Serious topics are at the fore of the books for younger readers reviewed by the Jewish Independent this Chanukah. From the story of a Russian dancer whose life is cut short by pneumonia to Canadian teenagers who must work 13-hour days for little pay to young Danes who take on the Nazis, these recent publications respect the intelligence of their audience and, through the combination of entertaining narratives and compelling images, broaden their understanding and knowledge of the world.
Swan: The Life and Dance of Anna Pavlova (Chronicle Books) is intended for readers ages 6-8. It is truly a work of art that writer Laurel Snyder and illustrator Julie Morstad (who happens to live in Vancouver) have created. The illustrations are stunning and the placement of the text is also artistically done.
As Snyder explains at the end of the book, Anna Pavlova was born in 1881. Her mother was a laundress, “and Russia under the czars was generally a world where the poor stayed poor. Anna’s life should have been dismal.” But then her mother took her to the ballet. Onstage, “A sleeping beauty opens her eyes … and so does Anna. Her feet wake up! Her skin prickles. There is a song, suddenly, inside her. Now Anna cannot sleep. Or sit still ever. She can only say, dip and spin….”
The story follows Anna as she practises and practises, until finally accepted into ballet school. After which, more practising, “Until one night she takes the stage … Anna becomes a glimmer, a grace.” She becomes world famous, traveling the globe, though never forgetting her humble beginnings, and becomes a ballet teacher when she can no longer perform. “Until a chill finds Anna, hunts her down alone, without her boots and mittens. A wind. A cough beside a stopped train. A rattle she can’t shake.” In the book, as she apparently did in real life, Anna asks for her swan dress from her sick bed. One last performance, if only in her mind. She died in 1931.
For readers interested in knowing more about Anna Pavlova, Swan includes a nine-book bibliography.
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While change may take awhile in coming, it can be achieved. Take, for instance, working conditions in Canada. The title of Anne Dublin’s 44 Hours or Strike! (Second Story Press) comes from one of the unmet demands that led to the Toronto Dressmakers’ Strike of 1931: a 44-hour work week.
After their father is laid off, Rose must leave school to work in a dress factory. When their father dies from tuberculosis and their mother becomes ill from an unknown ailment (at least at first), 14-year-old Sophie must join her 16-year-old sister at the factory. The working conditions are appalling and they include a lecherous foreman.
When the workers go on strike, there is little empathy. Immigrants (especially Jews) are resented and not trusted, and the Depression has left many people in dire poverty. In an altercation 10 days into the strike, Rose – who did nothing wrong – is arrested with some other strikers and, without due process, is sentenced “to 30 days at the Mercer Reformatory for Women or a $100 fine – as if she had ever seen that much money in her life!”
Sophie must continue her strike duty, as well as care for her mother. She receives some comfort from the friendship of Jake, a paperboy who, unfortunately, is not Jewish.
44 Hours or Strike! – aimed at readers 10 to 14 years old – covers a lot of issues in its 124 pages. The archival photos really help put readers in 1931 Toronto, and brief biographies of some of the labor activists at the time are included at the back of the book. Dublin also lists many options for further reading on the topic.
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The incredible true story of a group of Danish teenagers who, during the Second World War, fought against the Nazis through acts of sabotage is told by Phillip Hoose and Knud Pedersen in The Boys Who Challenged Hitler: Knud Pedersen and the Churchill Club (Farrar, Straus and Giroux).
This book is comprised of Hoose’s narrative and excerpts from his nearly 25-hour interview with Pedersen in 2012, as well as photos, illustrations, scans of documents and sidebars. At times, it’s hard to know where to look on a page and what to read first. But that shouldn’t be a problem for the 12-to-18-year-olds for whom the book is written.
Pedersen was in Grade 8 when, on April 9, 1940, Germany attacked both Norway and Denmark. The Norwegians put up a valiant, if short-lived, resistance. “Jens [Pederson’s brother] and I, and our closest friends, were totally ashamed of our government,” Pedersen says. “At least the Norwegian victims had gone down in a country they could be proud of. Our small army had surrendered to the German forces within a few hours on April 9…. One thing had become very clear: now any resistance in Denmark would have to come from ordinary citizens, not from trained soldiers.”
The brothers with a few others started their rebellion in Odense, where they were living. They called themselves the RAF Club, after the British air force. They would do things like change or damage road signs and cut telephone lines.
When their father was posted to Jutland and the family moved, the brothers organized the Churchill Club; named, of course, after Winston Churchill. They continued their acts of resistance, which came to include blowing up train cars full of material the Nazis needed. Eventually, after about a year, all of the Churchill Club boys were discovered and sent to jail in 1942. The brothers spent two years in prison. Hoose lets readers know what happened to them and their co-saboteurs. There is a selected bibliography and author’s notes on each chapter. This book would be great as the basis of a school project.
Harpo Marx and the Bodnes in the Rose Room. The hotel’s list of illustrious guests is almost literally endless. (photo from Algonquin Kid)
Michael Elihu Colby had the unique privilege to be brought up in New York’s legendary Algonquin Hotel. Well, not exactly brought up in it, but his grandparents owned it from 1946 to 1987 and he was there a lot.
Colby’s book, The Algonquin Kid (BearManor Media) is chock-a-block with stories from his experience as a youngster hanging around and also tales handed down through the years.
Grandma Mary and Grandpa Ben Bodne loom large in the book, as they did in the hotel and, by extension, cultural life in New York City in the 20th century. The grandparents were from the southern United States and Ben became wealthy through oil during the Second World War and afterward sought to parlay his money into something else. Despite having no hotel experience, the couple threw themselves into the adventure.
The hotel was a dilapidated shadow of its former glory. On top of the million dollars the hotel cost, the family had to sink another $300,000 into making it decent. This renovation was not welcomed by all the guests. The hotel had residents who had lived there for 20 years and who were highly averse to change.
The book is fabulously gossipy and it would have been shorter, maybe, if Colby had listed the celebrities he didn’t run into. Tennessee Williams, Norman Mailer, William Saroyan and John Cheever were among the literary lights.
Although this was well past the hey-day of the famed Algonquin Round Table, some of those names were still hanging on, too.
Show biz figures included Ingrid Bergman, Kitty Carlyle, Tallulah Bankhead and Angela Lansbury, the latter two of whom lived at the hotel. Rosemary Clooney, Irving Berlin, Noel Coward, Ella Fitzgerald … the list is almost literally endless.
The Algonquin was welcoming to actors and artists blacklisted during the McCarthy era and also to African-Americans at a time when this was unusual. Among the bold-faced names in this category: Maya Angelou, Coretta King, Thurgood Marshall and Oscar Peterson.
The hotel staff included its own characters, like a telephone operator who had the skills of the CIA at tracking down anyone anywhere, and a quick-thinking maître D’: “When a guest found a fly in her salad, he popped it in his mouth, swallowed down the evidence, and exclaimed ‘Delicious! A raisin.’”
This is a book of family stories and such stories, especially when the family is filled with characters, can improve with the telling. The author may or may not believe some of his own tales.
“Grandpa Ben claimed he first met a celebrity selling her a paper: he believed that woman, who tipped him generously, was Helen Keller,” writes Colby. Think for a moment about how likely that story is to be true.
How about this story of Grandma Mary welcoming Marilyn Monroe: “After greeting each other, Grandma remarked, ‘Marilyn, that’s the most beautiful mink you have on!’ Marilyn replied, ‘You think that’s something, you should see what’s underneath.’ She pulled open the mink, and wasn’t wearing anything. Not every kid can claim his grandmother was flashed by Marilyn Monroe.” Well, every kid can claim it.
Legendary Broadway librettist Alan Jay Lerner and composer Frederick Loewe were working in a ninth-floor hotel room, below the family’s 10th-floor apartment.
“One evening, Grandpa could no longer stand the ivories tinkling in Room 908 – one light below – disturbing his sleep. He phoned the hotel operator to ask Lerner and Loewe to quiet down, complaining, ‘I wouldn’t mind if they were writing something good, but this is just noise.’ It turned out Lerner and Loewe were creating the song ‘I Could Have Danced All Night.’”
Unlike others who visited or lived at the Algonquin, Colby is not among America’s greatest writers, but his stories are well worth the read.
A Google search for latke recipes reveals 341,000 results, so popular is the Chanukah treat.
My earliest memory of Chanukah catapults me back to Winnipeg’s North End of the 1940s and my grandparents’ cozy, clapboard house on the tree-lined boulevard of Burrows Avenue East. My mother and I lived there then; my father was still away at war. It was the time in a child’s life before words, when smells and sounds and tastes made meaning of the world. Although I couldn’t say latke, much less describe its savory, greasy goodness or its mouth-watering fragrance, I knew what it was with every fibre and neuron of my little being, and could hardly wait for my grandmother to place a warm, tiny morsel into my impatient mouth.
My aproned baba, spatula in hand, bent over the sizzling frying pan in the over-crowded kitchen, flipping the golden discs of shredded potato and onion like a juggler. The tantalizing odor rising from the stove told me that Chanukah was near. My grandmother would make frying pan after frying pan of latkes, stacking them in her large roasting pan, the only container large enough to store the hundreds of latkes she churned out. I knew, once the covered roaster found its way into the old Leonard refrigerator with the compressor on the top, that Chanukah was only a day or two away.
And, joyfully, now Chanukah is almost here again. Though more than 65 years have passed since that first delicious bit of latke found its way into my waiting, toothless mouth, the visions of that kitchen and the image of my beloved grandmother, who has been gone for 31 years now, are as clear as they were then, the taste and the smell just as vivid. And to celebrate, it’s time to pay tribute to the wonderful latke, the traditional Chanukah staple. If we take a look on the internet, we discover the potato latke and its many oily variations listed innumerable times. Even kitchen diva Martha Stewart has her own special recipes posted on her website – 16 at last count. (She also has other sections dedicated to the holiday that are worth checking out.)
When Rabbi Marc Gellman from Toronto appeared on the TV show Good Morning America many years ago to talk about Chanukah, he shared a basic recipe for latkes, with one difference – the addition of nutmeg. He also shared his secret to good apple sauce: “Core but do not peel about eight Mutsu or Rome apples. Cook with one-quarter cup of apple cider and a cinnamon stick.”
If you ever tire of the traditional potato latke, don’t despair. Believe it or not, there is the Jewish Food Experience latke archives to consult. More than 100 varieties can be found there to tempt you, including drunken apple, walnut, cauliflower-cheddar, Sephardi bunuelos, and dozens more, such as chestnut flour, risotto, and Norwegian lox. But I think I’ll pass on the brain latkes!
What to do if you love latkes, but not the fat? The Canadian Cancer Foundation suggests trying a no-oil “lean” latke. Coat a skillet with fat-free cooking spray and smooth the grated potatoes into a large, plate-sized pancake. One serving contains 162 calories and less than one gram of fat. And, if a latke just isn’t a latke without oil, then go ahead and splurge by adding one tablespoon only.
Every year, amateur cook Roger Mummert holds court in his Long Island kitchen for chefs with the tastiest and most extreme latke recipes. Last year, the event was covered by National Public Radio, which archived its report along with recipes for winners, including Larry’s firecracker latke poppers, spana-latke-kopita, and Mexi-latkes with jalapenos and red peppers.
There are many websites that give recipes on how to make a great latke. At the All Recipes site, there are tips about what kind of potatoes to use (russet), how to keep them from turning pinkish-brown (keep them under water) and how to make sure they don’t fall apart when you’re frying them (squeeze the potato mixture in a cheesecloth).
Who would have imagined that there’s also a whole sub-genre of latke humor lurking on the web? In his article “Ritual slaughter of the latke,” Raphael Finkel elucidates the intricate (and phony) Jewish laws that ensure that latkes are kosher. For example, just as kosher meat must be salted, Finkel says we must “remember to salt the potato and leave it to drain for at least 24 hours. We do this in memory of Lot’s wife, Latke, who was turned to salt. Use a lotta salt, in memory of Lot’s daughter, Lotta.” Is that a groaner, or what?
Believe it or not, a scholarly book titled Desperately Seeking Certainty: The Misguided Quest for Constitutional Foundations has a recipe in it for potato latkes. Honest! The authors use that as a starting point to envisage how that recipe might be reinterpreted by leading jurists like retired U.S. Supreme Court justice Antonio Scalia. “Scalia would conclude that latkes were a liberal distortion of the recipe as originally understood, so he would make matzah (unleavened bread ritually eaten at Passover) instead.” Meanwhile, the heavy thinkers at MIT engage in an annual food fight on the same weighty subject.
Speaking of weight, I’ll leave the last word to writer Marjorie Windgall, whose wishes for a modern-day Chanukah miracle are probably shared by latke fans everywhere. She quips, “My hope is that a miracle will occur and the calories of eight days will count as the calories of one.” Me, too!
Sharon Melnicer is a Jewish freelance writer, broadcaster and artist living in Winnipeg.
I thought readers would get a kick out of this. The Arbutus Shopping Centre has winter signs that all have the identical scene – basically Christmas gingerbread houses and bears snowboarding – that say things in several different languages, like “Joyeuses Fête,” “Happy Holidays,” in French, as well as something in Chinese and what you see in the photo in Hebrew.
I couldn’t understand one word of the Hebrew sign, so I took the photo and sent it to my daughter and son who decoded it immediately. It seems that the mall, with all good intentions, took the Hebrew words “Chag Sameach Shel” (“Happy Holiday of”) but wrote the Hebrew letters in the English order, left to right. Chag sameach shel Chanukah!
Israeli politicians learn to sign on the day that the Institute for the Advancement of Deaf Persons in Israel inaugurated a new online dictionary at the Knesset on Oct. 21. (photo from Institute for the Advancement of Deaf Persons in Israel)
A new online Israeli Sign Language (ISL) dictionary is helping people communicate by teaching hearing people via short video clips how to sign words. It is Yael Kakon’s vision come to life.
Kakon is the executive director of the Institute for the Advancement of Deaf Persons in Israel (IADPI).
“Our institute is working in several fields and one of them is to increase the use of sign language, especially with the people working with [those who are deaf], but also in the general population in Israel,” said Kakon, whose parents are deaf. “We have done several smaller dictionaries that were meant for specific industries. This is the first one that is online that people can reach anywhere.”
The previous dictionaries were on CD-ROM disks. These versions became outdated, as operating systems changed to the point that people could no longer use them.
There was a Signs in Crisis dictionary that was widely used by Magen David Adom and in hospitals. Signs of Judaism was another, as was Dictionary for Terminology, which was designed for high school science and math and was also translated into Arabic. The newest lexicon incorporates all of these versions, as well as additional words. Its video dictionary currently has just over 3,000 clips of signing in four languages: English, Hebrew, Arabic and Russian.
The limit on words and languages is because the cost was prohibitive to go further at the moment, said Kakon, who is hopeful that more clips will be added along the way.
Every 10th word out of the dictionary was chosen, followed by a manual check to ensure that all the important words were on the list. This is a systematic method that linguists use when compiling dictionaries, she explained.
“The translation into four languages was very complicated,” said Elias Kabakov, director of program development. “Even translation into Hebrew, because, if there are two languages, each one can have synonyms and each one can mean different things in different contexts…. English can have different context. It’s the same with Russian and Arabic. This must have delayed completion of the dictionary by two years. It’s not just a matter of translating a bunch of words, but making sure the intention of each sign was right.”
“Although we just started,” Kakon said, “I can tell you that there has been a huge celebration in the deaf community. People felt pride. They felt like a unit, a big unit, a unit that got a lot of attention.
“One deaf person came and told us that he came to work the day after the release, at the place he had worked for several years, and one of the workers, a hearing person, came to him and told him in sign language, ‘Good morning. How are you?’ And he was shocked, and said, ‘I worked here for seven years. He never came to me and told me good morning.’
“He continued by asking the person, ‘What’s going on? How do you know how to sign?’ And the answer was, ‘I looked on the dictionary.’ He was very proud to tell us the story.”
Kakon said that all the people in the videos are deaf, as IADPI gives priority to employing deaf professionals. “Although I sign very well myself, due to my parents being deaf, I will never be in the front, because I think the deaf person should be in the front and I can hear,” she explained.
According to its website, the dictionary was produced with contributions from Alex Garfeld and the late Prof. Miriam Shlesinger, “who actively supported linguistic accessibility for the deaf and the hard-of-hearing population of Israel.”
Visit isl.org.il to use the dictionary or get the Signs in Crisis app. For more information about IADPI, including information about donations, visit dpii.org.
The comedy team of Rabbi Bob Alpert and Ahmed Ahmed on their August 2015 Laugh in Peace Tour. (photo from Laugh in Peace)
“Both Jews and Muslims have a lot in common. What are we fighting over? Jews and Muslims don’t eat pork, we don’t celebrate Christmas, we both use ‘ch’ in our pronunciation, and we are both hairy creatures of God,” says comedian Ahmed Ahmed. “The only real difference between Jews and Muslims is that Jews never like to spend any money and Muslims never have any money to spend.”
So goes one of the dozens of jokes featured in the Laugh in Peace comedy routine of Ahmed and Rabbi Bob Alper. It’s one Arab, one Jew, one stage. The unlikely duo’s show was in Israel (Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Haifa) and the Palestinian territories (Ramallah) for the first time from Aug. 12-17. Together, Ahmed and Alper have performed more than 150 times during the last 14 years – throughout the United States, Canada and England – at synagogues, churches, mosques, theatres and college campuses.
Their story began as a gimmick by a savvy publicist, said Alper, a Reform rabbi who spent more than a decade at pulpits in New York and Philadelphia – or, as he calls it, “14 years of performing in front of a hostile audience.”
Alper admits he was at first resistant to the idea of the combined show. “My publicist calls me one day and says, ‘Bob, why don’t you do a show with an Arab comedian?’ I said, ‘Do you have any other ideas?’”
Ahmed was skeptical, too. “I got this call, ‘My name is Bob Alper and I am a Reform rabbi.’… He says, ‘I have an idea. I thought it would be great to do a show together.’… Well, I said, ‘That sounds good, where do you perform?’ He says, ‘Well, I perform in synagogues.’ … I thought someone was playing a joke on me.”
But the timing was right. In 2001, at the height of the terrorism of the second Palestinian intifada (uprising) in Israel, people were primed for comic relief. Alper says, when people are tense or sad, “comedy is even more important.”
Over time, the two have been more than just a successful and sought-after show. They’ve become good friends. The women in Alper’s small Vermont town fell in love with Ahmed through his visits and regularly inquire about his well-being. Alper has eaten in Ahmed’s parents’ California home.
“Ahmed’s dad asked about my family,” Alper recalled. “When I told him my wife would be having shoulder surgery the following month, he looked gravely at me and ordered, ‘You must stop twisting her arm.’”
They also believe they have played a role in breaking down barriers between Muslims and Jews. On college campuses, where Jewish-Muslim tension and antisemitism run rampant over the issue of Israel, Ahmed and Alper perform for mixed audiences. Jewish males wearing yarmulkes and females in hijabs sit side-by-side, smiling and laughing.
“When people laugh together, it is hard to hate each other,” said Alper, recounting how at the University of Arkansas it occurred to him that they were guests of the Razorbacks – a Muslim and a Jew performing at a school whose mascot is a pig.
They keep their shows apolitical, though they do touch on their personal religious experiences in the 90-minute performances, which generally are divided between solo acts of 30-35 minutes and a joint opening and closing. The closing includes stories from their travels.
Among the 2016 shows listed on Bob Alper’s website (bobalper.com) is only one in Canada, and it just so happens to be at Congregation Beth Israel on March 23.
The Chabad-Lubavitch public chanukiyah in front of Karlsruhe Palace in Germany. When we light the candles, we are, in effect, praying that the light of renewal, love and peace will break out in the world. (photo by Michael Kauffmann via commons.wikimedia.org)
What is Chanukah about? Dreidels? Latkes? Doughnuts? Candles? All of the above? According to the rabbis of the Talmud, Chanukah is primarily about the remembering of a miracle. But what is the miracle?
Chanukah celebrates the miracle that Hashem did for us in the time of the Seleucids, when the Greek occupying power tried to wipe out Jewish culture and absorb us into the Hellenic world. Some say that the miracle is the oil that burned for eight days after the
Temple was re-consecrated, even though there was only enough for one day. Some say that it was the defeat of the Greek army, as the prayer “Al Hanissim,” recited every day during Chanukah, says. Perhaps it was both – the miraculous salvation of the Jews by a power not their own, which was clearly demonstrated by the oil that burnt for eight days. Perhaps that was Hashem’s way of signing His name.
Throughout Jewish history, many rabbis have pointed out that Chanukah is about chinuch, education. What is the way of education shown in Chanukah? It is the way of light. Each day, we light another candle to illumine the darkness and we place this menorah of lights in the window where we can show it to the world. Why on this holiday do we publicize the miracle? The Mevaser Tov (the Biala Rebbe Shlita) asks this question, pointing out, “We do not read the Megillah out in the street, or pour the four glasses of Pesach on the street corners!” The reason, he says, is that the light of Chanukah is a first dawning of messianic light – the light that has been hidden away since the beginning of the world. When we light the candles, we are letting loose some of this light and we are, in effect, saying a prayer that this light break out en masse in the world.
But what does this mean? What is the light of the Messiah? The Tanach says that the messianic age will be when: “the wolf will dwell with the lamb / and the leopard will lie down with the young goat / and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together / and a small child will lead them. / Also the cow and the bear will graze / their young will lie down together / and the lion will eat straw like the ox. / The nursing child will play by the hole of the cobra / and the weaned child will put his hand on the viper’s den. / They will not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountain / for the earth will be full of the knowledge of YHVH / as the waters cover the sea.” (Isaiah 11:6-9)
The light of the Messiah is the light of renewal, love and peace. This light that we light both commemorates and anticipates a miracle – the miracle that human beings and God work together to save the world.
Why did Hashem publicly save the Jews fighting the Greek empire? The Aish HaKodesh (Rabbi Kalonymous Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto, died 1942, zt’l) explains by pointing out why the Jews of that time warranted a miracle. Surely Jews of many times and places (and certainly his own!) had suffered great losses at the hands of oppressors, murderers and tyrants. Homes, possessions, families had all been lost. Jews had been maimed, broken, scarred and killed. The reason, the Aish HaKodesh says, is that what most pained the Jews at that time was not the loss of loved ones, possessions or even life and limb. Not that they didn’t grieve for these things, but they were not what caused the Jews to rise up in prayer to God and in rebellion against the Greek empire. What animated the Jews was the threat not to their bodies, but to their spirit. When the Greek empire raised a hand against the values of Israel and threatened to wipe them out, then the Jews rose up. In other words, what provoked the miracle was that the Jewish people cared more about an injury to their spirits than their bodies. Faith like that, love like that, can provoke miracles.
We live in a time of great temptation to forget the spirit of Judaism in our anger and grief. The details are well known and do not need to be repeated here. The Jewish people, and the Jews of the state of Israel in particular, are attacked with lies, with knives, with axes, with stones, guns, bombs, cars, tractors and even buses. The temptation is great to respond with hatred, with violence. We are tempted to give back as we get, and some try to, usually with disastrous consequences. Witness the mob in Israel that attacked a Jew they thought was an Arab, or when another killed an Eritrean man. To lose sight of our highest values at a time like this – values of justice, peace, love for all the nations and unwavering menschlichkeit – is to lose our hope to be a light to the nations. That light is the light of Chanukah. Experience teaches us that only from that light will miracles come. That light itself is a miracle.
Matthew Gindinis a writer, lecturer and holistic therapist. As well as teaching holistic medicine, Gindin regularly lectures on topics in Jewish and world spirituality, and has a particular passion for making ancient wisdom traditions relevant in the modern world. His work has been featured on Elephant Journal, the Zen Site and Wisdom Pills, and he blogs at Talis in Wonderland (mgindin.wordpress.com) and Voices (hashkata.com).
Dreidels for sale in Mahane Yehuda in Jerusalem. (photo by Adiel lo via commons.wikimedia.org)
“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay, and when it’s dry and ready, oh dreidel I shall play.” This children’s song has been sung for generations on Chanukah. A dreidel (Yiddish for spinning top; drey is Yiddish for spin) is a unique toy. It is still called by its original name all these centuries later and is enjoyed by children (and adults) of all ages the world over during Chanukah. It is also perhaps the oldest toy in history, but it is not only functional – it is wrought with symbolism.
In Hebrew, a dreidel is called a sevivon. It dates back to the time of the Greek-Syrian rule over the Holy Land, which set off the Maccabean revolt that culminated in the Chanukah miracle. Learning Torah was outlawed and was punishable by death. The Jewish children resorted to hiding in caves in order to study their beloved Torah. When Greek soldiers were on patrol and would approach them, the children would pull out their dreidels and pretend to be playing a game instead of learning. By playing dreidel during Chanukah, we are reminded of the courage of these brave children.
Dreidels generally do not require any maintenance at all. They are silent but strong. They are thrilled to be taken out every year for Chanukah from the cupboard to be a plaything, to see the sheer delight on the faces of generations of Jewish people who have survived so much persecution. They don’t mind if we touch them with our oily or sticky fingers, spin them endlessly, let them fall onto the floor repeatedly in our enthusiasm, smash them down mercilessly when we lose, throw them up in the air when we win, or spin them upside down to show off for our friends and family. They are so happy to be used for the eight-day festival, which this year begins on the evening of Sunday, Dec. 6, and continues until and including the last night, which will be on Sunday, Dec. 13.
Dreidels come in plastic, wood, metal and even crystal and are collector items, too. But, dreidels are not just objects to be admired and collected, they are actually used to play a game, which has rules. Players gather around a table and divide up a pile of items for tokens (coins, candies, peanuts, etc.). Players take turns spinning the dreidel to see how it will fall and then try to win the whole pot based on the turns. A dreidel has four sides and each side has a Hebrew letter: a nun, a gimmel, a hey and a shin.
After spinning, the top lands and the letter that is facing up determines what happens next. For nun, meaning nisht (nothing), you don’t do anything. For gimmel, meaning gantz (the whole thing), you get to keep the whole pot and then everyone has to put one item in to make a new pot. For hey (halb, or half), you get half of the pot and for shin (shtel arein), you have to put one in the pot. It boils down to having to give or take. It also gives us something to think about while we’re waiting for our next turn. Are we going to be givers or takers? Give: G-d gives us so much, so we can share with others this Chanukah (money, food, time, etc.). Take: we can take upon ourselves an additional aspect of spirituality (a Torah class, a mitzvah, synagogue attendance, etc.).
A dreidel is not a simple toy either, though. It is imbued with the blood of martyrs, the tears of the pious and the endurance of the faithful. No matter what material forms it, a dreidel is made of pretty tough stuff, just like us.
The letters on the dreidel spell out the Hebrew phrase, “Nes gadol haya sham,” which translates as, “A great miracle happened there” (meaning in the Holy Land). Israeli dreidels have the letter pey instead of shin to represent the word poh (here).
Aside from being a symbol of courage and a fun game, how does the small, simple dreidel embody the Chanukah message? What’s striking about the dreidel is that its “religious” aspect isn’t readily apparent upon looking at it. In fact, while it’s spinning, we can’t even make out any letters at all and certainly cannot make words out of the letters even when the dreidel stops. Its message is hidden.
Our lives are like a game of dreidel. In the course of our hectic day-to-day routine, we are often too busy to notice the “letters” – those small and big miracles that accompany us all the time. Taking a first breath upon waking in the morning, stepping onto the floor, being able to get dressed, being able to eat, pray, read the newspaper, drive to work and do all of the activities that we may take for granted in our busyness.
I like to think of the letters of the dreidel as modes of being. We all have our “gimmel” days, when we feel that everything is going great for us. Then there are our “hey” days, when things are going well but could be better. On the “shin” days, we spend time wishing for the hey and gimmel days. The “nun” days, when all the good things seem like a distant memory, we feel that we may never have another hey or gimmel day again in our whole lives.
Each of these letters though, represents only one face of the dreidel – a single perspective of the whole. Together, they spell out a sentence – and, every once in awhile, we have to give the spinning dreidel a break and reflect on its message, “A great miracle happened there.” This, of course, refers to the miracles of Chanukah that occurred in the Holy Land when the situation seemed beyond hope. The commitment of a few people turned the situation around (just like a dreidel) and brought about the miracle through G-d’s salvation. The Maccabees didn’t dwell on the fact that they were being oppressed and persecuted by an enemy larger and stronger than they were. They focused on the gimmel that was on the other side of the shin. They used this attitude to act to create a vehicle for a divine miracle.
It’s important to remember that whatever letter we seem to land on, it’s all part of one dreidel and that the dreidel has the message that miracles can and do happen every day. We can transform the dark situations of our lives into the bright lights of the Chanukah candles to help us battle the darkness. We only have to draw on the strength of the Maccabees, those brave children and the letters of the dreidel. When they fall, they get up, with a little help, and spin ecstatically over and over again.
After the terror we have seen over the past few months in Israel every single day, as well as the terror in Europe and all around the globe, we might think of how we can help during these horrific attacks on completely innocent civilians. In our physical world, there is the notion of cause and effect known as the “butterfly effect,” where a butterfly can flap its wings in one part of the world and cause a storm on the other side of the globe.
In a spiritual realm, a small positive action can push away and dispel much evil, as the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, said – a tiny light can dispel much darkness. How appropriate for us today. We can get involved in positive actions of any type wherever we find ourselves. This goodness will work to counteract the evil, even on the other side of the world.
We need not feel helpless at the terrible news we receive constantly, as there is much we can do through our positive actions. Let’s hope and pray that, as we say in the second blessing on the candles each night of Chanukah, “Blessed are You, Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time,” that G-d will continuously send us miracles and protection wherever we are in the world and wherever His protection is needed.
Chag samayach!
Esther Taubyis a local educator, writer and counselor.
Many Jews retain the custom of honoring Judith by eating cheese for Chanukah, and the custom of eating dishes like cheesecake and blintzes emerged from the story of Judith. Many Jews retain the custom of honoring Judith by eating cheese for Chanukah, and the custom of eating dishes like cheesecake and blintzes emerged from the story of Judith. (photo by Andrevan via commons.wikimedia.org)
Mention symbolic foods for Chanukah and everyone immediately responds – latkes and sufganiyot. But someone may say cheese pancakes. Cheese? Why?
The Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law), written in the 1500s by Rabbi Joseph Ben Ephraim Caro, a Jew from the Iberian Peninsula, is a digested version of commentaries on laws in the Talmud (commentaries on the first five books of the Bible). The Shulchan Aruch is meant to be an authoritative volume on commandments and, in this volume, there is a legend that dairy dishes and cheese pancakes were to be eaten for Chanukah to commemorate the bravery of Judith, who was a Hasmonean, the same clan as the Maccabee family. As well, Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the 16th-century Polish scholar (1525-1572), wrote, in Orach Chaim, that eating cheese commemorates Judith feeding milk to the enemy.
So, who is Judith and why do some Jews honor her at Chanukah? The Book of Judith is part of the Apocrypha – books not included in the Bible as read by Jews and Protestants. Originally written in Hebrew, the 16 chapters of the standard version of the Book of Judith are in Greek. It is surmised that the author of this book was a Jew who lived and wrote in Palestine and probably lived near Shechem.
In the Book of Judith, interestingly enough, Judith is not mentioned in the first half of the story. In the second half, first her lineage is described then we are told that this young woman was a widow for three years and four months. She was the widow of Manasseh, who belonged to her tribe and who suffered some kind of heat stroke while overseeing the barley harvest and subsequently died in the town of Bethulia in northern Samaria where they lived. Bethulia is near where Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers. It was also a city in the hill country of Samaria that occupied a narrow, important pass at the entrance of Judea, from Jerusalem to Jezreel.
We read: “She was beautiful in appearance and was very lovely to behold.” Judith was also wealthy, having been left gold and silver and menservants and maidservants and cattle and lands.
In the story, it is related that Bethulia was under siege by the army of Holofernes, commander-in-chief of the sixth-century BCE Assyrian king Nebuchadnezzar. Holofernes was a soldier sent to destroy any people who did not support his king. In the story, he cut off the water supply of Bethulia. After 34 days, when the town leaders were ready to surrender to Holofernes, the town magistrate, Uzziah, suggested five more days as a compromise to see if G-d would intervene.
Judith was upset that her countrymen had no trust in G-d and did not approve of the five-day compromise, so she sent her maid to summon the town magistrates. She chastised them for putting G-d to a test, and she urged them to call upon G-d. “Therefore, while we wait for His deliverance, let us call upon Him to help us, and He will hear our voice, if it pleases Him.”
Of course, the people were thirsty, and Uzziah told Judith to pray for rain. She was not happy with that suggestion, so she convinced the magistrates to let her try to do something independently – “Stand at the town gate tonight so that I may go out with my maid…. Only, do not try to find out what I am doing; for I will not tell you until I have finished what I am about to do.”
First, she put ashes on her head and uncovered the sackcloth, then she prayed to G-d to hear her, and she prayed for strength to G-d to strike down the enemy. “Give to me, a widow, the strong hand to do what I plan.”
She then went to her house with her maid, removed her widow’s clothes, which she had worn for the past three years, washed her body, anointed herself, braided her hair and dressed as beautifully as when she was married. She adorned herself with bracelets and chains and rings and earrings and ornaments “to entice the eyes of all the men who might see her.”
She and her maid then went outside the city gates with wine and oil, roasted grain, fig cakes and bread, and dishes on which to eat. Together, they went down to the gate of Bethulia where Uzziah and the elders stood. They opened the gate and she and her maid walked down the mountain, past the valley until they were out of sight.
Judith was greeted by the Assyrian soldiers, who took her into custody. They inquired who she was and where was she going. She told them she was a woman of the Hebrews, fleeing from them. She told the soldiers she had information on the Israelites for Holofernes and she would show him how to capture the hill country. The soldiers then chose 100 men to take her to his tent.
The men who were with Holofernes left his tent, and Judith went inside, where Holofernes was laying on a bed under a canopy woven with purple and gold and emeralds and precious stones. She bowed before him, and his servants helped her up. He told her not to be afraid; he had never hurt anyone willing to serve Nebuchadnezzar. They talked, and she told him she would give him information so he could attack Bethulia. Holofernes and his servants were impressed.
Judith told him her people had exhausted their food supply and would kill their livestock. She devised a plan for Holofernes to go against them with his army and she would lead him to Jerusalem. Holofernes was delighted with her beauty and her wisdom.
Holofernes offered Judith food and drink, but she refused. She then left and went to sleep in her tent. She remained in his camp for three days and, each night, she bathed in a nearby spring and then returned to her tent. On the fourth day, Holofernes asked his eunuch to persuade Judith to come to a banquet in his tent. It appeared she had gained his trust. This time, she accepted. She adorned herself, and her maid entered his tent and placed skins on the ground near where Holofernes was sitting.
When Judith entered, we read: “Holofernes’ heart was ravished with her and his passion was aroused, for he had been waiting for an opportunity to seduce her from the day he first saw her.”
Judith drank and ate what her maid prepared. “Holofernes was greatly pleased with her, and drank a great quantity of wine, much more than he had ever drunk in any one day since he was born.”
His servants left them alone, and he fell asleep dead drunk. Only Judith and Holofernes were in his tent. Her maid was outside. Judith prayed for help from G-d. “Now, indeed, is the time to help your heritage and to carry out my design to destroy the enemies who have risen up against us.”
She then took Holofernes’ sword, took hold of his hair and struck his neck twice to cut off his head. She pulled his body off the bed and covered it with the canopy. She gave the head to her maid to put in their food bag. They left the camp and returned to Bethulia.
When the men of the city heard her voice, they called the elders to gather at the city gate and open it for her. Judith took the head of Holofernes out of the bag and showed it to them. They were astonished, and they thanked G-d. She told them to hang the head on the wall. At daybreak, she said, they should take up their weapons and look as if they were going to attack the Assyrian outpost. Holofernes’ men will run to Holofernes, she said, they will panic and flee, and the men of Bethulia will pursue them and cut them down.
At dawn, the men of Bethulia hung the head of Holofernes on the highest part of the wall and waited at the mountain passes with their weapons. The Assyrian soldiers could not believe their eyes, so they went to Holofernes’ tent and found his body on the floor. The eunuch ranted and raved about what this woman had done.
When the army heard the eunuch, “overcome with fear and trembling,” they rushed out and fled through the hill country. The Israelite soldiers chased after these enemies and slaughtered them and took their possessions.
The high priest came from Jerusalem to salute Judith and bless her. The people plundered the camp for 30 days. He gave the tent of Holofernes and the general’s possessions to Judith. Then, all of the women of Israel ran together to see Judith and they blessed her and performed a dance in her honor. They adorned her with olive branches, and she went before all the people in the dance, leading all the women, and the men followed the women.
The procession continued to Jerusalem, where Judith took the possessions of Holofernes and offered them as a gift to G-d. The celebrations in Jerusalem lasted three months, after which Judith and the townspeople returned to Bethulia. Judith continued to live there and rejected all the proposals from men who wanted to marry her. At the age of 105, she freed her maid and distributed her property since she had no children. She died and was buried in a cave in Bethulia with her husband.
“No one ever again spread terror among the Israelites during the lifetime of Judith, or for a long time after her death.”
Some scholars have come up with another reason that Judith is a heroine. Both 11th-century French talmudic scholar Rashi and 14th-century Spanish scholar Rabbi
Nissim ben Reuven Gerondi maintained that the Greeks had decreed that all virgins about to marry had to submit themselves to a prince prior to marriage. Because Judith, the daughter of Yohanan the high priest, fed the governor cheese that made him sleepy, and she seized the opportunity to chop off his head, she thus saved the virtue of all future brides from sexual exploitation (Mishnah Berura).
This story in the Mishnah says Judith fed Holofernes cheese to make him thirsty. Since Judith lived about the same time as the clan from which the Maccabee brothers came, and they are the heroes of Chanukah, around the 14th century, some Jews instituted on the eating of cheese pancakes and cheese blintzes at Chanukah in honor of her heroism.
According to an article in Schechter on Judaism (Vol. 4, issue 4, December 2003), entitled “Insight Israel,” Rabbi David Golinkin, president of the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, confirms the original story that, in Orach Chaim, section 670:2 of the Shulchan Aruch, Rabbi Isserles relates: “It is customary to recite songs and praises [to God] at the festive meals which are common [on Chanukah] and then the meal becomes a mitzvah meal. Some say that one should eat cheese on Chanukah because the miracle occurred through milk which Judith fed the enemy (Kol Bo and RaN).”
Golinkin writes: “Indeed, that is what the Kol Bo and Rabbi Nissim of Gerona (RaN) wrote. In his commentary to Rabbi Yitzhak Alfassi (the Rif) on Shabbat 23a … he says that, ‘it says in a midrash that the daughter of Yohanan [the high priest] fed the enemy leader cheese to get him drunk and cut off his head and they all fled, and, therefore, it is customary to eat cheese on Chanukah.’
“The Kol Bo, which is an anonymous halachic work written in Provence in the early 14th century, has a slightly different version of the story. It says that the daughter of Yohanan the high priest fed the Greek king ‘a cheese dish in order that he become thirsty and drink a lot and get drunk and lie down and fall asleep.’ That is what transpired; she then cut off his head and brought it to Jerusalem and, when his army saw that their hero had died, they fled, and that is why it is the custom to cook a cheese dish on Chanukah.”
The question, of course, is where did RaN and Kol Bo find this story? It sounds a lot like the story of Judith and Holofernes, as found in the apocryphal Book of Judith. Indeed, cheese is mentioned in some ancient versions of Judith 10:5, which lists the foods that Judith took with her when she left the besieged city to visit Holofernes. Nevertheless, Judith 12:17-20 describes the way in which Judith got Holofernes to go to sleep; it says explicitly that Judith gave him wine to drink and not a cheese dish. Medieval Jews knew the story of Judith from medieval Hebrew sagas called “The Story of Judith” and the like. Some 18 versions of the story have been published. Most of those versions, including the Book of Judith itself, say that Judith gave Holofernes wine to drink, but a couple of the versions do indeed mention milk or cheese.
“Ma’aseh Yehudit,” which was first published in Sefer Hemdat Yamim (Livorno, 1763), says that Judith “opened the milk flask and drank, and also gave the king to drink, and he rejoiced with her greatly and he drank very much wine, more than he had drunk in his entire life.” In other words, according to this version of the story, Judith gave Holofernes both milk and wine. It is clear that the author was influenced by the story of Yael and Sisera in the Book of Judges, because the phrasing was borrowed from Judges 4:19.
“Megillat Yehudit” relates that Judith, after fasting, asked her maidservant to make her two levivot (pancakes or fried cakes). The servant made the levivot very salty and added slices of cheese. Judith fed Holofernes the levivot and the slices of cheese “and he drank [wine] and his heart became very merry and he got drunk and he uncovered himself within his tent and he lay down and fell asleep.”
Finally, the milk and cheese version of the Judith story is mentioned in a Hebrew poem for Chanukah published by R. Naftali Hacohen in 1757: “… It is mitzvah to eat and rejoice / eating cheese – one cannot force. / It is customary to remember, not to forget / the story of Judith who did it on purpose / to feed him milk to make him sleep.”
American Jewish writer Rahel Musleah discovered that Jews of Tunisia celebrate Rosh Chodesh Tevet, which falls at the end of Chanukah, with chag habanot, festival of the daughters. Mothers give honey cakes and gifts to their daughters, men give gifts to their fiancées and they eat a festive meal to honor Judith.
Scholars have tried their hands at coming up with other reasons why one eats cheese dishes for Chanukah with a little gematria. The Assyrian oppressors forbade the celebration of Rosh Chodesh, Shabbat and brit milah. If one takes the first letter of the Hebrew word for month, chet from chodesh; the second letter of the Hebrew word for Sabbath, the bet of Shabbat; and the third letter of the Hebrew word for circumcision, the lamed of milah, you get the Hebrew word chalav, which is milk.
Matthew Goodman, the Food Maven of the Forward newspaper maintains that the first latkes were probably made from curd cheese and fried in butter or olive oil. By the Middle Ages, as Jews migrated into Eastern Europe, butter and oil were expensive and poultry fat became a frying agent, thus cheese would not be used. By the 16th century, pot cheese was either unavailable or expensive, so first buckwheat flour and then potatoes were substituted and, ultimately, potato pancakes became common fare for Chanukah.
Meanwhile, many Jews retain the custom of honoring Judith by eating cheese for Chanukah, and the custom of eating dishes like cheesecake and blintzes emerged from the story of Judith. Some believe the salty cheese that Judith served Holofernes may have been in the form of fried cakes. Recipes for ricotta pancakes in Italy and feta cheese pancakes in Greece may be modern versions of these ancient fried cakes.
It is a custom that women do no work on Chanukah as long as the lights are burning, and they should not be lenient in this matter. Among some Sephardi communities, women refrain from work all day during Chanukah. In other communities, this custom is followed only on the first and last days. On the seventh night, women sing, dance, drink wine and eat foods made from cheese.
The reason for particular emphasis of Chanukah observance on the part of women goes back to the harsh decree issued by the Greeks against the daughters of Israel – that every girl who was to be married was to be brought first to the Greek ruler. Additionally, the miracle itself came about through the heroism of a woman.
Among Ashkenazim, many serve latkes with sour cream, and will partake in blintzes. But, for the most part, serving cheese dishes at Chanukah is more popular in the Sephardi tradition. Sephardim typically prepare various rudimentary doughnuts (bunuelos and loukoumades) and fried pastries, such as shamlias (fried dough strips) and zalabiya (batter poured into hot oil in a thin spiral, similar to Amish funnel cakes, and coated with syrup or honey). North African Jews enjoy debla, dough rolled to resemble a rose, deep-fried and dipped in sugar or honey. Italians honey-dip deep-fried diamond-shaped pieces of yeast dough called frittelle. The Bene Israel in India prepare milk-based fried pastry called gulab jamun.
Whichever traditions you follow, you might want to add a new one to honor Judith.
Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, foreign correspondent, lecturer, food writer and book reviewer who lives in Jerusalem. She also does the restaurant features for janglo.net and leads weekly walks in English in Jerusalem’s market.
Fray Juan Ricci (1600-1681), sketch of the menorah as described in Exodus, undated. The number of lights on the chanukiyah – eight – is a break with the traditional seven-branched menorah. (photo by Ellen Prokop via commons.wikimedia.org)
The Festival of Lights is unique. We celebrate it for eight days, when most other Jewish festivals and holy days last one or two days or, at the most, seven. The number of lights – eight – is also a break with the traditional seven-branched menorah, which was rekindled in the Temple after the victory over the Syrian-Greeks. We also add a special prayer, “Al Hanissim,” whereby we thank G-d for the deliverance from our enemies:
“Thou didst deliver the strong into the hands of the weak; the many into the hands of the few; the wicked into the hands of the righteous; and the arrogant into the hands of those who occupied themselves with Thy Torah.”
At each morning service, we relate biblical accounts of the dedication of the altar at the time of Moses, and the gifts brought by the 12 princes of Israel. We are comforted, as a small nation against today’s sea of evil, by the words: “Not by might, not by power, but by My spirit, says the Lord of Hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6)
Even though the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE, it did not affect celebrating Chanukah because it is centred mainly on the home. In the third century CE, when our enemies launched their persecution of the Jewish people, when kindling Chanukah lights was forbidden, as often happens, this later awakened special esteem for the rite. It became a sanctification of G-d’s name, with special blessings.
Light has great significance in Judaism. Even during the plague of darkness in Egypt, we are told “all the children of Israel had light in their dwellings.” (Exodus 10:23) Although Chanukah imposes minimum religious restrictions, we are required to kindle the lights, stating that this commemorates “the miracle, deliverance, deeds of powers of salvation” wrought by the Almighty at this season. We are instructed not to use the lights for any utilitarian purpose – they are only to be seen. We pray to be placed “on the side of light” and the mystical book of Zohar promises “a palace of light that opens only to him who occupies himself with the light of Torah.”
Why did it take the priests eight days to prepare more olive oil for the Temple menorah? The 25th of Kislev marked the peak of the winter olive harvest season. The Maccabees’ hometown of Modiin lay in the heart of the country’s richest olive-growing region. They could have quickly picked the olives, prepared the oil and rushed it to the Temple in Jerusalem, a day’s walk away.
The explanation is that the special oil required for the menorah was clear oil of beaten olives (Shemot 27:20). It was a two-part operation: first, the beating and, then, the resulting mash was piled into flat fibre baskets and weighted to squeeze out the oil. It was not extracted by pressure, but allowed to seep out drop by drop. This process took much longer, producing an oil free of sediment and impurities, which burned a clear flame.
The date of Chanukah is related to the winter solstice, when the longest night of the year gives way to a gradual increase in the length of each day. When the Greeks first desecrated the Temple, they offered sacrifices to Zeus on the solstice. Upon the Temple’s liberation, three years later, the Jews renewed their service to G-d on the anniversary of the day it had been desecrated, as a gesture of defiance.
The Festival of Lights takes on special meaning at this time of darkness. In Israel, we see daily stabbings, shootings, car rammings and murders of Jews. But, no matter how dark the days of intolerance and racism worldwide, Chanukah has special meaning. The miracle is not just the supernatural one of the flask of oil. It is that beacon of light, the passion of man that transcends the momentary and the opportune. The Chanukah lights, like the Jewish people, refuse to be extinguished.