Banish Zealotry

I love debates. And I love rabbinic arguments. They illuminate our tradition’s insights. And holding on to such divergent opinions help to preserve the bonds of community.

Millenia ago Rabbis Hillel and Shammai argued about the lighting of the Hanukkah menorah. Shammai was a literalist and believed eight candles should be lit on the first night and then one candle less on each successive night. He reasoned that there was more oil on the first night, so the Temple’s light burned brighter on the first night and less brightly on the holiday’s last night.

Rabbi Hillel strongly disagreed and argued that the miracle increased on each successive night so we should light one candle on the first night and eight candles on the last. He believed that the lights were representative of our faith. As the last night approached, when our trust in God might have waned, we lit eight candles and cast aside our doubts.

Jewish law follows Hillel. (It almost always does.) And in so doing the tradition moves us away from the literal to the figurative, from history to myth. In fact, the central story about the oil lasting for eight days instead of one is nowhere to be found in the books written soon after the Maccabee’s victory. The Books of Maccabees do not speak about this miracle. Their language talks about the mightiness of their swords not the strength of God’s helping hand. They write at length about their battles against those Jews who supported the Syrian Greek dynasty.

Their writings are a polemic against assimilation. The first death in the war is not that of a Syrian Greek soldier but instead a fellow Jew. Mattathias kills a Jew as he is about to offer a sacrifice on a pagan altar. The Book of Maccabees praises his zealousness. His actions inspire a popular uprising. Mattathias cries, “Whoever is zealous for the law, and maintains the covenant, let him follow me.” (I Maccabees 2)

But civil war, and strife, do not make a good recipe for building community. And fortunately for Hillel and Shammai the Books of Maccabees were not codified and made part of the Hebrew Bible. They could minimize the Maccabees’ version of events. They could sideline the story of military prowess. As much as Hillel and Shammai disagreed with each other, they wanted to ensure that the Jewish people never again became embroiled in civil war.

And so, their book, the Talmud, became the work that defined Jewish life for millennia. On its pages arguments are preserved. Although we light the Hanukkah candles according to Hillel’s interpretation, we still teach Shammai’s approach.

Our faith increases, the light grows, when we make room for more opinions at our tables, when we include such diversity within our celebrations. Zealousness is antithetical to community. Zealots do not compromise. They are blinded by ideology. They see only their own beliefs.

The rabbis, on the other hand, at least the sages living millennia ago, valued sitting with others and making room for their ideas over always being right. The value they elevated was the centrality of community. The darkness they banished was that of zealotry.

If we are likewise able to banish such polemics and the ever-present disdain for differing opinions, this year’s Hanukkah light might very well increase. And then on that eighth night, when all the candles are illuminated, we might see the images of more people sitting around our table. They may very well not agree with one another, but they will remain present for each other.

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