Beverley Kort is a registered psychologist by day and a cartoonist in her off hours. She has a private practice in Vancouver.
Category: Life
The holidays à la JACS
Rabbi Joshua Corber leads JACS’s Purim gathering at Omnitsky Kosher on March 1. (photo from JACS)
JACS’s holiday programming initiative kicked off with Purim at JACS, held at Omnitsky Kosher March 1. While Jewish Addiction Community Services’ focus is on families and individuals, the initiative, which is sponsored by the Betty Averbach Foundation, shifts the emphasis toward community reach. By using major Jewish holidays as entry points, it aims to reduce stigma, build awareness and create meaningful pathways for individuals who would not otherwise engage with addiction-support services. Jewish ritual, learning, recovery-aligned reflection and opportunities for social connection are offered in an inclusive setting.
“Our goal is to change Jewish holidays from potentially isolating or triggering experiences into powerful sources of dignity, belonging and spiritual empowerment,” said Rabbi Joshua Corber, director of JACS.
An alcohol-free event – which is especially important on Purim, notorious for excessive drinking – Purim at JACS combined a traditional meal with a deep dive into the Megillat Esther. The purpose was to discover the recovery wisdom encoded in the story of Purim. Corber led the event and focused on a commentary on Esther known as the Mechir Yayin.
Penned by the Rema, Rabbi Mosher Isserles (Krakow, 1530-1572), the Mechir Yayin offers a unique interpretation of the story as an allegory for “the days of one’s life from youth until old age.” It focuses on the human struggle with one’s emotions and their material cravings, which evolve into the pursuit of morality and wisdom. This narrative tracks well with the trajectory of recovery, not only from substance abuse, but from many behavioural and emotional disorders as well.
“The Rema is known mainly for his important halakhic commentary on Shulchan Arukh. In the Torah world, he’s a pretty big deal. So, the fact he quietly wrote such a profound commentary on Esther is wild,” Corber said. “You will never see the Megillah the same way after learning it…. Addiction is a spiritual disease, and these events cement my theory that the spiritual lessons of Judaism and the spiritual messages of recovery are one and the same.”
Many who attended Purim at JACS reported being profoundly impacted by the Rema’s message; others felt relief at having found a supportive space for themselves within the Jewish community. To connect with JACS, go to jacsvancouver.com or call 604-416-4164.
– Courtesy JACS
Generations … It’s all yours!
My new best friend is Red
The author made RecipeTin’s Quick and Dirty Focaccia using her hands, giving her new best friend, Red, the night off. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
News flash: diamonds are not a girl’s best friend. They’re certainly a welcome acquaintance, but are they always there when you need them? No. Sometimes, they’re hiding out in a safety deposit box. I have something better than diamonds – a new BFF. And her name is Red. Full name: KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer in Empire Red. She’s the culinary equivalent of an Alfa Romeo convertible. Let me put my gushing admiration of her in context with this bit of background info.
I am on the cusp of turning 70 and my sweet husband thoughtfully and preemptively bought me something I’ve thought about for a long time: a KitchenAid stand mixer. I know, I know, who doesn’t already own a KitchenAid stand mixer? Me, that’s who. And it’s not for lack of encouragement on Harvey’s part. I have, for the better part of the last 50 years, always used an entry-level electric hand mixer. And it’s served me just fine. Mostly. Until the motor blew on my original Sunbeam, circa 2000.
Reluctantly, I transitioned to a KitchenAid electric hand mixer and, while flashy, it was not nearly as powerful as my good old $20 Sunbeam. It wasn’t bad. It was just a bit too delicate for my baking needs. I required something that could take a licking and keep on ticking. Sort of like a Timex, the kind they strapped onto the propeller of an outboard motor and dragged through a lake by a speedboat. And, if you remember that commercial, you are officially ancient. (You’re in good company though.) Realistically, a hand mixer has got to be able to go mano a mano with a good, stiff cookie dough. If it can’t manage that without slowing down and making weird noises, it’s not worth its weight in salt.
But I no longer have those worries. I have Red. Since receiving this early birthday present, I have made dozens of cookies, countless cakes, muffins and meatballs. I must admit that the wire whisk still scares me a bit, but I’m certain I’ll warm up to it over time.
Like those people whose gardens get overrun by zucchini and end up going around at night dropping off bags of them on people’s doorsteps, I, too, am sharing. My new condo neighbour, Nancy, is the cheerful recipient of my KitchenAid labours of love. Especially the cookie variety. Turns out, it’s a great way to make friends. I mean, who doesn’t love free cookies on the regular?
I recently had a craving for focaccia, but gave my KitchenAid the day off and made Quick and Dirty Focaccia by hand (recipe courtesy of Instagram by RecipeTin). The recipe made a small batch, which saved me from over-indulging. Full disclosure: I have no self-control when it comes to fresh, warm focaccia. This was unlike any other focaccia I’ve ever made, though. Apparently, it’s all the rage on Instagram.
I wasn’t used to working with a wet, jiggly dough, but that’s the ticket to a legit fluffy focaccia. Other recipes I found called for the stretch-and-fold method, but I didn’t employ that here. It does look like a great way to get lots of air bubbles in the final product, but my batch of dough was small and didn’t really require it. I will definitely try that next time I make a bigger batch of dough.
QUICK & DIRTY FOCACCIA
2 cups bread flour
1 1/8 tsp instant yeast
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1 cup plus 2 tbsp very warm water
1 1/2 tbsp olive oil
1/4 tsp (heaping) sea salt flakes or kosher salt
kalamata olives, rosemary or za’atar (optional)
Preheat oven to 425˚F. Mix flour, yeast and salt. Make a well and pour in water and mix. Cover with plastic wrap and rise in a warm place for 2 hours, until doubled in size. The dough will be very wet and jiggly.
Generously grease a 10.5” x 8” x 2” metal or glass pan with oil. Press a scrunched-up piece of parchment paper into the pan and leave an overhang. Drizzle the parchment paper generously with olive oil, too. (Scrunching the parchment ensures that it will lay flat and that the dough will get into every crevice of the pan.)
Scrape the focaccia batter into the pan. Do not punch or deflate the dough beforehand. Coax it into the corners with your oiled fingers as best you can. Cover with something heavy (a cast-iron pan or cutting board) and leave it to rise by 50% (about 45 minutes).
Drizzle olive oil on the surface of the dough and spread it with your oiled fingers. Dimple the dough vigorously with your fingers and sprinkle with the sea salt and any other toppings you like (optional, but think kalamata olives, rosemary, za’atar, etc.).
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, rotating the pan after 15 minutes. Cool on a rack for about 10 minutes.
It should turn out crunchy on top, but airy and fluffy on the inside, perfect for dipping in a plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. It’s a quick and easy way to elevate a meal and makes a nice between-meals snack or sandwich. And, of course, you can’t overlook the therapeutic benefits of getting your fingers all oily and your nails all full of dough. If you’re someone who doesn’t like to get down and dirty when you bake, then this isn’t for you. I, however, am a full-contact baker.
I make a more traditional focaccia where kneading is required, and it’s made in a cast-iron fry pan, but it’s an altogether different process. The end results are different, for sure, so it’s really a matter of taste. Either way you cut it, focaccia is delicious and lends itself to all sorts of varieties and toppings. Believe it or not, I’ve seen a recipe for chocolate focaccia, but that’s a bit too out there even for me. Enjoy your bread and be sure to share.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.
A new strategy to brighten up BC
Communities across British Columbia gathered for Hanukkah, including in Vancouver, shown here, and in Delta, Maple Ridge and Whistler. (photo by Caryl Dolinko)
At moments of heightened threat, the instinct to pull inward is natural. Jewish history gives us many reasons to do so. Too often, the dominant public stories about Jewish life are stories of persecution, expulsion and death. Our museums, memorials and education efforts rightly preserve these memories. They matter. But they are not the whole story of who we are.
When those narratives stand alone, they can unintentionally cast Jews primarily as victims rather than as a living people defined by courage, creativity, resilience and contribution. At a time when antisemitism is rising, that framing matters – not only for how others see us, but for how we show up ourselves.
This question – how to respond without retreating – was at the heart of months of work by an antisemitism task force convened by the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver. Confronting antisemitism cannot rely solely on crisis response. We must, of course, put out fires when they arise. But we must also plant trees – investing in long-term efforts that cultivate allyship while celebrating Jewish life itself, strengthening joy, pride and confidence.
Bringing this approach into being at Hanukkah was not just timely, but strategic. Hanukkah tells a story that stands in contrast to narratives of Jewish victimhood. It is a story of bravery and resistance, of strength and victory against overwhelming odds, of miracles made possible through human action. It is about light that is meant to be seen – placed in windows, carried into public space.
Strong brands matter. They shape perception. They create familiarity and emotional safety. They allow people to connect through shared values and comfort. That is why the Jewish Federation chose not simply to celebrate Hanukkah this year, but to brand it. Brighten BC is a province-wide initiative designed to combat antisemitism through confident visibility and deeper integration into shared civic life.
Over eight nights, nearly 70 public Hanukkah events took place across close to 30 communities throughout British Columbia, a community of about 40,000 Jews. Menorahs were lit in town squares, at local fire halls and other civic sites. Neighbours, first responders, municipal leaders and community partners gathered alongside Jewish families. The City of Vancouver proclaimed the week Brighten BC Week. Destination Vancouver listed Brighten BC celebrations on its “Attractions and Things to Do in Vancouver” webpage. Online, the campaign reached about 19,000 people through #BrightenBC. Initiatives like the Best Hanukkah Donut Contest – engaging nearly 400 participants – reinforced the campaign’s tone: joyful, human and easy to join.
On the first day of Hanukkah, the Jewish world was shaken by the violent attack at Bondi Beach in Australia. But the tragedy did not redefine Brighten BC – it tested it. That morning, event registrations surged across the province as community members and allies chose presence over retreat. Security protocols were immediately elevated, with police and fire departments becoming operational partners to ensure gatherings could proceed safely and openly.
On the first night of Hanukkah, communities gathered across British Columbia, including at the Silber Family Agam Menorah, on the grounds of the Vancouver Art Gallery, the same site where extremists had burned the Canadian flag on the first anniversary of Oct. 7. Gathering there was not an act of provocation. It was an act of belonging.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe taught, “A little light dispels a lot of darkness.” This Hanukkah, we didn’t just celebrate. We invited, we aligned, we showed up. We chose light – and invited others to stand in it with us.
The next phase of this work is about identifying other widely recognized, positively associated cultural moments that can serve as platforms for shared celebration and connection – moments with strong emotional resonance, public expression and low barriers to participation.
– Courtesy Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver
Sharing latkes and light
On the fifth night of Hanukkah, Jewish community members delivered latkes and sufganiyot in the Downtown Eastside. (photo by Pat Johnson)
On the fifth night of Hanukkah, a group of Jewish Vancouverites delivered latkes and sufganiyot to frontline workers and people living in the Downtown Eastside.
Mordehai Wosk came up with the idea while speaking to a doctor about antisemitism. The doctor commented that the dark days of winter were a good time to bring light into the world by demonstrating the values of Jewish ethics.
“I thought it was a great idea,” said Wosk. “I loved it.”
Wosk called Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver. Within a few hours, the whole thing was organized and arranged under the Federation’s program of Brighten BC.
The event turned into a family affair. Wosk enlisted wife Hana, their son Ariel, daughter-in-law Ayami and grandson Rey J Wosk.
Rabbi Philip Bregman, meanwhile, mobilized the Chickpea food truck, which is owned by Bregman’s daughter and son-in-law Jordana and Itamar Shani.
“The message is that we’re on this planet together,” the rabbi said. “We need to help to dispel darkness, not just for our own community, but for the world.
The food truck set up outside Firehall No. 2, in the Downtown Eastside. Volunteers fed firefighters and police before spreading out across the neighbourhood distributing food.
“People are very grateful,” said Hana Wosk, as she handed out food along Hastings Street. “We often say ‘happy Hanukkah’ and get a bit of a blank stare back, but we also say ‘happy holidays’ and this is just a gift to light up your winter.”
Terry Yung, member of the BC Legislature for Vancouver-Yaletown and minister of state for community safety and integrated services, was also on hand. He is a retired 30-year veteran of the Vancouver Police.
“Firehall No. 2 is actually the busiest fire hall in the country,” Yung said. “Day in and day out, they see people in crisis, in chaos. I think it’s really important for them to know that the public is supportive, is on their side.”
Nothing as lovely as a tree
Almonds trees on the way to Jerusalem. (photo from PikiWiki)
While Israelis are not what you would call nature worshippers, once a year they do celebrate one aspect of nature: trees. Tu b’Shevat (the holiday’s name is derived from the Hebrew calendar date) is observed yearly, even when there are challenging conditions. For example, in 1991, under the threat of a gas attack from Iraq’s Saddam Hussein, residents in my neighbourhood brought along gas masks when they went out to plant trees. They were lucky on two counts: they didn’t have to use the masks and the almond trees were already blossoming.
The first celebration of Tu b’Shevat, or the “Birthday of the Trees,” occurred in the very early days of the 20th century, though the idea was older than that.
In 1891, educator Ze’ev Yavetz told Haaretz newspaper that, “for the love of the saplings … the school must make a festival of the day that was set aside from ancient times in Israel as the New Year of the Trees. To gracefully and beautifully arrange the trees, saplings, lilies and flowers just like they do in Europe on the first of May.”
That Yavetz mentions Europe is key, as decision-makers in the Jewish National Fund, or Keren Kayemet L’Yisrael, which was founded in 1901, based what they planted in pre-state Israel on the European trees with which they were familiar, mainly conifers.
After the Ottoman Empire fell and the Ottomans left what was then called Palestine, it was discovered that they had not taken care of the land itself. As such, the flora mostly consisted of maquis and garrigue, shrubs and small oaks. However, neither the British nor the Zionists were particularly interested in or familiar with the native flora of the region. Instead, they introduced trees that had not previously grown there.
By 1903, the Jewish National Fund had purchased its first parcel of land in the coastal region of Hadera and, by 1935, it had already planted 1.7 million trees over a total area of 1,750 acres (708 hectares). In the early years of its land restoration, the JNF planted large amounts of fast-growing conifers, and pine forests proliferated throughout the country.
Conifers are mostly evergreens or woody plants, with narrow leaves, often needle-like. They include firs, pines and cedars. There are separate male and female reproductive structures, the cones, and pollination is always by wind. The seeds are mostly winged, and the trees have a regular branching pattern. The needle-like, waxy leaves are helpful in a climate like Israel, as the leaves minimize water loss, but it is not clear whether early planters considered this point.
Four of the Seven Species mentioned in Deuteronomy 8:8 are native trees of the land of Israel. They include date, pomegranate, fig and olive trees. Of note, the fruits of these trees are included in the seder for Tu b’Shevat.
Karin Kloosterman, editor and writer for Green Prophet, describes one interesting, but sometimes overlooked tree in southern Israel. The sidr tree is widespread in the wadis of the Jordan Valley and in the arava, the area that roughly begins at the southern end of the Dead Sea and continues to Eilat. The distance of the arava is about 196 kilometres and it is more or less the divider between Israel on the west and Jordan on the east.
The sidr is a testament to resilience. It has weathered ancient floods and stands tall alongside the tamarisk and the mustard tree. Belonging to the ziziphus family of plants, it reaches an average height of seven or eight metres, with soft, yellowish grey branches, yellow flowers, and round fruits that turn reddish when ripe.
To Muslims, the sidr tree is considered sacred, as the Quran mentions it as being one of the plants in Paradise. It is important to Christians, as its leaves were supposedly used to make Jesus’s crown of thorns. The tree’s leaves, rich in calcium, iron and magnesium, hold therapeutic powers, serving as components in natural wound disinfectants and herbal shampoos.
Not everyone has been happy with Israel’s tree-planting policies. Ironically, the olive tree, the tree that is supposed to be the symbol of peace, has been the most contentious tree in today’s Israel. Palestinian farmers in particular have faced having their olive trees damaged or destroyed by either the Israeli army or by Israeli settlers. Apparently forgotten here is the injunction from Deuteronomy 20:19: “When in your war against a city you have to besiege a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the ax against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down.”
Six years ago, a Knesset report came out on Tu b’Shevat, revealing that Israel’s trees were not well-protected. It stated that the agriculture ministry had issued tens of thousands of licences in recent years to cut down more than 375,000 trees – more than half of them to make way for building projects. The report went on to say that not only is it hard to appeal, but it is hard to follow the consequences of an appeal. Fines to builders are often not paid.
Just after Israel’s 2025 Independence Day, there was a devastating fire in the Jerusalem Hills, and thousands of acres of trees burned. The weather had been very hot and high winds stirred up the blaze. While it does not appear to have been an act of arson, the JNF estimated that around 20,000 dunams (4,900 acres) were destroyed, with 13,000 dunams (3,200 acres) of those being woodland. It turns out that conifers burn easily, with their high quantity of tree resin.
No humans were killed in the blaze, but an unknown number of slower moving animals were killed. It took a few days to totally put out the fires. Today, seeing the destruction along the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem highway is a painful reminder of what happened. It will take wisdom to re-plant, and it will also take time.
Today, tree planting in Israel is based on research. In Israel’s north, tabor oak, cypress and eucalyptus saplings are being readied for planting, while staff in Israel’s central region are preparing broad leaf trees, which provide sufficient green cover and pose less danger of forest fires. Meanwhile, in Israel’s south, acacia and palm seedlings are being prepared, as is the planting of fig, carob and tamarisk trees.
The modern state of Israel was not blessed with natural forests; its forests are all hand-planted. The Jewish National Fund has planted more than 260 million trees all over the country, providing belts of green covering more than 250,000 acres.
Tu b’Shevat starts the evening of Feb. 1 this year.
Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
Drag & Dreidel: A Queer Jewish Hanukkah Celebration
(photo from Queer Jewish Art Society)
The second annual Drag & Dreidel: A Queer Jewish Hanukkah Celebration, hosted by the Queer Jewish Art Society, takes place Dec. 9 in Vancouver. Created by queer Jews for queer Jews and their allies, everyone is welcome. The 19+ evening brings together drag, burlesque, comedy, music and Hanukkah ritual in a joyful, safe and inclusive space. Doors open at 6:45 p.m., and the show starts at 7:30 p.m. For tickets ($18-$54), go to showpass.com/drag-dreidel. Venue details will be sent to ticketholders prior to the event.
– Queer Jewish Art Society
Visit to cradle of Ashkenaz
Buried next to Maharam of Rothenburg’s grave is Alexander ben Salomon of Wimpfen (known in some sources as Alexander Süsskind Wimpfen) – the man who paid for the release of the rabbi’s remains. (photo by Pat Johnson)
They say that history repeats itself and, if this is true at all, it is perhaps more true for Jewish history. The recent exchange of almost 2,000 imprisoned Palestinian terrorists for the remaining Jewish hostages held in Gaza was an act of moral compromise that has a long lineage.
Throughout Israeli history, the centrality in Jewish values of the sanctity of life and the respectful burial of the dead have been exploited by the country’s enemies. Yahya Sinwar, the mastermind of the 10/7 pogrom, was himself freed in a 2011 prisoner release that saw more than 1,000 Palestinian terrorists set free in exchange for the freedom of Gilad Shalit, an Israeli held in Gaza for more than five years.
The ransoming of Jews goes back much, much further, however – at least to the very beginning of Ashkenaz.
In a recent brief visit to the German city of Worms, southwest of Frankfurt, I learned of Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, who was the leading Ashkenazi halakhic authority of the 13th century. Also known as the Maharam of Rothenburg (an acronym of “Moreinu ha-rav Rabbi Meir,” meaning “Our teacher, the rabbi, Rabbi Meir”), he was imprisoned after attempting to leave the Holy Roman Empire around 1286. Jews were legally considered imperial property and valued for their tax revenue. His attempted departure was due to rising oppression, repressive taxes and broader political instability.
His arrest was intended both to prevent Jewish emigration and to extract a massive ransom by holding the most prominent rabbi of the era hostage. Although the Jewish communities were prepared to pay for his release, the Maharam refused to permit an excessive ransom, invoking the talmudic principle that captives should not be redeemed at exorbitant cost lest it encourage future kidnappings. He remained imprisoned until his death in 1293. After death, his body was held for 14 years, until a private individual paid for the release. He was ultimately buried in the Jewish cemetery at Worms.
The cemetery is known as Heiliger Sand, or Holy Sand, and the Maharam’s grave is adorned in mountains of memorial stones. Buried next to him, and also remembered with countless stones, is Alexander ben Salomon of Wimpfen (known in some sources as Alexander Süsskind Wimpfen) – the man who paid for the release of the rabbi’s remains. The parallel graves symbolize the duality of moral sacrifice and restorative compassion.
The Maharam aside, the cemetery is one of the most significant burial sites in the Jewish world. It is the oldest remaining Jewish cemetery in Europe, the earliest grave estimated to date from 1058.
Worms was one of the central pillars of medieval Jewish civilization because it stood at the heart of Ashkenazi religious, legal and cultural development during the Middle Ages. Together with Mainz and Speyer, Worms was one of the “ShUM cities,” the most important Jewish centres north of the Alps between roughly the 10th and 13th centuries. The ShUM communities created the foundations of Ashkenazi Judaism as it is still practised today. It was one of the earliest Jewish settlements in Central Europe after Jewish migration from the Mediterranean world. It was a cradle of Ashkenazi civilization and the Maharam its most venerated scholar.
Jewish life in Worms became a template for Ashkenazi Jewish communal life, developing the legal customs (minhagim) around marriage, mourning, tzedakah and education that spread throughout Central and Eastern Europe. Even after the devastation of the Crusades and later expulsions, Worms endured in Jewish consciousness and culture. The last burial in the cemetery was in 1942. Miraculously, unlike many other Jewish cemeteries across Europe, this one survived the Shoah relatively intact.
The symbiosis – if that is the correct word – of Jewish and Christian life in Worms is embodied in the larger dichotomy of European Jewish life. From the cemetery, the main edifice visible outside the grounds is the imposing Worms Cathedral. Worms may be central in Ashkenazi tradition, but it also holds a profound place in Christian history.
Martin Luther, the 15th-century monk who sparked the Protestant Reformation and drove the most significant schism in Christianity, nailed his 95 theses to the cathedral door in Wittenburg, about 400 kilometres from Worms. Luther’s history intersected with Worms when he was tried at the unappetizingly titled Diet of Worms, in 1521, and found guilty by imperial authorities. Refusing to recant, he became one of history’s most consequential heretics – or spiritual pioneer and reformer, depending on one’s perspective.
To Jews, Luther is a despotic figure. After effectively inventing Protestant Christianity, Luther was solicitous to the Jews, hoping that the stiff-necked people who had rejected the doctrine of Jesus as purveyed by the Vatican would jump on board the rebranded Lutheran variety. When they overwhelmingly did not, Luther transformed into a ferocious antisemite, putting quill to papyrus in some of history’s most vile racist tirades.
From the perspective of this history, the cathedral dominating the sightlines of the Holy Sand can be viewed as a place where one of history’s greatest Jew-haters got his comeuppance. Of course, the Catholicism that the building still represents has its own problematic history, to frame it kindly. And, for that matter, Luther landed on his feet, historically speaking.
Visiting the cemetery is a moving experience – with a bizarre and almost laughable twist.
Unsurprisingly, there were two security personnel seated at a table outside the gate. I attempted to gather some information, but our lack of shared language prevented much conversation. They did motion toward a box of what I thought were face masks, but which turned out to be makeshift kippot. In fact, they were peaked paper caps, the sort that short order cooks at Denny’s might wear. It was an odd experience to be walking around an ancient cemetery looking like I just stepped out of Mel’s Diner.
We should use caution in making sweeping parallels across history, but it is striking how the enemies of the Jews across the centuries have recognized and exploited the importance of pidyon shvuyim, the redeeming of captives. How many other traditions, I wonder, have prayers in the liturgy for specifically this eventuality? A visit to the Holy Sand reminds us how deep that tradition of exploitation goes.
The Maccabees, old and new
A postcard featuring the work “In Prayer – In War” by Polish-American artist and cartoonist Mitchell Loeb (1889-1968). (internet photo)
Of all the Jewish holidays, Hanukkah is the one most intimately connected to Israel and the Zionist dream. It mirrors the struggle to reestablish the Jewish state, and is perhaps more political in nature than religious.
Hanukkah represents Jewish military power and Jewish independence, which, in the case of the Hasmoneans, lasted 80 to 100 years. The Hasmoneans and their fellow second-century BCE Judeans were able to establish a state despite having had to face a strong and well-equipped empire. The odds were heavily stacked against them, yet they prevailed. This is why some people say that the Hanukkah story parallels the struggles and achievements of Israel’s first Jewish residents and founding pioneers, surrounded as they were by hostile neighbours.
It is hard to claim that the miracle in which a tiny bit of oil lasted, not for one day, but for eight days, is a critical part of an Israeli Hanukkah. However, oil is a crucial part of the holiday. Sufganiyot (filled donuts), fried in oil, go on sale at least a month before the first candle is lit. (I saw them on sale in a Tel Aviv bakery on Nov. 10!) Nowadays, Jerusalem coffee houses and bakeries even have their sufganiyot rated by the media.
Potato pancakes (levivot, in Hebrew; latkes, in Yiddish) take second place to sufganiyot. Perhaps because levivot are generally products of one’s private kitchen, rather than a bakery, or perhaps because, as an historically Ashkenazi Eastern European food, it appeals to only half the Jewish population in Israel. The other half is Sephardi, meaning people whose long-ago origins were in Iberia, while, in the United States, no more than 10% of the Jewish population is either Sephardi or Mizrachi (Jews who came from Muslim-ruled lands). I couldn’t find any recent figures for Canada’s Jewish population by these measures.
As for levivot, they are no longer made just with potatoes. There might be additions or substitutions like sweet potatoes or zucchini, featuring spices such as cumin and paprika.
As many know, Israel’s climate is well suited to growing olives, and olive trees have grown here for centuries. The trees like the semi-arid climate, with our long, hot, sunny summers and mild, cool winters, as well as Israel’s rocky terrain. Generally, Israeli-grown olives are ready for picking starting just before Hanukkah. There are olive-picking festivals and such events highlight another difference between diasporic and Israeli observances of Hanukkah.
Those living in pre-state Palestine knew what Hitler was doing in Europe. According to historian Benny Morris, the Jewish population in Palestine was reading several newspapers at the time, like Ha’aretz, Davar and Do’ar ha-Yom.
The pre-1948 cultural products reflect not only what Palestinian Zionists knew about the fate of European Jewry, but also an ideological effort at creating a new national character. This “new” Jew would not be a victim. He would be a kind of new Maccabee. According to historian Reuven Firestone, the new Zionist Jew would be strong, confident and effective, and the very act of developing the land of Israel would, in turn, develop the Jewish psyche and person.
So, Hanukkah songs written in either the pre-state or early statehood days focus on the success of Zionist fighters more than they do the accomplishments of the Maccabees. In 1936, Menashe Ravina composed the song “Mi Yimalel.” Its lyrics are: “Who can retell the mighty deeds of Israel, who can count them? / In every generation a hero will arise, a redeemer for the people. / Listen! / In those days in this time / The Maccabee saves and redeems / And in our day the whole people of Israel / Will join together and arise and be redeemed.”
In the 1940s, Sara Levi Tanay wrote the words and Emanuel Amiran wrote the music for “Ba’anu Choshech Legaresh.” The idea is that, by banding together, the state can survive: “In our hands are light and fire. / Each person is a small light, / And all of us a great light. / Go away darkness, away, obscurity! / Make way for the light.”
Starting in the 1940s, the Young Maccabees organization began a torch race on Hanukkah. This race was unique to Israel’s celebration of the holiday. It began in the Modi’in area, where it is believed the Maccabees are buried, and was held in all kinds of weather. In December 1954, for example, when the runners reached Jerusalem, it was pouring rain. Israeli youth organizations like the Scouts hold marches and hikes on Hanukkah.
Ironically, the original torch races, called lampadedromia or lampas, took place in ancient Greece, as part of religious festivals honouring the gods of fire. I say ironically, as the Maccabees fought for their independence from the Syrian Greeks of the Seleucid Empire, which was a Greek successor state to Alexander the Great’s empire. The Seleucid empire, under Antiochus, ruled over Judea. It desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem and sought to forcefully impose Hellenistic culture and religion on the Jewish population.
Today, in both Israel and in the diaspora, chocolate coins, usually wrapped in gold or silver foil – the 1920s brainstorm product of Loft Chocolate Company – are given to children during Hanukkah. Probably not too many people are aware of this, but, according to Rabbi Deborah Prinz, this edible gelt (money, in Yiddish) recalls the booty, including coins, that the Maccabees distributed to Jewish widows, soldiers and orphans, possibly at the first celebration of the rededication of the Jerusalem Temple. Also, in ancient Israel, striking, minting and distributing coins expressed Hanukkah’s message of political autonomy. The Maccabees’ descendants, the Hasmoneans, ruled Judea, as mentioned above, and issued their own coins.
Finally, a column in the Great Mosque of Gaza once bore inscriptions in Hebrew and depicted a seven-branched menorah (like the one used in the Temple), a shofar and an etrog, indicating a Jewish community in the area during the Roman/Byzantine and talmudic eras. These inscriptions apparently disappeared after the First Intifada in 1987. The Hanukkah menorah, or hanukkiyah, by contrast, has nine branches, commemorating the eight days the oil burned in the rededicated Temple, plus a shamash (helper) candle to do the lighting of the symbolic candles.
Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.