while maintaining its complete adherence to Halacha, is intellectually open to the secular world, cares for all Jews regardless of their religious affiliation or observance, and seeks to give women a greater role in religious practice. In 1999, after resigning as a teacher at Yeshivah University, Avi Weiss founded Yeshivah Chovevei Torah to train Orthodox rabbis with this new approach. In 2006, Weiss sought recognition from the Rabbinical Council of America, the umbrella organization for Modern Orthodox rabbis, but was unsuccessful.

In 2009, she founded the Yeshivat Maharat to train women to be “maharat,” the acronym for “Manhigah Halachtit Ruchanit Toranit,” which in Hebrew means “Leader in Torah, Halacha, and Spirituality,” a term coined to refer to women trained as rabbis. Sara Hurwitz was the first woman to be ordained a “maharat,” and in 2010 she changed her title to “Rabba.” This movement has also taken place in Israel. In 2015, Jennie Rosenfeld became the first Orthodox woman to lead the Efrat community as a “manhiga ruchanit,” or spiritual leader.

Another change promoted by Open Orthodoxy is the “partnership minyan,” a prayer group that maximizes the participation of women. In these groups, having a minyan involves having both ten men and ten women to pray. This began in 2002 in the United States and Israel. The “social minyan” is a group committed to observing halacha, which is why it has a mechitzah that separates men and women and prays according to Orthodox rules, but allows women to read the Torah, receive aliyah, and pray Psukei D’zimrah.

Avi Weiss tells us: “Open Orthodox Judaism seeks to include women more in rituals and spiritual leadership, to be more inclusive of those with different sexual preferences, and to be more inclusive and facilitate those who want to convert to Judaism. They seek to engage in dialogue with Jews of other denominations and even with people of other religions.” Rabbi David Hartman said: “I grew up in a home where to be pious I didn’t need someone to hate, where I felt close to God without having to say, ‘I don’t like him, I won’t go to his shul’” [synagogue in Yiddish]. It is the difference between Noah’s ark, closed and isolated, and the tent of our patriarchs Abraham and Sarah, open on all four sides.

By: Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Avi Weiss, David Suissa, Moshe Averick, and other sources.

The Torah is very clear in its prohibition against eating chametz or mixtures containing chametz, against possessing chametz in our homes, and against removing chametz from our homes during the celebration of the Passover holiday. This is stated in several Torah verses in Exodus and Deuteronomy.

Eating chametz means eating leavened food. Leavening is making a mixture made from flour from certain grains lighten and soften as a result of incorporating bubbles into the dough. This is achieved by mixing in chemicals such as starch, baking soda, and others, called yeast, but it is also achieved by adding water to the flour and waiting for its starches to naturally produce carbon dioxide bubbles that cause the dough to «rise.» As the bread or whatever is being prepared dries, the gaps formed by the bubbles remain, creating that spongy consistency. Our sages specify that a mixture of flour and water begins to rise after 18 minutes. Therefore, making matza, which is made by mixing water with wheat flour, requires immediate oven baking.

The rabbis in the Mishnah describe five types of grains that, when water is added, can rise. Originally, these were grains indigenous to the land of Israel. But when the Jews were exiled to European lands, the list was expanded to include grains found in Europe: wheat, barley, rye, oats, and spelt (a type of wheat). According to the Talmud, any grain not included in this list, when water is added and left unfinished, rots rather than rising.

Among Ashkenazi Jews, it is customary that on Passover, they not only avoid eating products made from the five grains, but also other grains or legumes, which in Hebrew we call kitniyot, literally «small things.» Depending on the community, the list of kitniyot includes rice, corn, lentils, millet, beans, and even peanuts. Rabbi David Golinkin, in a responsa, tells us that this custom was first mentioned in France and Provence in the 13th century by Rabbis Asher of Lunel, Samuel of Falaise, and Peretz of Korebeil. From there, the custom spread to other countries, and the list of kitniyot, or prohibited foods, grew longer. In any case, the reason for prohibiting the eating of kitniyot was unknown, so the rabbis began to invent explanations for why.

There are up to twelve different explanations, which can be summarized in one: the grains and flour of kitniyot could be confused and/or mixed with the five forbidden grains. Reb Samuel of Falasia refers to it as a mistaken custom, and Reb Yeruham called it a foolish custom. Sephardic Jews do not observe the custom of not eating kitniyot. There is really only one reason to observe this custom: the desire to preserve an old custom. Ashkenazi Orthodox rabbis insist on preserving it, while Conservative and Reform rabbis have rejected it.

This insistence on preserving the custom has further complicated the observance of kashrut on Passover, as there are now kosher products for Passover for people who do eat kitniyot and others for those who don’t.Not eating kitniyot is an example of how an inexplicable custom eventually becomes law. And it also divides us. That’s why I believe we can all eat rice on Passover.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Rabbi David Golinkin: Rice, beans, and kitniyot on Passover – are they really forbidden?

Regina Jonas was born in Berlin in 1902. Her father, a merchant, was probably her first teacher. Her passion for Jewish history, the Bible, and Hebrew was evident from high school, where her classmates remember her talking about becoming a rabbi. She was particularly supported in this by Orthodox Rabbi Max Weil, with whom she met once a week to study rabbinic literature. In 1923, she passed her baccalaureate exam and entered a teachers’ seminary, which allowed her to teach Jewish religion in girls’ schools in Berlin.

In 1924, she enrolled in the Higher School of the Science of Judaism. Jonas was the only student aspiring to be ordained as a rabbi. Her classmates only aspired to become teachers. Eduardo Baneth, a Talmud professor at the Higher School, was her thesis supervisor. The topic was: «Can a woman hold the position of rabbi?» Her work (1930) was the first attempt to find a halachic basis for ordaining women as rabbis.

In her thesis, Jonas combined halachic argumentation with a modern attitude. She did not follow the reformist position that had abandoned halacha. She preferred to seek gender equality in traditional Jewish sources. The female rabbinate should be understood as a continuation of tradition. With this, Jonas broke away from both the Orthodox position, which did not accept gender equality on this issue, and the reformist position, which claimed to be the sole defender of women’s rights. On the last page, she wrote: «Nothing halachic, only prejudice and lack of familiarity, prevents a woman from serving as a rabbi.»

Her thesis received a grade of «Good.» Her teacher, Eduardo Baneth, died shortly afterward, and his successor, Hanokh Albeck, was unwilling to ordain her, so Regina graduated as a religion teacher. She worked in several girls’ schools. Nevertheless, she did not give up her efforts to be ordained as a rabbi. Finally, in 1935, Rabbi Max Dienemann, executive director of the Conference of Liberal Rabbis, agreed to ordain her. Her diploma read: «In view of the fact that I have seen that your heart is with God and Israel, that you dedicate your soul to that end, that you respect God, and that you have passed the examination in matters of religious law, I therefore certify that you are qualified to answer questions on religious law and are entitled to hold the title of rabbi, and may God protect and guide you in all your path.»

Few Regina was able to practice as a rabbi for years. She was employed as a rabbinical pastoral counselor in 1937 by the Jewish community of Berlin. She began preaching in liberal synagogues until 1942, when she and her mother were deported to the Theresienstadt concentration camp. On October 12, 1944, they were deported to Auschwitz, where they were murdered that same day. A handwritten document entitled «Sermons by the only female rabbi Regina Jonas» is preserved in the Terezin archives. It was signed: «Rabbi Regina Jonas, originally from Berlin.»

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Fräulein Rabbiner Jonas, by Elisa Klapheck and other sources.

In Parasha Beshalach, the Torah tells us that when the Israelites finally reached the Red Sea, they realized that Pharaoh and his army were pursuing them. They were trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the sea. But God told Moses to raise his staff above the water, and then the sea parted to let the children of Israel pass and then closed over the Egyptians, drowning them. As soon as the Israelites crossed the sea, they quickly forgot their good fortune and began to complain about the lack of water and food. They said that slavery in Egypt was preferable to their new situation. God, through Moses, brought water from a rock and made manna fall from the sky.

The Midrash Shmot Rabbah questions the children of Israel’s claims and asks: Have you forgotten all the miracles God performed for you? Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson tells us: “Clearly, it seems that miracles were not an effective way to instill an awareness of God. In fact, the entire Bible can be read as a book that narrates how difficult it was to teach man proper behavior.” Consider this, Rabbi Artson tells us: “First, God addressed the problem with a garden of paradise. Adam and Eve disobeyed Him anyway. Then He sent the flood. This also failed. The people continued to act violently. Then God enslaved the Hebrews, sent them a liberator, and redeemed them from Egypt. Even so, after the ten plagues and the parting of the sea, the Hebrews remained a stubborn people. At Sinai, He gave them instructions on how to behave according to the commandments of the Torah, and the Israelites ignored them. God sent prophets with their vision, and the Jews rebelled against them. It seems that miracles don’t work. Initially, people marvel at them and then forget them.”

Rabbi Bradley continues: “Reforming human character requires much more than “special effects,” like in the movies, even if they are miracles of divine origin. Transforming human behavior requires constant and gradual education, with reinforcement, discipline, and a community.” Change is achieved with small actions. It’s not external miracles that make the change. If that were the case, with a word from God, people would change. God doesn’t seek to perform great miracles for the sake of performing them; what He wants is for people to change for themselves.

Ahad Ha-am explains it differently: “In this hour of happiness, Moses’ heart overflows with emotion and pours out into a song. He doesn’t know that he is still at the beginning of his journey; he doesn’t know that the true task, the most difficult task, has yet to begin. Pharaoh is gone, but his work remains; the master is no longer the master, but the slaves have not ceased to be slaves. A people formed for generations in the house of slavery cannot in an instant cast off the effects of that formation and become truly free, even when the chains have been torn away.” The important thing was not the miracle of the parting of the sea, but rather the initiation of the inner change within each person who left Egypt.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: “The Bedside Torah” by Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson and other sources.

Hanukkah is the Jewish festival that originally commemorated the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem in 165 BCE, during the Maccabean Revolt against the Greek Seleucid Empire. Chapter 4 of the First Book of Maccabees, which was not included in the Jewish Bible, tells how Judah and his brothers, after defeating the Greeks, entered the Temple, rebuilt the altar, and lit the lamps. They decreed that the rededication of the Temple was to be celebrated for eight days, every 25th of the month of Kislev. Hanukkah in Hebrew means «to inaugurate.»

At first, the celebration included sacrifices in the Temple and banquets. But in the first century BCE, people spontaneously began to commemorate it by lighting lamps. Almost five centuries later, in the Talmud’s Shabbath tractate (21b), our sages explain that the Greeks had desecrated the oil used in the temple lights, and that the Maccabees found only one container of oil bearing the High Priest’s seal, but only enough for one day. They lit the light, and the miracle was that the oil lasted eight days. With this, the rabbis shifted the emphasis of the festival from a celebration of a military victory to commemorating a miracle of God. Some scholars explain this as a response to the new Roman rule, which viewed with suspicion the celebration of a revolt against a foreign empire.

Since lighting candles on Hanukkah had become popular, the rabbis in the Gemara (Talmud) began to define the basic ritual of the festival: when, how many, and on what days the lights are lit, where they are placed, and what they signify. At first, only one light was lit each night. The sages considered this sufficient to fulfill the mitzvah. They sought to ensure that everyone participated in the festival, and poor people could not light many candles each day. Later, some began to light more than one, first for each family member and then according to the days of the festival. They also defined where to place the candelabra, the blessings to be said, and the prohibition against using the light from the luminaries for everyday activities. To avoid violating this precept, they recommended lighting an additional luminary. This was the beginning of the use of the shamash, which became popular in medieval times.

In the 4th century, Rava, one of the sages of the Talmud, insisted that the Hanukkah candelabra had to be something different. Until that time, household luminaries were usually used, which were arranged in a row to be lit each day. Rava decreed that the Hanukkah menorah should be a clearly identifiable object in a Jewish home. In the Middle Ages, it was established that the shamash had to be at a different height than the rest of the lights.

Hanukkah is more than the commemoration of a military victory or a miracle. It is a commemoration of the conflict that arose between the Jews who had copied Hellenistic customs and those who opposed them. Hanukkah is not the most important holiday in the Jewish calendar. Biblical holidays like Shabbat and Passover are much more significant. However, today, Hanukkah is perhaps the most recognized Jewish holiday in the world. The sad thing is that its fame is not due to its original content, but to how similar it is to the holiday the world celebrated at that time. It seems that now, through Hanukkah, some people want to continue copying the Greeks.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: “The Biblical and Historical Background of the Jewish Holydays” by Abraham P. Bloch.