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December 23, 2024

This Hanukkah: On Light, Allyship, and Learning from Gentiles

Over the past year, there’s been a lot of talk of Jews feeling like we’ve lost allies. Diasporic Jews especially have reported feeling isolated in various areas of life, from university campuses to social justice movements.

Those experiences are real and valid and I, myself, have experienced in really deep and painful ways. However, despite the ever-present antisemitism in the wider world, I still see great value in cultural exchange in addition to addressing political isolation. As we move through Kislev, the month of light, and toward Hanukkah, the festival of lights, I’d like to think about the potential mutual illumination between Jews and gentiles.

One of the most often cited positives of the Diaspora is that as Jews, we can be an Or la-Goyim, “a light to the nations.” Originating in Isaiah 42:6, this phrase refers to the Jewish role in spiritually guiding the non-Jewish world. Around Hanukkah especially, we often talk about what it means to be light, to spread light. It is and always has been true that as Jews, we have something to offer the world. What is less acknowledged — but I would argue just as important— is the value of learning from our non-Jewish friends and colleagues. In the Diaspora, we do not only spread light, we also receive light. What I mean is, we have something to learn from gentiles.

You might say, Hey now, Rabbi Shmuly, are you forgetting that the holiday of Hanukkah is literally about resisting assimilation into Greek culture? And you’d be right: A big part of the holiday is marking our resistance to violent and cultural threats to us as Jews. So I understand why Hanukkah is often viewed as a time to resist external influence — to take enhanced pride in our identity and to further isolate from surrounding society.

However, while I do believe that assimilation is an enormous threat — maybe the largest threat — to the Jews, I also believe that it is possible to swing too far the other way, and in the process shut out how much there is to learn from the greater world. All of us are deeply enhanced by the sciences, by works of non-Jewish philosophy and literature, by developments in the business realm of innovation, and even by interfaith conversations. To be clear, when encountering outside thought, we should always be careful to think critically and remain grounded in our Jewish values. But the truth remains that in many ways, the “nations,” i.e., the gentiles, can be a light unto us. As Ben Zoma famously said, “Who is wise? He who learns from everyone” (Pirkei Avot 4:1).

This is in no way a new idea. Throughout Jewish history we were never unaffected by our encounters with external cultures; rather, we were deeply immersed in the cultures of diasporic life. The Zoroastrians influenced the rabbis of the Babylonian Talmud; the Greeks (via the Muslim philosophers and theologians) influenced Maimonides; the European Enlightenment thinkers influenced modern Jewish philosophy. The Talmud acknowledges such exchanges of ideas. Rabbi Yochanan asserts, “Whoever speaks wisdom, even if he is a non-Jew, is a Sage” (BT, Megillah 16a). In commentary on this line, the 13th-century rishon Rabbi Menachem Meiri emphasizes that we should “speak words of honor and respect concerning any Sage,” even gentile Sages.

As is so often the case these days, we tend to see two extremes when it comes to approaching Jewish encounters with the non-Jewish world. On one hand, there is the isolationist approach, which can be found among both the ultra-Orthodox and many segments of Israeli Jewry. On the other hand, we have the assimilationists found in many segments of liberal American Jewry. What we need is to rebirth the middle-ground of seeing the value in a deep, critical learning from all people, while also maintaining an unwavering commitment to Jewish values and learning.

Another way to put this? Accept wisdom from anyone, but accept Torah only from Jews. As is taught in Eichah Rabbah, the Talmudic-era midrash on the book of Lamentations: “If someone tells you other nations possess wisdom, believe him… However, if someone tells you that other nations possess Torah, do not believe him” (Eichah Rabbah 2:13). We can see this dichotomy throughout Jewish history. After all, while it was considered a tragedy when King Ptolemy forced Jewish elders to translate the Torah into Greek — the Babylonian Talmud says the day the translation was finished was as ominous as the day the golden calf was made (Soferim 1:7) — we also know for a fact that our sages were very amenable to the Greco-Roman institution of the public bathhouses. The Jerusalem Talmud goes so far as to say it is forbidden to live in a city without a bathhouse (Kiddushin 4:12)! From this, we can see that although there is a necessary aversion to allowing gentiles to interfere with Torah, our sages were very open to collaborating with gentiles on how to live well.

There is clearly a sanctity in seeking out wisdom in others while remaining rooted in Torah values. Rav Kook wrote that by loving all of humanity, we elevate our love for Israel. In “Mishnato Shel HaRav Kook,” the rabbi argues, “It is a mean eye that causes one to see only ugliness and impurity in everything beyond the bounds of Israel.” To refuse to acknowledge the beauty and wisdom of the gentile world is, in Rav Kook’s words, “one of the most awful, debased forms of darkness” (Mishnato Shel HaRav Kook, 306-307).

This Hanukkah, as we bring more light into the world each night, let us think about the ways that the Diasporic can illuminate us just as much as we can illuminate the Diaspora. In a day and age when everyone is talking about allyship, I remind you that there is value not just in political allyship, but also in intellectual allyship. In other words, we don’t want to only forge political alliances with other cultures; rather, we want to form deep relationships based on the exchange of ideas. Done right, this will lead not to assimilation, but to a renewed commitment to Jewish life, enhanced by the wisdom of the world beyond our direct experiences.


Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz is an educator, activist, and the author of 27 books on Jewish ethics.

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Surprised by Antisemitism/Anti-Zionism?

Although Jews have faced antisemitism from time immemorial, it always comes upon us as something new. It surprises us. We don’t understand it.

We strive to be good people, good citizens; we are kind hearted and generous. We devote ourselves to the education of our children, to the betterment of society, to justice and compassion. We have our share of faults along with all other human beings; but by and large, we are a good, responsible, hard-working community.

And yet, no matter what we do, people hate us! They don’t see us as individual human beings but as a vast stereotype. They don’t care if we are religious or not religious; if we are liberals or conservatives. If we are Jewish, they are against us and want to hurt us.

It was once thought that the establishment of the State of Israel would bring antisemitism to an end. After all, Jews would then have a feeling of security in the world, a safe haven where no one would bother us.

But the Jewish State has simply become a new target for the anti-Semites. They now couch Jew-hatred for hatred of “the Zionists.” Anti-Semites don’t have a problem with Hamas firing thousands of missiles at civilian centers in Israel; but when Israel responds by bombing the enemy, Israel is immediately condemned and vilified by the haters. For the anti-Semites, Israel is always wrong regardless of what it does or doesn’t do.

Happily, there are many millions of people who feel warmly toward Jews and the Jewish State. Happily, many millions of people admire the accomplishments of the State of Israel in the face of so many obstacles; they respect Israel’s right—and obligation—to defend its citizens.

But when we see outbreaks of blatant anti-Jewish violence, anti-Jewish rhetoric, anti-Israel demonization—it surprises and pains us!  In spite of thousands of years dealing with anti-Jewish hatred and persecution, we still are not used to it. We somehow think that humanity will improve, will judge us fairly. We grow optimistic at any sign of peace and understanding, mutual cooperation and solidarity.

We keep telling ourselves that most people are good and that reason will ultimately prevail. The haters will eventually overcome malice and violence; they will realize the value of peaceful and respectful cooperation. In a world of over seven billion human beings, surely there must be room for the infinitesimal presence of 15 million Jews. In a world with so many countries, surely there must be room for one tiny Jewish State that wants nothing more than to be able to live in peace and security.

But the anti-Semites and anti-Zionists don’t really care. They don’t want to be reasoned with; they don’t want to listen. They have their agenda of hate.

Saul Bellow, the American novelist who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1976, wrote in his book To Jerusalem and Back: A Personal Account: “…There is one fact of Jewish life unchanged by the creation of a Jewish state: you cannot take your right to live for granted. Others can; you cannot. This is not to say that everyone else is living pleasantly and well under a decent regime. No, it means only that the Jews, because they are Jews, have never been able to take the right to live as a natural right….This right is still clearly not granted them, not even in the liberal West.”

Bellow’s complaint is not new. Jews throughout the generations have had to face the same stark reality: Jews, because they are Jews, cannot take the right to live as a natural right.

That’s the sad part of the story.

But that’s not the end of the story. Even if there has long been hatred and violence directed against Jews…we are still here! We continue to live, to thrive, to hope.

The late Jewish thinker, Simon Rawidowicz, wrote an essay about “Israel: the Ever-Dying People.” He noted that Jews have often felt that theirs was the last Jewish generation. Jewish survival seemed hopeless. But although we were “ever-dying,” we were in fact ever-living! We often felt despair; but hope and persistence prevailed. Jews found ways to overcome all who would decimate us.

Although current manifestations of antisemitism and anti-Zionism are ugly and painful, we must take the long view of things. This isn’t the first period of Jewish history where Jews faced viciousness and violence. It likely won’t be the last period either. But long experience has taught us to stay strong, stay confident, stay positive. The challenge to our generation is to stand tall as Jews, to stand strong on behalf of Israel.

And we do look forward to a time when humanity will overcome the disease of antisemitism.  Meanwhile, we recall the words of Rav Nahman of Bratslav: All the world is a narrow bridge; the essential thing is not to be afraid, not to be afraid at all.


Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals jewishideas.org, and Rabbi Emeritus of the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City.

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Hanukkah May Be Late This Year - a poem

Hanukkah May Be Late This Year

Hanukkah is late this year –
or from another point of view
it is exactly on time.

Our allegiance to the Western calendar
makes us nervous when December
almost takes its last breath and

we haven’t lit a single candle.
I know when I fly home from Thanksgiving
I’m already making plans –

plans that involve oil and potatoes.
To be honest I once made latkes
in the middle of July because

the technology was available to me.
I felt good about my choice, but
in December, or rather Tevet

my choice becomes an obligation.
I need to remember this miracle
even though my cardiologist

wishes I wouldn’t. (Full disclosure
I don’t have a cardiologist, but
my wife wishes I did.)

Sometimes, Hanukkah comes early –
or from another point of view
it comes exactly on time.

Have you ever served latkes
with cranberry sauce? When the
Hebrew and Gregorian calendars

are having a disagreement,
it’s a real possibility. To play it safe
I’m frying potatoes every weekend

for the foreseeable future.
Stop by in April with sour cream
and I’ll hook you up.

We’re not going to miss this miracle.
This is what it takes to
be a good Jew.


Rick Lupert, a poet, songleader and graphic designer, is the author of 28 books including “God Wrestler: A Poem for Every Torah Portion.” Visit him at www.JewishPoetry.net

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