Chanukah In The 2023 Diaspora

As we approach Chanukah, a story of Jewish resilience in the face of extinction, the relevance to modern times may not have been this clear in 75 years. The Simchat Torah Massacre, perpetrated by an authoritarian, extremist regime, with the explicitly stated goal of removing all Jewish people from “the river to the sea,” makes for a clear analogy to when Antiochus IV expelled the Jewish people from Judea and outlawed the practice of Judaism. The Maccabees revolted, winning back the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

However, there is a stronger connection that can be found today, to the themes underlying the story of Chanukah. The connection relates to the massacre on October 7th, but does not center Jewish sovereignty in our ancestral homeland. It focuses on Jewish survival in the diaspora. Prior to the invasion in 175 BCE, Judea had already been encompassed within the Seleucid Empire, and others before that. Many of the Israelites had assimilated to the customs of the empire-of-the-day.

 Menorah In The Foreground

It was the steadfast Jews, those who refused to give up our traditions, who angered Antiochus. Those who would not hide in their basements. The troublemakers. Those who maintained our Peoplehood. Those who were not afraid to speak up. The ancient Zionists.

In those days, there was no real diaspora. Today, there is. And here, in the diaspora, it is only the steadfast Jews who survive, as Jews. Secularization and assimilation caused the Jewish people – more than seven decades since our brush with extinction at the hands of an authoritarian, extremist regime – to remain fewer in number than prior to WWII. Nearly half of us live in Israel, and we were expelled or killed in a dozen nations in the years around and following WWII.

And here, in the diaspora, today… We’ve again been told we do not belong. We cannot remain as we are. We cannot believe as we do. We are not entitled to our ancestral homeland. Chanukah celebrations have been canceled due to security concerns or to avoid the appearance of supporting Israel. We are simultaneously told anti-Zionism is not anti-Semitism, while being told that supporting the Jewish people is supporting Israel.

Elie Weisel, Holocaust survivor and advocate for justice, said “as a Jew, I need Israel. More precisely: I can live as a Jew outside Israel but not without Israel." And for these past two months, we’ve been told that we do not deserve Israel. We do not deserve to exist.

We will remain steadfast. Here, in the diaspora, and certainly in our homeland. Am Yisrael Chai.

This Will Not Extinguish My Flame

Count me among the many left-leaning Jews who feel isolated from many groups and people with whom we’ve organized and advocated in the past.

For the past two months, many people have felt compelled to align on one side of the Israeli-Hamas war, or another. The organizations that some label “woke” – those advocating for gender equality, queer rights, racial justice – have mostly positioned themselves as anti-Israel, believing that the Jewish state is the result of settler colonialism and white supremacy. This belief is perpetuated by decades of an intentional and misleading narrative, rooted in some of the oldest antisemitic tropes. Jewish greed, puppet mastery, world domination, elitism, and more… are all building blocks to the false perception that Israel is an illegitimate nation.

The feeling of isolation that I share with so many of my Jewish siblings comes from experiencing the betrayal of having stood side-by-side and hand-in-hand with so many other marginalized communities, advocating for their rights, to now find them advocating against our existence. I know, from personal experience, that those advocating against Israel do not believe their advocacy is rooted in antisemitism or that it harms me. But my heart and my understanding of my People’s history know the harm being caused.

Phrases like “from the river to the sea” cannot be accepted as peaceful aspirations. Even if a person who wants peace says them, that is not the origin of the phrase or the goal of its authors. Those of us who advocate for justice know that impacted communities can speak best to the harms caused by statements and actions. Listen to the vast majority of Jewish people when we say that this calls for our genocide. Believe us when we say that the vast majority of us want peace in the Levant – for all people. Most of us have been calling for a two-state solution for decades and still want to see this come to fruition, even after the Simchat Torah Massacre.

Though I feel betrayed, I remain proud of every step I’ve taken in solidarity with the reignited fight for racial justice during the summer of 2020. I still have a sign at my home reading “Black lives matter.” I remain proud of each breath used to call for queer rights to be fully recognized in our laws. I stand by my words when I spoke up against rising Asian hate during the pandemic, and against Islamophobia after the election of our 45th President. Because I didn’t do any of these things as a downpayment for when I knew I inevitably would need allies. I do these things because Judaism has taught me “tzedek, tzedek tirdof – justice, justice shall you pursue.” I do these things because they are the right thing to do, even absent reciprocity.

I remain grateful to all who stand against antisemitism, and I hold space for those who do not yet see the harm they are causing by ignoring the truth.

My commitment to social justice remains intact, and my Zionism remains intact. My flame remains burning for peace and justice.