GIFTS OF FAITH HANUKKAH: KEEPING THE LIGHT BURNING HAS KEPT JUDAISM ALIVE.

Byline: Jonathan Dobrer Local View

HANUKKAH is, on the surface, the story about a military victory that was improbable to the point of seeming miraculous.

In 168 BCE, the Greeks had conquered Jerusalem and desecrated the holy Temple. Yet, somehow against the stronger and better-armed occupiers, the Jewish people, under the leadership of the Maccabees, overthrew them and their cruel leader, Antiochus IV. They set about cleansing the Temple, ridding it of statues of Zeus and other foreign gods. When the Temple was rededicated to the worship of God, there was only enough sanctified oil to keep the eternal flame burning for a day. Yet it lasted for the eight days that were required for sanctifying new oil.

Whatever our theory may be about the oil, the indisputable miracle is that the flame that is Judaism did not go out.

The military victory was not an end to the Jewish struggle for survival. Other conquerors would come, other oppressors would persecute us. The Temple would again be taken and, 200 years after that first Hanukkah, it was destroyed. The light, however, has never gone out.

The great miracle of Hanukkah is not about oil; it is about light and life. Hanukkah is a celebration of the improbable survival of the Jewish people. The Hanukkah candelabra, the menorah (or, more technically, the eight-branched hanukkya) is a reminder that while military victories are transitory, the greater triumph is survival. We are still here, while the religion of our oppressors has vanished, turned to dust or is housed in museums. We still sing and dance and worship God.

Our Hanukkah celebrations are more in our homes than in our synagogues. Hanukkah is about family, food and children playing - more than it is about praying.

Hanukkah is very sensual. It is the smell of brisket baking in the oven, latkes sizzling in oil and kids playing with the dreidel - the spinning top - on the floor.

I know that it may seem strange that a holiday that marks the rededication of the Temple is celebrated at home, but in many ways this, too, tells the story of Jewish survival. The Temple was destroyed and the priesthood exiled. Sacrifices, which stood at the center of ancient Jewish liturgy, were ended. They all seemed to disappear, yet somehow the Jewish people survived.

Scholars argue that none of our ancient traditions really went away. They were simply moved and disguised. The Temple, the place of holiness, moved not to the synagogue, the house of learning, but to the home. The sacrificial altar became the dining room table, particularly at the Sabbath dinner. The Holy of Holies is the home, where we live, love, cook, argue and pass on our traditions from generation to generation.

The song associated with Hanukkah is ``Rock of Ages'' and it sings of God's power to save us from those who would destroy us. That power is manifest in our stories and our traditions as they come together in the Torah.

David's triumph over Goliath is instructive. First, he puts on armor and picks up sword and shield. Then, realizing that he is no physical match for the bigger and stronger adversary, he takes off the physical armor, puts down the sword and picks up five smooth stones. With these and a slingshot, he defeats the adversary. We can understand that he was armed with spiritual armor; the five smooth stones (smooth, implying perfection) representing the Torah, - the five books of Moses, the living heart of Jewish tradition and identity.

Jews have survived because we have not let the light go out. Each generation has tended it and passed it on. Each generation has encountered our history, wrestled with our traditions and attempted to make them our own.

Part of the genius of survival has been that we have never had only one way. We have differed, argued and raised our voices. The most traditional thing we do is not agree. This diversity is very helpful to survival. Intellectual and ritual diversity are as helpful as biodiversity. We are religious and we are secular. We are adapters. We live in Buenos Aires, Damascus, Delhi and Duluth. We are Germans, English, Spanish, Russian and Yemenite. We are Americans. We are on the left and on the right. We are intellectuals and farmers, comedians and tragedians. When one group is under siege, when the light seems to have gone out somewhere, there are still sparks in other places.

Interesting and ironic: Hanukkah celebrates a victory that did not last, and it is the diaspora that gave us the opportunity to flourish, sometimes as strangers and sometimes as citizens, in many lands. Wherever we have wandered, we have taken with us our Torah and our lively discussions. We made homes and sanctified them with love, with learning and with a love of learning.

Hanukkah is not about the oil; it is the light, the spark that has not and will not be extinguished - neither by adversaries nor by indifference. As long as we struggle in each age to understand and communicate our personal encounter with our tradition, the spark remains alive.

In this season of darkness, we affirm that no matter how dark the days or fierce the oppressor, we shall continue to do what Hanukkah literally means and rededicate our selves to seeing the light that illuminates our lives, warms our spirits and brings past and future together around the glowing menorah of Hanukkah.