Let the light shine through this very dark Hanukkah

 

The author's menorah is lit up on the final night of Hanukkah in December of 2022.

With Hanukkah, the eight-day Jewish Festival of Lights, starting on Thursday night, Dec. 7, 2023, when the first candle is lit, it’s shaping up to be a very bleak --- and dark --- holiday due to the Israel-Hamas war and the avalanche of hatred that has followed it. Antisemitism has been especially virulent and nearly out of control since Hamas’ brutal terrorist invasion of Israel on Oct. 7 and Israel’s overwhelming response in Gaza that has killed thousands, including far too many civilians.
(The only exception to the carnage in the Middle East has been the recent truce during which about 100 of the more than 200 hostages taken by Hamas were released.)
But with antisemitism out of control --- millions in the United States and millions more worldwide have blamed the heinous events of Oct. 7 on Israel and all Jews --- it’s shaping up to be a joyless Hanukkah. To make matters worse, antisemitism has been noticeably prevalent on many college campuses, with Jewish students directly threatened.
It's hard to celebrate Hanukkah in the current atmosphere of hatred, and I reflected the depressing state of things in this column that I wrote for the December issue of Jewish Rhode Island of Providence, R.I., which was published on Friday, Dec. 1.
The online version of the column can be found at: https://www.jewishrhody.com/stories/this-hanukkah-rise-above-the-darkness,51412?
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Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence.

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon g-d they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence."
--- “The Sound of Silence,” by Simon and Garfunkel, released in 1964.
******
I was taking my daily afternoon stroll on my cul-de-sac a few days after falling back to Eastern Standard Time, bundled up in layers and gloves, and as I walked, I became dismayed by a sign of the coming winter: the sun starting to set even though it was a few minutes before 3:30 p.m.
That’s when the haunting lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel’s classic “The Sound of Silence,” popped into my head. Having an off-key voice, I didn’t want to scare my neighbors by singing out loud, and I’ve never mastered the art of humming.
But as I continued to sing the lyrics to myself, I couldn’t help but think of how meaningful the song remains nearly 60 years after it was first released --- especially in what’s shaping up to be a particularly dark and bitter winter.
I’m not referring to how cold it’s liable to get because, not being a meteorologist, I have no idea, but rather to the current state of the world, especially with wars raging in the Middle East and Ukraine.
These lines from the song seem especially relevant as we face a Hanukkah full of strife and a lust for revenge, which has produced a disturbing excess of polarizing views that demand people choose a side, and then demonize the other one. That prevailing atmosphere, which  encourages hatred above compassion, specifically recalls these lyrics from “The Sound of Silence.”

“Ten thousand people, maybe more; people talking without speaking; people hearing without listening; people writing songs that voices never share; no one dared disturb the sound of silence.”
The fact that so few people are listening to or reaching out to the other side threatens to transform this year’s Festival of Lights --- normally a joyous occasion reuniting friends and family and welcoming strangers --- into a Festival of Darkness.
Sadly, what seems to be a legacy of this Mideast War is that in the more than 2,100 years since the first Hanukkah was celebrated in 164 BCE to mark the victory of the Maccabees over the Syrian Greeks, much of the world’s population seems to relish hating Jews and is looking for any reason to be antisemites.
There’s no other conclusion that can be drawn as antisemitic incidents have skyrocketed since the Oct. 7 carnage by Hamas, and that was before we started seeing daily pictures on network and cable news of the destruction in the Gaza Strip as Israel has pushed its war on Hamas.
Israel has quickly lost the sympathy of the world that it had for a nanosecond --- and never on far too many college campuses, where students and faculty were quick to blame Hamas’ massacre on Israel and Jews worldwide.
Hamas’ murderous rampage on Israeli civilians, women, children and babies --- comparable to what the Nazis did to so many civilians after invading countries during World War II --- has been forgotten, and even worse, justified. It’s become yet another excuse to vilify American Jews and their brethren worldwide.
At the same time, whenever American Jews --- horrified by the extent of the destruction in Gaza --- express empathy for Palestinian civilians,  they’re attacked as “traitors” or worse by their own kind.
I wish I had some answers, but I don’t, and the worry is that antisemitism will get a whole lot worse before it subsides.
I’m saddened, but not surprised, by the hatred, because over the years I’ve often dealt with antisemitism. For example, decades ago, subtle forms of racism or antisemitism weren’t referred to as “micro-aggressions,” but no matter how you label those incidents, I often experienced them, especially in the 1970s and 1980s, when I was in my 20s and early 30s.
Back then, both my beard and hair had red highlights, and with my thick Boston accent, I was able to hide my Jewishness while working in Canada, Vermont and Florida. Only when I was quizzed on my “ethnicity” did I acknowledge being Jewish, and it was then that these responses would follow: “You don’t look like the other Jews” or “You’re not like the other Jews.”
To which I’d retort: “Sorry, but I left my horns at home today.”
Despite my pessimism that this will be a season devoid of light, I urge you to rise above the darkness and run toward the light. May all of you have a blessed Hanukkah, because freedom is every bit as worth celebrating in 2023 as it was in 164 BCE.
LARRY KESSLER (larrythek65@gmail.com) is a freelance writer based in North Attleboro. He blogs at larrytheklineup.blogspot.com