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The Uprising

Matityahu was angry. Jews everywhere were beginning to act like Greeks. They had little choice, of course. King Antiochus forbad them to study the Torah or keep the mitzvot. Still, what happened yesterday was too much. Who would have believed that in his own village, Modi’in, Jews would sacrifice to the Greek gods? Would his own sons one day do the same? That’s why he called them home last night.

They were all there: Elazar, Shimon, Yohanan, Yonatan, and Yehuda. They argued for hours. Matityahu could still hear Yehuda hammering the table with his fist. “We must throw Antiochus and his soldiers out of our country before there are no Jews left.” As the sun began to rise, they packed their bags and said goodbye to their families.

The town square looked like a carnival. There were flags and streamers everywhere and everyone was dressed in their best clothes. In the middle of the square was an enormous statue. “It’s Zeus,” people explained, but to Matityahu it looked just like a statue of Antiochus. Today the mayor would say a prayer to the statue. Today he would sacrifice a pig to the Greek god. “I never thought I’d see you here,” a neighbor whispered as Matityahu and his sons pushed to the front of the crowd. Before them was the mayor, clean-shaven and wearing a Greek tunic.

Yonatan tugged at Matityahu’s sleeve: “Look how many soldiers! Maybe we should wait.” He already knew his father’s answer. Suddenly Matityahu jumped in front of the mayor and knocked the statue to the ground. Everyone stared, amazed that an old man could have such strength. The soldiers rushed at Matityahu, but his sons pulled out their swords and formed a circle around him. “Mi Lashem, eilay - Whoever is for God, follow me!” Two neighbors joined them, then a farmer, then a shopkeeper. The soldiers charged, but the crowd closed in, hiding Matityahu and his sons. The revolt had begun.

The Miracle of the Oil

Yehuda HaMaccabee slowed down as he reached the heavy gold doors of the Temple. He had seen many miracles over the past few years. The Jews won many battles; they threw the Greeks out of Jerusalem. Just yesterday they liberated the Temple. It was a terrible mess. There were idols everywhere, and all the sacred vessels were desecrated. In a corner stood the menorah, tarnished and dusty after so many years. “Find me olive oil,” he ordered, “Let’s light the menorah as a sign of our freedom.” All they could find was one small jar, enough for a day if they were lucky. The other jars had been opened by the Greeks and could no longer be used, but it would take at least a week - eight days, more likely - to make more oil.

“Light the menorah,” he ordered. “We will do what we have to do, and God will take care of the rest.” They poured the oil carefully, so as not to spill a single drop. The seven lamps cast a bright light over the room. Yehuda wanted to stay and watch them burn, but he knew that he would have to leave soon. Antiochus and his soldiers were not yet defeated. The next morning he received a strange message. “The menorah is still burning, as if no oil was used up.” Yehuda ran to see the miracle for himself and then he knew that the menorah would stay lit until new oil was made. He knew that next year Jews would celebrate the miracle of the oil and remember the miracle of a few determined men, who defeated the most powerful army in the world.

All Singing on the Western Front

Captain Yakov Lazarov looked sadly at his medals. “Four medals, and here I am on the fourth night of Chanukah, in a trench, face to face with the German Army.” In the past week, the quiet meadow where he camped with his troops had become a sea of mud, pockmarked with shell craters. He was homesick, and he even thought he could smell his wife’s latkes frying somewhere far away.

Most of his troops were heading to the forest to find a Christmas tree. “If they can celebrate, so can I,” he said, arranging his medals on the edge of the trench. He wondered where his family was and if they remembered it was Chanukah. Was his son arranging bottle caps on a window sill at home? “I’m sure he has all four candles, and all I have is one. Still, it should be enough. Maybe I’ll even have a Chanukah miracle.” He cut the candle into four and mounted each piece on a medal. Then he waited for the wind to die down. “Baruch ata…,” he began to sing, quietly at first, but gradually louder, “…lehadlik ner shel Chanukah.” He thought he heard Amen echoing across the meadow. “The wind really does play tricks on you,” he laughed. “Baruch ata…” he sang again, “ba’yamim hahem bazman hazeh.” Again the wind whistled Amen.

“Ma’oz tzur yeshu’ati.” He didn’t know all the words by heart so he began to whistle the rest. “Lekha na’eh leshabe’akh,” answered the wind. “That’s not the wind!” Yakov said as he looked around. It was a private, lying in a trench, not even fifty yards away. “Tikon beit tefilati...” This one came from behind him; it was the quarter-master. “V’sham todah nezabeakh,” this time it was the private with a bandage over his forehead. Then someone else picked up the tune, then someone else, adding a line, a phrase, a word.

The quarter-master inched forward carrying a plate of… could it be… yes… latkes! “A Freiliche Chanuke, Captain,” he shouted, “Happy Chanukah, everyone.”