Every year, as Chanukah arrives, we witness a remarkable phenomenon. Even Jews who are not yet observant—Jews whose daily lives may be far removed from Torah—warmly and enthusiastically celebrate Chanukah.
Years ago, someone showed me an article written by Amnon Dankner, the editor of a major secular Israeli newspaper and a man who, by his own admission, had little sympathy for the religious community. Yet, on the eve of Chanukah, he published a striking and provocative column addressed directly to secular Israelis.
Dankner observed that nearly every Israeli, regardless of religiosity, lights a menorah, eats sufganiyot (which he jokingly called the “miracle food” because you eat one and it burns inside for eight days), and participates in the holiday atmosphere. But then he posed a challenge.
He wrote: Imagine the war of the Chashmonaim against the Yevanim was unfolding today.
On one side, the Greeks, representing entertainment, indulgence, moral laxity, and the celebration of the self. On the other, the Chashmonaim, standing for Torah, tefillah, interpersonal responsibility, self-discipline, devotion to Hashem, and spiritual integrity.
And Dankner asked his secular readers: If this war were happening now, whose side would you realistically be on?
Would you join the Chashmonaim, the very heroes whose victory you celebrate with your menorah and jelly donuts? Or would you align, consciously or unconsciously, with the culture whose values more closely mirror your lifestyle?
It was an honest, piercing question aimed at the heart of Jewish identity. When I first read the article, I thought: If I were an Israeli, I would be having a serious identity crisis right now. And, in truth, many do. Because at its core rests a deeper question:
Am I Israeli because of my Judaism, or Jewish because of my nationality? Am I a Jewish American or an American Jew? A Jewish Israeli or an Israeli Jew? The adjective is descriptive. The noun is essential. We are, first and foremost, Jews.
And so a Jew celebrating Chanukah must ask: If I am rejoicing over a victory of values I do not actually live by, why am I celebrating?
But then a second, far more uncomfortable thought emerged, one that turns the question back on us. What about me? How much of my life truly reflects the values of the Chashmonaim? And how much, if I am being brutally honest, reflects the culture of the Greeks? What about the music we listen to? The styles we adopt? The entertainment we consume? The materialism we chase?
Would the Chashmonaim, whose courage and devotion we praise, be proud of our choices?
Or are we, often unknowingly, importing into our lives the very influences they fought against? Chanukah, then, is not merely a celebration; it is an invitation. A call to introspection. A moment to examine our lives with honesty and humility.
Yes, many of us are living beautifully: learning Daf Yomi, davening, giving tzedakah, volunteering. These are the victories of the Chashmonaim echoing in our lives today.
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But alongside them, there may be elements, personal or national, that have seeped in from a world shaped by Greek ideals: superficiality, excess, ego, and the pursuit of pleasure over purpose.
This kind of self-examination is not easy. True introspection requires courage. It can be painful. It demands that we look directly at parts of ourselves we would rather avoid. But through that very discomfort, a person often discovers the energy, clarity, and resolve that lead to genuine growth.
And so we conclude with the traditional Jewish blessing for this season. Not only Freilichen Chanukah; that is more suited to Purim. Not just Chanukah Sameach, the modern Hebrew expression.
The authentic greeting of our people has always been: A lichtige Chanukah—a bright, illuminated, spiritually uplifting Chanukah. A Chanukah that lights our path, elevates our choices, and inspires us to grow.
