Jewish World Review Dec. 17, 2001 / 2 Teves, 5762


There's nothing minor about Chanukah


By Judith Klein


Try as they might, religious leaders will never convince the child in each of us that Chanukah is a minor holiday


http://www.jewishworldreview.com -- DESPITE what rabbis and religious educators have proclaimed, I will never view Chanukah as a minor holiday. It's too much fun.

Sure, Passover has Elijah coming through the door and magically imbibing the glass of wine. Purim has costumes and a perhaps reluctant heroine. Sukkos offers nights under the stars in a lean-to of sorts. And, of course, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur offer satisfying times of meditation and recommitment to values.

But the inner-child in me still believes Chanukah is the most fun. Scholars may argue that were Chanukah without presents to compete with Christmas, it would pass almost unnoticed. I don't believe it. The joys of Chanukah stem from far more than the gifts.

For those who require a more high-brow explanation, turn to Bruno Bettelheim, the revered child psychiatrist best known for his now-dismissed theories about autism. Bettelheim wrote a seminal work on the purposes served by fairy tales in The Uses of Enchantment, published in 1975. He contended that fairy tales hold universal appeal for children because they do not shy away from the dark side of life.

"Psychoanalysis," he wrote, "was created to enable man to accept the problematic nature of life without being defeated by it, or giving in to escapism. Freud's prescription is that only by struggling courageously against what seem like overwhelming odds can man succeed in wringing meaning out of his existence.

"This is exactly the message that fairy tales get across to the child in manifold form: that a struggle against severe difficulties in life is unavoidable, is an intrinsic part of human existence -- but that if one does not shy away, but steadfastly meets unexpected and often unjust hardships, one masters all obstacles and at the end emerges victorious."

Though hardly a fairy tale, the story of Judah Maccabee and his family fulfills the same requirements. In addition, the episode speaks to one of childhood's most troublesome feelings: that of the powerlessness of the small in the face of the mighty. When my children were young, I visited their mostly non-Jewish classes to tell the story of the Maccabees. I brought props -- swords and shields, oil and helmets. In my retelling, I asked the children to imagine they had no weapons, no money, no uniforms, only the conviction and commitment that their cause was just. I described them outwitting their enemies, using their knowledge of the terrain to hide and then ambush the well-heeled opponents. There was never a child who did not relish the thought of the weak vanquishing the strong. One needn't be Freud to understand why. Add to that the miracle of a small amount of oil -- found by a child -- lasting eight days, and you have all the elements of enchantment.

Most kids probably can't explain why the story of Judah and the Maccabees holds such appeal. My sons would instead talk about the chocolate Chanukah gelt we keep finding around the house for months, the cake we bake in the shape of a dreidel, the "hot" gambling games on our living room floor, the story books about the flying latke and the grandma who fed the bear instead of the rabbi, our family tradition of retrieving one's gifts from the top of the stairs (created because I never wrap anything until the last minute), the multiple menorahs (including a tacky electric plastic one) we light to magically illuminate the winter darkness, and the hundreds of potato pancakes and quarts of applesauce ingested over eight days.

Learned adults can keep saying that Chanukah is a minor holiday, but they'll gain little following. That tack is rather like trying to convince a youngster to watch a documentary on Renaissance art instead of the Harry Potter movie. The truth is, children -- and the child in all of us -- will always wait expectantly for the lights to be lit, the dreidels to be spun, the pancakes to crackle in the pan, and the story to be retold about how an ordinary guy, in extraordinary circumstances, would become a hero.



JWR contributor Judith Klein is the editor of the Jewish Journal North of Boston. Comment by clicking here.

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© 2001, Judith Klein