The Shadeck family. (photo by Sarah Aginsky)
Approximately 300 people showed up to a menorah-making event at the Home Depot in Richmond on Sunday, Dec. 3. Families could come and make menorot out of wood, glue and nails supplied by Home Depot. Chabad of Richmond also supplied bullet shell casings to hold the candles on the menorah, symbolic of turning weapons of war into a source of light and life.
For us to become a glowing menorah, casting light in and around us, and lighting up the world, we must be oil-like. (photo from Cinco Resources, Inc.)
The story of Chanukah takes us back to the year 164 BCE, two centuries before the destruction of the Second Holy Temple in Jerusalem by the Romans. Then, Israel was under the rule of the empire of Alexander the Great.
The Greeks, in the year 200 BCE, had a great impact on the civilization of the whole world and the Jewish people. Although the Jewish people were very strong spiritually, they were very weak politically and militarily. The spiritual strength was attributed to the men of the Great Assembly; great sages and their successors, the Tannaim (codifiers of the Mishnah). When Alexander the Great of Macedonia conquered the civilized world, he brought the Greek culture, language, thoughts, beliefs, philosophy, customs and modernization to the masses and these beliefs rapidly spread.
When Alexander conquered Palestine, he gave complete freedom of religion to the Jews. He abolished taxes on the Sabbatical year, when the Jews didn’t work the land. As well, he freed Jewish soldiers from duty on the holy Sabbath. Alexander the Great died at the young age of 33. After his death, Jewish nobility and upper classes began taking on Greek ideas and customs. Would you even guess that the words synagogue and sanhedrin (supreme Jewish court) are Greek words?
Greek culture, aka Hellenism, began to make a serious impact on Jewish life in the Holy Land. The great rabbis of the generation saw the dangers of the Hellenists, threatening the traditions and faith of the Jewish people and the Torah. Hellenists were springing up everywhere.
Eventually, King Antiochus Epiphanes set out to destroy the last remnants of the Jewish people. He decreed the death penalty for any Jew found abiding by the laws of Torah, for observing the Sabbath and holy days, for the reading and teaching of Torah or gathering in houses of prayer. The building of the Beit HaMikdash, the Jewish Holy Temple in Jerusalem, was changed officially into a temple for the highest Greek god, Zeus, and an idol was set up before the holy altar. Altars were also erected for the Olympian gods, and there were heathen altars. The king’s soldiers forced Jews to bring offerings to these idols and bow down to them in the cities.
The study of Torah was not only forbidden, but the Torah scrolls were destroyed and their owners burned at the stake. Parents who circumcised their children were killed and teachers of Torah were tortured for trying to perpetuate the forbidden Jewish religion.
King Antiochus had no idea that his attempt to eradicate the Jewish religion would have just the opposite result. Many Jews became strengthened in their faith. When they came to the city of Modiin, Mattityahu, the father of the Maccabees – named for the verse in Exodus (15:11), “Who is like you of the lords of Israel” – came out and killed a traitor who was offering sacrifices to a Greek god.
His experience inspired many miraculous victories, including the large military victory over the Greeks in the year 3622 (139 BCE). Thereafter, the enemy was cleared out of the land, and Jerusalem and the Holy Temple were liberated. The victorious Jews set out to destroy the idols and altars in the Holy Temple and the golden menorah was replaced with an iron-wrought one. This took place on the 25th of the month of Kislev and the rededication of the Holy Temple lasted for eight days, until more oil could be made and brought to Jerusalem.
One small bottle of olive oil with the high priest’s kosher stamp on it was found, which was just enough to last for one day and yet, miraculously, it lasted for eight days and the entire dedication ceremony, being used to light the menorah again in the Holy Temple daily. The prayer “Al HaNissim” – about the miracles – is recited in the Grace After Meals and also the Amidah prayer during Chanukah and recalls the many miracles that took place.
Judaism and Jewry were undoubtedly saved from one of the greatest dangers that ever threatened the existence of our people. It was a struggle not only of the few over the many, but of the holy versus the unholy and of Judaism and Torah over Hellenism. The forces of the Torah prevailed.
Why do we celebrate so much about the oil? The miracle of the oil would seem of minor significance relative to the military victory of the Jews. Had the Jews been defeated by the Greeks, there would be no Jews today, G-d forbid. If the oil wouldn’t have burned for eight days, the menorah wouldn’t have been kindled. Why then, is the main focus of Chanukah on the oil?
Many insights have been offered. A symbolic explanation follows that shows how oil has the same characteristics as a person. This is based on a letter written by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, of blessed memory, before Chanukah 1947.
In writings of Jewish mysticism, all physical properties of an object are seen as continuations of their metaphysical properties. Every object originates in the realm of the spirit, embodied by a particular sublime energy. The energy evolves to assume a physical reincarnation, giving rise to particular physical characteristics that mirror their spiritual source. This is how a person ought to behave in their life. This, parenthetically, constitutes an extremely rich component of Judaism.
From the vantage point of Torah, the truths of science, physics, chemistry, biology, etc., and the truths of philosophy, spirituality and psychology, are merged together in a perfect mosaic, since all that is physical has a realm in the spiritual.
Olive oil contains four interesting qualities:
1. It is produced by crushing and beating ripe olives. The olive must be severely “humbled” and pressed to emit its oil.
2. Olive oil penetrates solid substances deeply – as do many other oils extracted from minerals, plants and animals. We know how difficult it can be to remove oily grease from our fingers and clothes. Oils have been used throughout history as remedies for bodily wounds, since oil penetrates the body far beyond its external tissue.
3. Oil does not mix with other liquids. When you try to mix oil with water, the oil remains distinct and will not dissolve in or combine with the water.
4. Not only will oil not dissolve in water, it rises and floats on top of other liquids. On a symbolic level, this appears paradoxical. Is oil humble or arrogant? It gets beaten badly, yet rises to the top.
These four qualities displayed by oil are essentially a physical manifestation of four spiritual and psychological attributes from where oil originates.
In our lives, we may attempt to become “oil-like.” How? By learning how to cultivate the four properties that characterize oil.
1. The crushing and pressing of the olives into oil represents the notion of humility. Seeing ourselves for who we really are, being open to discovering our biases, blind spots and errors, allows us to genuinely grow.
2. The direct result of this “pressing” is our ability to become oil-like, and affect others deeply. We can share ourselves with others and be in a real relationship. It takes courage to show up in the world with the “real you” and to then connect with other hearts profoundly.
3. Humility and genuine relationships must never allow one to be pulled down completely and dragged down emotionally. One must not forfeit their individual identity. The beauty of a relationship is the fact that two distinct individuals choose to share themselves with each other. Just like oil, you know how to feel and experience another human being meaningfully, while not becoming consumed by the other’s identity.
4. This threefold process of crushing yourself, bonding with others and at the same time retaining your distinctiveness, should ultimately cause you to rise, just like oil, to the top, and “float” above all that is around you. Realizing that you are a “piece of the Divine” (Tanya, Chapter 2) and that every moment you are a representative of G-d to our world, allows a person to experience themselves as indestructible, and wholesome. This comes not from arrogance, but from realizing that one’s soul is part of the infinite.
This is the deeper mystical significance of the miracle that caused the oil to last beyond its one day. It is also why we celebrate with a focus on oil, as this story captures the rhythm of our lives. For us to become a glowing menorah, casting light in and around us, and lighting up the world, we must be oil-like.
First, we must discover the art of humility and integrity; second, we must allow ourselves to show up genuinely in our relationships; third, we must retain our distinctiveness and individuality; and fourth, we must always recognize that part in us which is always “on the top.”
Judaism, particularly its festival of Chanukah, comes to teach ordinary human beings how to become oil-like. If we wish to ignite a heavenly radiance in our lives, we ought to take a good and deep look at the olive oil in our menorahs.
In that sense, oil embodies the essence of Chanukah, the Festival of Lights. Indeed, in many a Jewish household, the Chanukah lamps consist of wicks dipped in olive oil, replicating the Temple menorah lamps. Throughout the holiday, to commemorate the miracle of the oil, we eat various foods cooked in oil, including such delicacies as latkes and sufganiyot.
The following is a story I read recently.
In Brooklyn, N.Y., there was a Jew named Yankel, who owned a bakery. He told the story of how he survived the Holocaust. He said, “You know why it is that I’m alive today? I was just a teenager at the time. We were on a train, in a cattle car, being taken to Auschwitz. Night came and it was freezing, so deathly cold in that cattle car. The Germans would leave the cars on the side of the tracks overnight, sometimes for days on end without any food, and, of course, no blankets to keep us warm.”
Yankel continued, “Sitting next to me was an older Jew – this beloved elderly Jew – from my hometown. I recognized him but had never seen him like this. He was shivering from head to toe and looked terrible. I wrapped my arms around him and began rubbing him to warm him up. I rubbed his arms, legs, face and neck. I begged him to hang on. All night long, I kept the man warm this way. I was tired, freezing cold, my fingers were numb, but I didn’t stop rubbing the heat onto this man’s body. Hours and hours passed this way. Finally, night passed, morning came and the sun began to shine. There was some warmth in the cabin, and then I looked around the car to see some of the other Jews in the car. To my horror, all I could see were frozen bodies, all I could hear was deathly silence.
“Nobody else in the cabin made it through the night – everyone had died from the frost. Only two people survived: the old man and me. The old man survived because somebody kept him warm; I survived because I was warming somebody else.”
Yankel’s life was saved by and for assisting another human being.
When you warm other people’s hearts, you automatically warm yourself. Humans need each other and get elevated by helping and supporting others. When you seek to support, motivate, encourage and inspire others, then you discover support, encouragement and inspiration in your own life as well.
This is the lesson of the olive oil: to penetrate and make a difference in humanity and, in turn, this will empower us to do more, like the light of Chanukah, which increases every night of the festival. Beginning with one candle with its small flicker and increasing every night by adding one more candle, until the menorah shines its eight lights in total splendor and beauty.
May G-d help us celebrate this Chanukah with real peace in Israel and around the globe, and bring us the ultimate refinement of the world with the imminent coming of Mashiach. Then, we will all merit to light our Chanukah lights in the third Holy Temple in Jerusalem, the most beautiful and everlasting one.
Wishing everyone a joyous festival of Chanukah and a fabulous time with family and friends eating delicious latkes and doughnuts, playing dreidel and singing Chanukah songs. Chag sameach!
Esther Tauby is a local educator, writer and counselor. She offers many thanks to her husband, Rabbi Avraham Tauby, for his help with research for this article.
The Arch of Titus remains standing in Rome today. Built in 81 CE, it depicts the triumphal procession of enslaved Jews and Temple spoils, including the Menorah, whose ultimate fate is unknown. (photo by Basya Laye)
Sixty-thousand heavily armed, well-trained and experienced soldiers of the most militarily mighty imperial power in the world are marching on Israel. The soldiers are being led by the Roman general Vespasian and his son Titus. The first Jewish revolt against Rome, that began in 66 CE, is doomed. One of the high priests of the Holy Temple, Josephus, has been assigned as general, tasked with defending the Galilee. But after the city of Jotapata is besieged, Josephus defects to the Roman camp. He prophesizes that Vespasian will one day become emperor and, for that, his life is spared.
While the Jewish-Roman war rages on for several years, the Roman emperor Nero dies, causing a struggle for succession. As Vespasian departs for Rome to become emperor and quell the political instability of the empire, he leaves his son Titus in charge of the war with the Jews. Though vilified as a coward and a traitor to his people, Josephus chronicles the war and the history of these Jews, preserving the tragic story of the fall of Jerusalem in the only reliable contemporary historical account. This is the story of the Temple Menorah; it is the story of symbols and tragedy. This is the story of the Jews.
In the year 70 CE, general Titus succeeded in sacking the city of Jerusalem, and looted the sacred treasures of the Holy Temple, burning it to the ground. The looted treasures were sent to Rome, paraded through the streets during the triumphal victory parade of Titus. Among those treasures was the giant solid gold Menorah. The triumphal procession was described in the writings of Josephus, and immortalized in bas relief on the inner walls of the enormous triumphal Arch of Titus, which still stands today in Rome.
The fall of Jerusalem was a devastating blow to the Jewish people, and was one of the most monumental and defining moments in Jewish history. It is perhaps somewhat fitting that this event is commemorated in such a monumental form. The menorah depicted on the Arch of Titus is one of the first such artistic depictions of the Menorah, and certainly the most famous. It would have had a great influence on later depictions of menorot, and was the inspiration for the menorah now on the coat of arms of the modern state of Israel.
The Jewish-Roman war of the first century, and the Bar Kokhva revolt of the second century, resulted in large populations of Jewish refugees that were forced to flee their homeland. Many Jews settled in Diaspora communities throughout the Roman Empire. Though they were unable to return to their homeland and rebuild their Holy Temple in Jerusalem, the Jews vehemently clung to their cultural identity with a stubbornness that can only be described as chutzpah. They continued to practise their faith personally, and constructed smaller community temples, synagogues. Throughout the Roman Empire, archeologists have found depictions of menorot, often engraved on stone plaques in early synagogues, or at Jewish burial sites. There are even Jewish catacombs in Rome, where Roman-style sarcophagi bear an image of a menorah where one would expect to find the image of a Roman deity. Between the second and seventh centuries, synagogues have been uncovered at many places such as Stobi in Macedonia and Sardis in Turkey, and catacombs in such places as Aphrodisias and Tripoli in Turkey, in Sicily, and even at Melite, a now ruined Roman city on the island of Malta, all with depictions of menorot. The menorah had originally been a holy object and religious symbol, but it underwent a metamorphosis, and became something more. The Temple Menorah was stolen and, in a way, it, too, was forced into Diaspora. It thus became a symbol of the tragedy that befell the Jewish people, and the dream of a free and independent Jewish state.
Four years after the conquest of Jerusalem, construction in Rome of Vespasian’s Temple of Peace was completed. This “temple” displayed all the treasures and holy relics of the various peoples and nations conquered by Rome, and might more aptly be named a museum of appropriation.
Four years after the conquest of Jerusalem, construction in Rome of Vespasian’s Temple of Peace was completed. This “temple” displayed all the treasures and holy relics of the various peoples and nations conquered by Rome, and might more aptly be named a museum of appropriation. The Menorah and other Jerusalem Temple treasures were housed in the Temple of Peace. In fact, there was also a second Jewish temple in the Egyptian city of Leontopolis, with its own distinct menorah, which Josephus describes as having been hung on golden chains. The temple in Leontopolis was shut down by Vespasian, and its relics were also displayed at the Temple of Peace. Written records indicate that when the Vandals sacked Rome in 455 CE, King Geiseric shipped the treasures of the Temple of Peace to Carthage. The Vandals were later defeated by the Byzantine emperor Justinian in early sixth century CE. The historian Prokopios of Caesarea records that the Temple treasures were then moved to the Hippodrome in Constantinople for the triumphal celebration, before being sent to churches in Jerusalem. Though there are no written records of the location of the Menorah after this time, the region enjoyed relative stability until the seventh century, and it is safe to assume nothing happened to the Menorah until then.
Though the Jewish population of Israel had been significantly reduced after the Bar Kokhva revolt, it was not completely eliminated. Many Jews still resided in the Galilee and Jerusalem, during which time the Talmud and Mishnah were written. But it was life under Roman/Byzantine hegemony, and Jews longed to regain their independence and rebuild the Holy Temple. Around this time, the Byzantine and Persian empires were more or less continuously at war, a century-spanning rivalry that ultimately led to their bankruptcy and mutual destruction during the Muslim conquests.
The Menorah may have been melted down for its gold, or secreted away to some safe cavern, or taken off as loot, but nobody really knows what happened to it.
During the seventh century, the Persian emperor Khosrau II began a successful campaign against the Byzantines, conquering much of their territory in the Middle East. The Jews allied themselves with Khosrau II and, together, they won back the land of Israel from the Romans and established an autonomous Jewish province in the Persian Empire. However, this new Zion was short-lived. In that same century, the Byzantine emperor Heraclius re-conquered the region and, because of what was considered the Jewish betrayal, began to ethnically cleanse the area of Jews. During this tumultuous period in history, Jerusalem was besieged several times, churches and temples were burnt to the ground, Jews massacred Christians, Christians massacred Jews; the Temple Mount was a pile of rubble, stained with the blood of tens of thousands. It is during this period that the Menorah likely vanished completely from history. The Menorah may have been melted down for its gold, or secreted away to some safe cavern, or taken off as loot, but nobody really knows what happened to it.
Pope Felix IV converted the former Temple of Peace in Rome into a Catholic basilica in the sixth century CE, about 70 years after the sacking by the Vandals. Felix IV may have been motivated by the sacred association it may have held for having housed the Temple treasures, and which had been visited by Jewish pilgrims for this very reason. Some believe that the Catholic Church inherited the treasures of Rome, and that the Menorah is currently housed in storerooms of the Vatican. In the late 11th century CE, the clergy of San Giovanni Laterano (in Rome) claimed possession of the Temple treasures, though that claim is unsubstantiated. Allegedly, Shimon Shetreet, Israel’s minister of religious affairs in the mid-1990s, asked Pope John Paul II for assistance in researching the location of the Menorah, a question that was followed by “a tense silence that hovered over the room.” There are many other rumors related to the possible possession of the Menorah by the Vatican, however such musings are pure speculation, and it’s most likely that it was destroyed during the seventh century. In short, its ultimate fate remains a mystery.
Ben Leyland is an Israeli-Canadian writer and resident of Vancouver. This article is the third of a short series examining the menorah.
A menorah-like drawing from Kuntillet Ajrud. Source: “The Asherah, the Menorah and the Sacred Tree” by J. E. Taylor, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament (1995).
Though the religious symbolism of the menorah is consistent with Jewish mythology and ideology, the archeological record suggests that the significance of this symbol was influenced by surrounding religions of the region, which would have been preceded the conception of the menorah. For instance, lamps from the Middle Bronze Age composed of a bowl with seven sprouts for wicks on the rim have been found in Israel at Ta’anach and Nahariya. Such findings suggest that the precedent for a seven-branched oil lamp would have existed in the region.
Tree worship is common in religions throughout the world, and may have held particular significance in the Middle East due to their limited distribution. It’s not difficult to imagine, in a region constrained by water resources, the presence of a tree would indicate the presence of water and food, and would thus come to symbolize life. Furthermore, the generation-spanning longevity of trees, and their seasonal “rebirth” would perhaps lead some to associate trees with immortality. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that the Tree of Life, which Jews are familiar with from the story of the Garden of Eden, is based on a Mesopotamian religious myth.
Mesopotamian depictions of the Tree of Life resemble the menorah, leading many scholars to speculate that the design of the menorah was influenced by Mesopotamian iconography. The Mesopotamians believed that the Tree of Life grew on a cosmic mountain; similarly, the branching menorah arises from a clearly defined base. The image of a tree on a mountain is also featured in the Hebrew flood myth (which may borrow heavily from Sumerian mythology), in which Noah’s dove retrieved an olive branch from a tree on a sacred mountain. We grant special significance to the central lamp on the menorah, which we call the shamash. Interestingly, Shamash is also the name of the Mesopotamian sun god. These are more than mere coincidences; these are evidence of cultural influence.
Ancient Semitic peoples, who lived in what is now modern-day Israel, Syria and Iraq, had a pantheon that included a goddess called Asherah, or sometimes called Athirat or Elat. Asherah was a fertility goddess, and believed to be the mother of the gods. Asherah is described in cuneiform documents from the first Babylonian dynasty as the bride of the king of heaven, and a mistress of sexual vigor and rejoicing. An Ugaritic text found at Ras Shamra, Syria, describes Asherah as the bride of El, creator of the world. Asherah was often depicted as a tree, usually with an ibex on either side. For example, a pitcher dated to the 13th century BC found at the archeological site of Tel Lachish in Israel bears a stylized depiction of a tree reminiscent of the menorah, with an inscription dedicated to the goddess Asherah. At an archeological site in the Sinai called Kuntillet Ajrud, a drawing was found of a lion with a menorah-like tree with ibexes on either side of it, bearing the inscription “Yahweh of Samaria and his asherah.”
An asherah is something described in both the mishnah and Babylonian Talmud as a sacred tree. Some scholars speculate that an asherah was a living, pruned sacred tree used during Canaanite cultic practices. Recall that the original description of the menorah used the term almond. The biblical name for almond was luz, which is also the name of the site in the Tanach in last week’s parashah, where Jacob had a dream in which a ladder reached toward heaven (like the branches of a tree/menorah), and afterward he erected an altar and renamed the site “the House of God,” Beit El, now thought to be the site Bethel. Archeological excavations at Bethel reveal it was a Canaanite centre for worship of the goddess Asherah. Scholars speculate that there may have been a pruned almond tree used in cultic practices dedicated to the goddess, and the menorah is a symbol of that specific tree. The Latin name for almond trees, Amygdalus, is likely derived from a Semitic root word for “great mother”; Asherah was considered by the Canaanites to be the great mother of the gods. The blooming of almond trees precedes spring, and Asherah was a fertility goddess. Tu b’Shevat, which once involved the lighting of the menorah, celebrates the blooming of the almond trees.
Sacred trees are important in Egyptian mythology, too. The Egyptians also believed in a Tree of Life, the acacia tree, which was also associated with the goddess Iusaset, the grandmother of the gods. Iusaset wore a solar disk on her crown, which harkens the shamash as the crown of the menorah. There was also an Egyptian goddess called Hathor, who was often interchangeably represented as a sycamore tree. Hathor was a mother goddess, the “living soul of trees,” and could take the form of a lion. In Egyptian art, the Hathor tree would often be depicted giving life and food to humans. When Egypt occupied Canaan, the cult of Hathor became entrenched in the region, and Hathor began to be correlated with the goddess Asherah. Another name used to describe a Canaanite/Egyptian tree mother goddess was Qetesh. Plaques recovered at archeological sites in Israel and Egypt depict Qetesh with ibexes by her side, above a lion, wearing a Hathor wig. Perhaps it is no coincidence, either, that the Hebrew word for holy is kadosh.
At some point in history, the ancient Jews took the deeply religious symbolism that was already present in the region and amalgamated it into the abstracted form of the menorah. Do these pre-Judaic influences somehow invalidate our culture? To the contrary, the archeological record only confirms that the symbolism and mythology of our culture are truly ancient. More importantly, the ancient Israelites did not live in a vacuum. They lived in a complex and cosmopolitan world, much like today. We were not alone, we coexisted with other diverse peoples and ideologies. And, after Sumer and Babylon fell into ruin, when the Sphinx and Ozymandias lay buried in the sand, and the library of Alexandria burned to the ground, we continued to tell our stories. When we light the candles of our chanukiyot this holiday, we continue a legacy that is thousands of years old. And that is cause to celebrate.
Ben Leyland is an Israeli-Canadian writer, and resident of Vancouver. This article is the second of a short series examining the menorah.
Many scholars believe that the menorah is a stylized version of a tree. The Knesset Menorah, pictured here, was built by Jewish sculptor Benno Elkan, and presented to Israel by the U.K. parliament in 1956. (photo from commons.wikimedia.org)
For the winter festival of Chanukah, we will all light the candles of our chanukiyot. A chanukiyah is a menorah with an additional two candles. The eight candles (not including the shamash), we are told, represent the miracle of Chanukah, in which the oil for the Temple menorah lasted for eight days following the Maccabean victory. But what of the menorah itself? From where does it derive its form, and what does it mean?
Many scholars believe that the menorah was a stylized version of a tree. This should seem quite obvious; it is, after all, a central trunk with branches. Indeed, when first mentioned in the Book of Exodus, it is described as having branches and cups like almonds, and bearing flowers.
Sacred trees play an important role in Jewish mythology, beginning with the Trees of Life and Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. The Tanach refers to trees or wood a total of 535 times, more than any other organism other than humans. Olive trees, for instance, were important not only biblically, but to the economy of ancient Israel. The menorah was lit with olive oil. Jeremiah metaphorically describes Israel itself as an olive tree: “The Lord called thy name, a green olive tree, fair, and of goodly fruit: with the noise of a great tumult He hath kindled fire upon it, and the branches of it are broken.” (Jeremiah 11:36)
Note in the preceding passage reference not only to a branching tree, but one crowned with fire. Taking Jeremiah’s image of the burning olive tree to be a menorah, one can then conclude that the menorah is a symbol of Israel. Not that it should necessarily be considered to specifically represent an olive tree per se. Different scholars have attributed it to various trees, like the almond tree, or tamarisk, or even a special species of sage indigenous to Israel that looks strikingly similar to the menorah, and may have been used as incense by the priests of the Temple.
Many Jewish holidays involve agricultural celebration with an emphasis on arboreal reverence. One such holiday, Tu b’Shevat, also called the New Year of the Trees, takes place in late winter/early spring, around the time of the blossoming of the almond trees. Depictions of menorot found archeologically would often be accompanied by other Jewish religious symbols, such as the etrog, lulav and shofar. Their use in the autumn harvest holiday of Sukkot is described in the Tanach as follows: “And you shall take on the first day the fruit of beautiful trees, branches of palm trees, and boughs of leafy trees and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the Lord your God for seven days.” (Leviticus 23:40)
It should be noted the special religious significance placed upon trees and the number seven, both of which are embodied within the menorah itself. The holidays of Sukkot and Tu b’Shevat both would have once involved pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem, and be celebrated with the lighting of the menorah. These associations clearly indicate that the menorah is not only a ritualistic object, but symbolic of holidays and celebrations, bringing light into people’s lives both literally and figuratively.
The lights of the menorah are thought to have had the power to ignite the soul. Its seven lamps could be representative of the seven days of Creation. When Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden of Eden, God created a magical fire to protect the way to the Tree of Life, which perhaps also has some significance to the symbolism of the fires atop the menorah “tree.” The prophet Zechariah supposedly had a vision in which God had seven eyes that wandered through heaven. Some scholars have speculated that the seven lights in that vision, and the seven lights of the menorah, are in fact symbolic of the seven planets of classical astronomy. Some rabbis believe that the shamash represents the sun, and the first day of Creation. In the story of Genesis, on the first day, God created light. The first verse of Genesis is, in fact, composed of seven words, in Hebrew, which translate as: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1)
The early analytical psychologist Carl Jung noted that the menorah is a synthesis of the antagonistic symbols of the tree/growth from the earth and fire/the heavens, which combine to symbolize the growth of spiritual enlightenment. Jung hypothesized that the lights of the menorah were symbolic of the illumination of consciousness. The burning bush, the way God chose to reveal himself to Moses, is thus a symbol embodied within the form of the menorah as a symbol of revelation.
Ben Leyland is an Israeli-Canadian writer, and resident of Vancouver. This article is the first of a short series examining the menorah.
