Reclaiming Hanukkah

For decades, American Jews have celebrated Hanukkah in ways that feel almost the opposite of its original meaning. Living now in the shadow of October 7th, we have the opportunity — and the responsibility — to reclaim Hanukkah as it was intended: a radical story of Jewish resistance.

Hanukkah in America has, in many ways, come to mirror the Christmas-centered holiday season. And it’s hard to blame us. Who can resist the sparkling lights, catchy songs, endless presents, and multiplying Hallmark specials? I grew up in a home where my parents adamantly opposed giving us presents in any way that might mimic Christmas celebrations. Yet here I am, planning gifts for my children — who go to Jewish day school and still expect presents all eight nights.

Hanukkah’s commercialization is attractive for another reason: it’s easy. Let’s be honest: nothing about Hanukkah in America feels challenging. The rituals are comforting: lighting candles, fighting darkness with light, and celebrating Jewish pride. It’s a holiday rooted at home with a message for the public square. Little wonder that, rivaling Passover and Yom Kippur, over two-thirds of US Jews celebrate this agreeable holiday.

The history, though? That’s harder. The story of Hanukkah is rarely taught in its full complexity. It tells of a bloody military battle and religious zeal — a fight for sovereignty, Torah, and our right to live as Jews. The Maccabees battled external enemies and Hellenized Jews who embraced the Seleucid outlawing of Jewish practice in the name of Greek “progress.”

Unlike some, I never saw the Maccabees as intolerable religious fanatics. They are my spiritual ancestors, and I claim them proudly.

But for years, I labored to connect their historical struggle to our reality as American Jews. Their fight was against Seleucid Greeks who outlawed core Jewish practices like Shabbat, kashrut, and circumcision — imposing their will through military force. In America, our struggle against assimilation is different. Judaism isn’t outlawed here; it’s embraced. The danger lies in the quiet seduction of acceptance. Hanukkah’s transformation into a commercialized holiday — complete with its own pop culture status, piles of presents, and Hallmark specials — makes it easy to celebrate the Maccabees’ defiance while ignoring the erosion of Jewish distinctiveness today.

Hanukkah was not always so popular in the United States. Historian Jenna Weissman Joselit notes that in 19th-century America, Hanukkah was largely ignored. Jewish families rarely kindled menorah lights, and rabbis lamented its decline.

It was only by the 1920s, and especially after World War II, that Hanukkah was widely celebrated in the US. Sociologist Marshall Sklare observed that it became a Jewish alternative to Christmas, a way for Jews to feel at home in American culture. This reminds me of what historian Jonathan Sarna describes as part of a “cult of synthesis,” where American Jews sought to integrate Jewish traditions with the ideals of American society.

This synthesis is not inherently bad. It allows Jews to thrive in a pluralistic society while preserving elements of their distinctiveness. But as Hanukkah grew in popularity, it also grew in consumerization, and its deeper meanings faded. A holiday born of defiance against assimilation became, ironically, a tool for assimilation itself.

This year feels different. The shadow of October 7th and our new realities as Jews has sharpened Hanukkah’s original meaning. The parallels are glaring: in Israel, we see the fight for Jewish sovereignty, the courage to confront enemies, and the rededication of Jewish life in its ancestral homeland.

Here in America, Hanukkah also has a new urgency. Like Jews under Greek rule, we are told that we would be accepted — if only we renounce what society deems primitive. Reject Israel, downplay Zionism, and disavow loyalty to the Jewish people, and you’ll be embraced.

I believe this fits in with what historian David Nirenberg describes as “anti-Judaism” — not hatred of Jews as individuals, but hatred of what society sees as diabolically Jewish. Some Jews seek to escape it by denouncing what makes us distinct.

But Hanukkah reminds us that we can take on this battle — and that we can win. Dr. Malka Simkovich writes that Hanukkah is “the Jewish response to the project of erasure.” Hanukkah’s core Jewish message is that: “We are here. We have a right to be here. We have a right to live according to our own principles.”

I’m not suggesting we do away with presents — let’s be honest, that ship has sailed for most of us. Nor am I arguing against integration in America — a remarkable Christian-majority country that not only makes room for multiple faith communities, but also fosters shared moments of celebration. Rather, we can commit to our own modern-day project of reclaiming and rededicating: embracing the gift-giving and celebrating our American Judaism without reducing Hanukkah to a watered-down version that’s easier to digest but loses the essence of what the holiday truly represents.

This Hanukkah, let’s own the story. If you’re a parent, teach your children about Mattathias, the warrior priest whose sons gave their lives fighting for Jewish sovereignty. Speak about the cost of Jewish survival and the pressures of assimilation. Share examples of times in America today when we’re pressured to give up our story or what makes us unique to fit in.

Don’t shy away from what’s hard or less palatable. Hanukkah’s light isn’t meant for mere comfort; it’s the fire of Jewish resistance — a reminder to fight for our survival, sovereignty, and story.