Topics in this digest: Miketz 5765
By Rabbi Dr. Barry Leff
“And Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manashe; For God, said
he, has made me forget all my toil, and all my father’s house. And the
name of the second he called Ephraim; For God has caused me to be fruitful
in the land of my affliction (Genesis 41:51-52).”
In this week’s parsha, we see a Joseph who has totally assimilated:
he has an Egyptian name, Zaphnath-Paaneah; he is married to the daughter
of an Egyptian priest. He has risen to a position of high authority in
the government.
Not only is Joseph assimilated, but he is so comfortable with his
assimilation that he names his first born son in honor of his forgetting
the past. The word nasha, which Menashe is based on, means to forget,
forsake, neglect, or abandon. Joseph has left his past behind, and he is
happy to forget his unpleasant experiences. He has chosen to forget “all
my father’s house,” his Jewish heritage. His second son’s name, Ephraim,
based on the word pri, to be fruitful, honors his lot in life by saying
things have turned out well despite being sent into affliction, into
slavery.
Nasha—forgetting, forsaking, abandoning—is recurring problem for the
Jewish people.
It’s amazing that this story, including Joseph and his total
assimilation into Egyptian culture, and naming his kids as he did, ALWAYS
falls either just before or during Chanuka. Chanuka also is a story that
has a large element of Jews forgetting, forsaking, or abandoning their
Judaism.
We usually think of Chanuka as a battle against the nasty Seleucids
(Syrian-Greeks) who were imposing their will on us, forbidding us to live
our lives as Jews.
But there is a lot more to the story of Chanuka. To find out about
the story of Chanuka, we need to turn to some non-Jewish sources. The
story of Chanuka is not found anywhere in the Tanakh, in the Hebrew Bible.
There is no “Megillat Chanuka” comparable to “Megillat Esther” which we
read in the synagogue that tells us the story of Chanuka. It’s not even
found in the Talmud. The Talmud talks about Chanuka, but all it tells us
is about the “miracle of the oil,” the one day supply of menorah oil that
lasted eight days. To find out about the Chanuka story we turn to a book
that is part of the Apocrypha: officially part of the Catholic Bible, but
not part of the Jewish Bible. The Book of Maccabees.
In Maccabees I we read the familiar Chanuka story: Then the king
wrote to his whole kingdom that all should be one people, and that all
should give up their particular customs. All the Gentiles accepted the
command of the king. Many even from Israel gladly adopted his religion;
they sacrificed to idols and profaned the Sabbath. And the king sent
letters by messengers to Jerusalem and the towns of Judah; he directed
them to follow customs strange to the land, to forbid burnt offerings and
sacrifices and drink offerings in the sanctuary, to profane sabbaths and
festivals, to defile the sanctuary and the priests, to build altars and
sacred precincts and shrines for idols, to sacrifice swine and other
unclean animals, and to leave their sons uncircumcised. They were to make
themselves abominable by everything unclean and profane, so that they
would forget the law and change all the ordinances. He added, "And
whoever does not obey the command of the king shall die."
That’s a pretty good description of the way the start of the story is
usually taught in Hebrew school. Nasty old Antiochus forbid the Jews to
practice their religion.
But there’s part of the story that we don’t tell as often. BEFORE
the section we just read, in Maccabees I it says: “From them came forth a
sinful root, Antiochus Epiphanes, son of King Antiochus; he had been a
hostage in Rome. He began to reign in the one hundred thirty-seventh year
of the kingdom of the Greeks. In those days certain renegades came out
from Israel and misled many, saying, "Let us go and make a covenant with
the Gentiles around us, for since we separated from them many disasters
have come upon us." This proposal pleased them, and some of the people
eagerly went to the king, who authorized them to observe the ordinances of
the Gentiles. So they built a gymnasium in Jerusalem, according to Gentile
custom, and removed the marks of circumcision, and abandoned the holy
covenant. They joined with the Gentiles and sold themselves to do evil.”
Giving up Jewish practice wasn’t originally Antiochus’ idea: MANY
Jews were giving up Jewish practice long BEFORE Antiochus made his evil
decree. Many of the Jews in Israel at that time thought that it was cool
to be more like the Greeks, to become part of the culture that surrounds
them. Part of Greek culture included working out naked in the gymnasium.
The Jews who were assimilating were embarrassed by their circumcised
organs, as they looked different than the Greeks—so many of them underwent
painful surgery to reverse the appearance of the circumcision!
When Antiochus made his decree forbidding the practice of Judaism,
these assimilated Jews were all in favor of it. Leave that old fashioned
Judaism behind! Join the modern world! Be a Greek!
If we look at most of the Jews living in America, have we become like
those Greek-loving Jews of 2,000 years ago? Not being forced to give up
Jewish observances, like keeping kosher or observing Shabbat, but happily
giving them up in favor of the “gymnasium,” or it’s modern equivalents?
The book of Maccabees continues telling the Chanuka story: “When he
had finished speaking these words (ordering Jews to sacrifice pigs, the
most symbolically non-kosher animal of all), a Jew came forward in the
sight of all to offer sacrifice on the altar in Modein, according to the
king's command. When Mattathias saw it, he burned with zeal and his heart
was stirred. He gave vent to righteous anger; he ran and killed him on the
altar. At the same time he killed the king's officer who was forcing them
to sacrifice, and he tore down the altar. Thus he burned with zeal for the
law, just as Phinehas did against Zimri son of Salu. Then Mattathias cried
out in the town with a loud voice, saying: "Let every one who is zealous
for the law and supports the covenant come out with me!" Then he and his
sons fled to the hills and left all that they had in the town.”
How do you think those Hellenized Jews, the ones who had gone through
surgery to remove the sign of the circumcision, reacted to Mattathias?
Whose side were they on?
The answer seems pretty clear: they were on the side of the
Syrian-Greeks. The gymnasium and Greek culture were more important to
them than serving God in the Jewish way.
Chanuka was NOT so much a battle against a foreign power: it was a
civil war, a war between the religious Jews and the secular Jews. A war
between the Jews who were more loyal to tradition and the Jews who were
more loyal to modernity. The Jews who gave up Judaism willingly versus
the Jews who were prepared to die rather than give up their customs.
For many years I was not at all religious. I was one of those
“Greek-loving” Jews, who favored the “gymnasium” over the synagogue. Yet
I still lit Chanuka candles every year. During my years of being
non-observant, in a year when I didn’t even know when Yom Kippur was, I
still lit Chanuka candles. This is very typical: many totally
assimilated, secular Jews, who know little about Judaism and observe less,
will still light Chanuka candles. Which is actually a great irony: because
what Chanuka celebrates is the victory of religious Jews over Jews like
them.
Maccabees tells us the ending to the Chanuka story: “Early in the
morning on the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month, which is the month of
Chislev, in the one hundred forty-eighth year, they rose and offered
sacrifice, as the law directs, on the new altar of burnt offering that
they had built. At the very season and on the very day that the Gentiles
had profaned it, it was dedicated with songs and harps and lutes and
cymbals. All the people fell on their faces and worshiped and blessed
Heaven, who had prospered them. So they celebrated the dedication of the
altar for eight days, and joyfully offered burnt offerings; they offered a
sacrifice of well-being and a thanksgiving offering. They decorated the
front of the temple with golden crowns and small shields; they restored
the gates and the chambers for the priests, and fitted them with doors.
There was very great joy among the people, and the disgrace brought by the
Gentiles was removed. Then Judas and his brothers and all the assembly of
Israel determined that every year at that season the days of dedication of
the altar should be observed with joy and gladness for eight days,
beginning with the twenty-fifth day of the month of Kislev.”
The real victory of Chanuka was not the military victory against the
Seleucids: the Seleucids lost largely because they were distracted away
from fighting the insurrection in Israel by bigger problems elsewhere.
The real victory was the victory over the forces of assimilation—the
victory over the Jews who PREFERRED the Greek ways. The religious Jews
won the day.
The assimilation challenge today is again immense. The Jewish
population is shrinking, and the population numbers we are given are
exaggerated in a way. According to UJC statistics, some 5000 Jews live in
greater Toledo. But how active are those 5000 Jews? The synagogue service
that draws more Jews than any other service during the year is the Kol
Nidre service. Jews who don’t go to any other service during the year,
will somehow find their way to Kol Nidre. This year we had about 600
people at B’nai Israel on Kol Nidre. If we assume the Temple had a few
more than us and Etz Chayim a few less, perhaps 1500 Jews in Toledo found
their way to a synagogue on the High Holidays.
Where are the other 3500? If someone’s connection to Judaism is so
tenuous they don’t even come on Kol Nidre, is it likely their
grandchildren will be Jewish?
Many reasons have been put forth to try and explain why this is
happening. The social commentator Irving Kristol writes that "the danger
facing American Jews today is not that Christians want to persecute them,
but that Christians want to marry them." Jews have faced this problem
before: in Berlin in the late 1700s, when the Enlightenment reached
Germany and Jews were freed from the ghetto, assimilation rates were
astoundingly high for period of time.
Adam Garfinkel of the magazine National Interest writes, "The Jewish
people today is divided into three groups, a phenomenon unique to
post-Emancipation times. First are those who define their Jewish
peoplehood in halakhic (religious observance) terms, the traditional
formula. Second are those Israeli Jews who define their Jewishness in
modern and avowedly secular national terms, in secular Zionism. The second
group will last at least as long as Israel survives and maybe beyond, and
the first group as long as halakhah survives. Third are non-halakhic
(non-observant) Jews in the Diaspora, including America. What of those who
reject both halakhah and aliyah? On what basis can their Jewishness
endure?
If one asks them, they will say that one need not make aliyah to be a
Zionist and one need not follow halakhah to be a Jew. Despite its
popularity among American Jews, this answer makes no sense."
When I do a funeral for someone who was “proudly Jewish,” but didn’t
do anything Jewish at home—didn’t observe Shabbat or holidays, didn’t keep
kosher—the grandchildren are usually Christian or nothing…I would say less
than half of the grandchildren I see who came from such homes are Jewish.
If you live in an intensely Jewish place—Israel, and MAYBE the Jewish
neighborhoods of a few cities outside of Israel, like New York—you can be
a
secular Jew and there is still a chance your grandkids will be Jewish.
When I grew up in New York, almost half the kids I knew were Jewish and
most of my friends were Jewish. So even someone who is not religious, in
a place like that might still end up marrying another Jew. But in places
like Toledo, our kids who go to public schools are likely to be the only
Jew in their class. If they don’t get a strong Jewish identity, built
through Jewish observance at home, the chances are that it’s not going to
be a priority for them to create a Jewish home when they are out on their
own.
This week’s parsha does bring with it a message of hope. Despite the
possibly negative connotations of their names, we bless our boy children
on
Shabbat with “y’simkha Elohim k’Efraim u’chi’Menashe,” may God make you
like Ephraim and Menashe. Why? If Menashe’s name explicitly honored
forgetting his father’s traditions, why would we want to imitate them? It
is because Efraim and Menashe faced assimilation—they grew up in cushy
Egypt, son of a government official—yet decided to throw their lot in with
the Jews. This is truly what we need to pray for, and work for, living in
Galut, in exile. That our children and grandchildren will choose to throw
their lot in with the Jews, despite living in the material comforts of
“Egypt.”
Implicit in this discussion is the assumption that it is important
that our children and grandchildren be Jewish: I believe it is, both
because of the beauty of our 3000 year old tradition and the way it can
enhance our lives, and because I believe the Jewish people have an
important contribution to make to the world, to be a light to the nations,
to be a good example.
Chanukah—a holiday whose name means “Dedication” – is a very
appropriate time for us to rededicate not a building, but ourselves. As
our Gentile neighbors are temporarily in a good mood and giving presents,
instead of being seduced by those charms, we can recommit ourselves to the
ideals and beauty of Judaism.
May God help us to rekindle our “Yiddishkeit” by the light of the
Menorah!