There’s a theory, explained by Talmud scholar Joshua Kulp, that Hanukkah’s eight day observance may be connected to the winter solstice and the days-long revelry the ancient Greeks observed around it. But such an idea is almost blasphemous: are we really to think that a pagan festival inspired our decidedly anti-pagan festival?
We shouldn’t be so surprised, especially considering how aware our sages were of Greek and Roman culture. These holidays were relevant to our ancient ancestors’ lives, much like Halloween, Valentines Day and Christmas are relevant to us today. They affected business dealings and town service schedules. The Mishnah, redacted in the 2nd century CE, even names the major pagan festivals: “these are the festivals of the gentiles: “Kalenda, Saturnalia, and Kratesis, along with the festivals regarding their kings…” (Avodah Zara 8a).
Saturnalia in particular was a popular Roman holiday. It was celebrated on the 17th of December, near the winter solstice. It included lighting candles, brightening the darkest time of year.
As much as this historical connection raises an eyebrow when it comes to our observance of Hanukkah, I’m not too bothered by it. My ease comes from the Gemara on the subject, the rabbi’s explanation of the Mishnah:
“With regard to the dates of these festivals, the Sages taught that when Adam the first man saw that the days were getting shorter between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, he did not yet know that this is a normal phenomenon, and therefore he said: “Woe is me; perhaps because I sinned, the world is becoming dark around me and will ultimately return to the primordial state of chaos and disorder”…He spent eight days in fasting and in prayer.
Once the winter solstice arrived and he observed that the days became progressively longer, he said: ‘Clearly, the days become shorter and then longer, and this is the natural order of the world.’ He went and observed a festival of thanksgiving for eight days. Upon the next year he commemorated both of these observances with eight days of festivities.” (Avodah Zara 8a)
But the rabbis take the story a step further and round it off with a zinger: “He, Adam, established these festivals for the sake of Heaven, but they, the Greeks and Romans of later generations, established them for the sake of idol worship.”
You have to appreciate how they don’t miss the opportunity to take a jab at the Romans, basically saying, “Your celebrations are vapid and vain; they’re just an excuse to eat and drink in excess. Our celebrations, on the other hand, reflect the beauty of God’s creation.”
Saturnalia in particular was a popular Roman holiday. It was celebrated on the 17th of December, near the winter solstice. It included lighting candles, brightening the darkest time of year.
As much as this historical connection raises an eyebrow when it comes to our observance of Hanukkah, I’m not too bothered by it. My ease comes from the Gemara on the subject, the rabbi’s explanation of the Mishnah:
“With regard to the dates of these festivals, the Sages taught that when Adam the first man saw that the days were getting shorter between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, he did not yet know that this is a normal phenomenon, and therefore he said: “Woe is me; perhaps because I sinned, the world is becoming dark around me and will ultimately return to the primordial state of chaos and disorder”…He spent eight days in fasting and in prayer.
Once the winter solstice arrived and he observed that the days became progressively longer, he said: ‘Clearly, the days become shorter and then longer, and this is the natural order of the world.’ He went and observed a festival of thanksgiving for eight days. Upon the next year he commemorated both of these observances with eight days of festivities.” (Avodah Zara 8a)
But the rabbis take the story a step further and round it off with a zinger: “He, Adam, established these festivals for the sake of Heaven, but they, the Greeks and Romans of later generations, established them for the sake of idol worship.”
You have to appreciate how they don’t miss the opportunity to take a jab at the Romans, basically saying, “Your celebrations are vapid and vain; they’re just an excuse to eat and drink in excess. Our celebrations, on the other hand, reflect the beauty of God’s creation.”
Throughout their writings, the sages are particularly harsh on the pagan practices of the ancient Greeks and early Romans. No doubt this is because both of those civilizations caused great pain for our ancestors through bitter persecution.
Our forebears regarded these gluttonous ancient empires as idolatry’s acme, the most extreme transgressors of God’s second commandment: “You shall have no other gods beside Me. You shall not make for yourself any graven image, nor any manner of likeness…”. In contrast, Hellenistic culture heavily promoted these images and erected statues to their gods everywhere. Our ancestors were highly judgmental of this.
Our forebears regarded these gluttonous ancient empires as idolatry’s acme, the most extreme transgressors of God’s second commandment: “You shall have no other gods beside Me. You shall not make for yourself any graven image, nor any manner of likeness…”. In contrast, Hellenistic culture heavily promoted these images and erected statues to their gods everywhere. Our ancestors were highly judgmental of this.
Our ancestors were clear: our God does not reside on Olympus. Quite the contrary - Psalm 121 describes how when, “we lift our eyes to the mountains,” instead of our protector physically residing on the peak, we call upon, “the One who made heaven and earth…a guardian who neither slumbers nor sleeps.” The mountains are a mere symbol of God’s greatness, not God’s home. Our God is limitless and to make God anything smaller is heresy.
So hopefully our ancestors will forgive me, because when I was on sabbatical, I inadvertently found myself interacting a lot with Greek and Roman mythology. I read Circe by Madeline Miller, watched the new Percy Jackson and the Olympians series with my children, and studied the mythological statues at the MET.
Because even though worshiping them has gone out of style, we’re still fascinated by the heroic stories of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Their gods don’t hold any authority, but they do capture our imagination. They lend themselves to marble statues and Hollywood blockbusters where they play out our greatest fantasies and attack our greatest fears. They are essentially human, but “upgraded” in heroic ways.
So hopefully our ancestors will forgive me, because when I was on sabbatical, I inadvertently found myself interacting a lot with Greek and Roman mythology. I read Circe by Madeline Miller, watched the new Percy Jackson and the Olympians series with my children, and studied the mythological statues at the MET.
Because even though worshiping them has gone out of style, we’re still fascinated by the heroic stories of the ancient Greeks and Romans. Their gods don’t hold any authority, but they do capture our imagination. They lend themselves to marble statues and Hollywood blockbusters where they play out our greatest fantasies and attack our greatest fears. They are essentially human, but “upgraded” in heroic ways.
The only difference between the mythological gods and humans is immortality, but we are working on that. I have been reading Yuval Noah Harari’s Homo Deus, a provocative treatise on the human desire to overcome our animal limitations and our efforts to turn ourselves immortal. Human ingenuity and modern technology have brought us closer than ever before: we communicate in seconds with people across the world. We travel to the moon. Modern medicine has expanded our lifespans. If the ancients were to visit us today, they might regard us as gods.
However, as more sophisticated technology like artificial intelligence integrates into our lives and we continue to find ways to postpone death, it behooves us to make sure our use of technology and our longer lives are governed by eternal values and not greediness for eternity.
Because when it comes to the Hellenistic gods, their immortality seems to be more of a curse to them than anything.
Circe, the protagonist of Miller’s novel, explains: “I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.”
However, as more sophisticated technology like artificial intelligence integrates into our lives and we continue to find ways to postpone death, it behooves us to make sure our use of technology and our longer lives are governed by eternal values and not greediness for eternity.
Because when it comes to the Hellenistic gods, their immortality seems to be more of a curse to them than anything.
Circe, the protagonist of Miller’s novel, explains: “I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.”
The more you learn about them, the more you realize that the Greek gods are bored. This is why they start wars, drink and feast, sleep with mortals and make all kinds of morally questionable decisions. When the rabbis say that Adam established the festivals for the sake of Heaven, but the Greeks and Romans established them for the sake of idol worship, they are telling a cautionary tale.
We see this elsewhere in our tradition. In Genesis chapter 6, just before the famous Flood, Torah gives us a snapshot of the Nephilim, a kind of superhuman race not unlike the ancient gods of Greece: “The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, when Divine, god-like beings mated with humans, and the resulting children were the mighty heroes of old.” The name “Nephilim” comes from the root of the word “to fall.” They were called this, says Rashi, “because the heart of man fell in fear of them.” Their mythological power, the sages imply, did not come from divinity, but from their ability to instill fear. They were full of pride and did not hold themselves accountable to God. They were incapable of teshuvah, repentance. Because of this, humanity was overrun by wickedness. Every plan they devised would consume nature and one another. They did this without remorse. Eventually the only good guy left was Noah.
Turns out, when God finally decided to start over by flooding the earth, there was very little left to destroy. These superhumans had done it all already. God just dealt the final blow.
It is clear to me that in the creation stories like the flood and even the Tower of Babel, God’s fear is not that we will overrun God, but that we will lose what makes us human - our mortality and our knowledge of it. Sure, we can be big and powerful, but once we think we can manipulate life and nature in such a way that we don’t fear death, or feel regret, or mourn the consequences of our actions, our lives become a lot less sacred and our treatment of one another a lot more callous. We also risk ruining the very earth we were told to protect.
Now, before we get too curmudgeonly about the ways in which technology may turn us into egomaniacal god-wannabes, we have to acknowledge the ways in which we have applied the human desire for immortality in tremendously positive ways: vaccines have eradicated diseases that were once a death sentence. The internet has connected, educated and empowered people who once were relegated to the fringes of society. Just this week, we saw how artificial intelligence can predict hurricane storm paths and save lives.
Judaism welcomes all these advancements. They are the proper application of the creative spirit God entrusted us with at the dawn of our species. We are b’tzelem elohim, made in God’s image. Just like God created the world, we are expected to create and maintain life. The first humans are told to “Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it; rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on earth” (Genesis 1:28). God encourages humanity to advance for the sake of future generations. We are the protectors of creation, encouraged to be creators ourselves.
However, if we are going to live longer and welcome these life-saving advancements in our lives, then we need to make some moral adjustments. We are beginning to resemble the Nephilim and the Greek gods. For example, we start needless fights online that rip apart communities. Social media is causing a mental health crisis in our young people. To build our electronic devices, we are mining precious metals out of the earth and rotting the planet with waste. Famine and disease are increasingly man-made. Our concern for the life of our planet and the lives of our fellow humans, is dwindling.
Tomorrow morning we will read from the Book of Deuteronomy: “See, today, I set before you this day life and prosperity, death and adversity…if your heart turns away and you give no heed, and are lured into the worship and service of other gods, I declare to you this day that you shall certainly perish…” (30:15-20). Here at the start of Yom Kippur, the message of our tradition is clear: we have to show remorse for our sins. We need to choose life, and not just in the way that prolongs our years. We have to turn away from our modern day idolatry.
So what does that look like in 5785? Well, here are just a few examples:
We see this elsewhere in our tradition. In Genesis chapter 6, just before the famous Flood, Torah gives us a snapshot of the Nephilim, a kind of superhuman race not unlike the ancient gods of Greece: “The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, when Divine, god-like beings mated with humans, and the resulting children were the mighty heroes of old.” The name “Nephilim” comes from the root of the word “to fall.” They were called this, says Rashi, “because the heart of man fell in fear of them.” Their mythological power, the sages imply, did not come from divinity, but from their ability to instill fear. They were full of pride and did not hold themselves accountable to God. They were incapable of teshuvah, repentance. Because of this, humanity was overrun by wickedness. Every plan they devised would consume nature and one another. They did this without remorse. Eventually the only good guy left was Noah.
Turns out, when God finally decided to start over by flooding the earth, there was very little left to destroy. These superhumans had done it all already. God just dealt the final blow.
It is clear to me that in the creation stories like the flood and even the Tower of Babel, God’s fear is not that we will overrun God, but that we will lose what makes us human - our mortality and our knowledge of it. Sure, we can be big and powerful, but once we think we can manipulate life and nature in such a way that we don’t fear death, or feel regret, or mourn the consequences of our actions, our lives become a lot less sacred and our treatment of one another a lot more callous. We also risk ruining the very earth we were told to protect.
Now, before we get too curmudgeonly about the ways in which technology may turn us into egomaniacal god-wannabes, we have to acknowledge the ways in which we have applied the human desire for immortality in tremendously positive ways: vaccines have eradicated diseases that were once a death sentence. The internet has connected, educated and empowered people who once were relegated to the fringes of society. Just this week, we saw how artificial intelligence can predict hurricane storm paths and save lives.
Judaism welcomes all these advancements. They are the proper application of the creative spirit God entrusted us with at the dawn of our species. We are b’tzelem elohim, made in God’s image. Just like God created the world, we are expected to create and maintain life. The first humans are told to “Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it; rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on earth” (Genesis 1:28). God encourages humanity to advance for the sake of future generations. We are the protectors of creation, encouraged to be creators ourselves.
However, if we are going to live longer and welcome these life-saving advancements in our lives, then we need to make some moral adjustments. We are beginning to resemble the Nephilim and the Greek gods. For example, we start needless fights online that rip apart communities. Social media is causing a mental health crisis in our young people. To build our electronic devices, we are mining precious metals out of the earth and rotting the planet with waste. Famine and disease are increasingly man-made. Our concern for the life of our planet and the lives of our fellow humans, is dwindling.
Tomorrow morning we will read from the Book of Deuteronomy: “See, today, I set before you this day life and prosperity, death and adversity…if your heart turns away and you give no heed, and are lured into the worship and service of other gods, I declare to you this day that you shall certainly perish…” (30:15-20). Here at the start of Yom Kippur, the message of our tradition is clear: we have to show remorse for our sins. We need to choose life, and not just in the way that prolongs our years. We have to turn away from our modern day idolatry.
So what does that look like in 5785? Well, here are just a few examples:
First, we have to choose life for our planet. We have ravaged the earth in our pursuit of cheap and disposable goods, as well as cheap and disposable human labor. We are so “godlike” and mighty that we have altered the temperature of our atmosphere. Like Possidon, we have helped create storm surges that wipe out all sorts of life. Our tradition is clear: we were not given this earth to manipulate it. We were set on it to be its protector. Midrash states: Do not destroy My world, for if you do, there will be nobody after you to make it right again (Midrash Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:13). Jewish tradition teaches that we show our greatness in our restraint, not in our might.
Second, we need to be proactive about how we use technology, particularly artificial intelligence. In the AI Bill of Rights, the Biden administration explained, “Among the great challenges posed to democracy today is the use of technology, data, and automated systems in ways that threaten the rights of the American public. Too often, these tools are used to limit our opportunities and prevent our access to critical resources or services.” These AI systems can be biased, overreaching and misleading. They give too much unregulated power to businesses and people who have no regrets exploiting it. It can underestimate the power of human interaction, creativity, and compassion. The concept of “covenant” is central to Jewish thinking. Being in covenant means being accountable to one another. AI has the power to become modern day Nephilim - a powerful, divine hybrid; lacking soul. Regulations and moral considerations must be instituted.
My final example is a bit different from the first two. It has to do with our elders. As more people live longer lives, we must learn to not just respect our elders, but to value them. Older folks report to me all the time about how they feel invisible or forgotten. American society has no blueprint for what to do when you are no longer working or producing children. Jewish tradition preaches the opposite when it comes to our elders, with text after text reminding us to value the wisdom of older generations. Honoring folks as they age means more affordable health care, combating age bias, and changing our definitions of what makes a person “productive” to society. Pirkei Avot stresses that a person should continue teaching and learning Torah well into their old age, as it says in Ecclesiastes, “In the morning sow your seed, and in the evening let your hand not rest” (1:1).
***
When I was in high school, I took Latin. They promised it would help me on my SATs. I’m not sure it did, but I turned out ok. The best part about Latin class was reading the Aeneid and watching Clash of the Titans, getting lost in the epic stories. We even had a yearly Saturnalia celebration. It was cupcakes and juice; an excuse to goof off for 40 minutes.
In my civics class and at religious school, however, I learned about ethics. I learned about social and spiritual contracts. They didn’t give me superhuman strength, but they did empower me. I carry no magical sword on a hilt, but I do have a moral compass that developed over the years.
I hope to live a long life. Considering the age I’ve been born into, my chances are pretty good. But more than extending my years, I hope to extend my impact; to not grow bored or callous or indifferent to the world around me.
Second, we need to be proactive about how we use technology, particularly artificial intelligence. In the AI Bill of Rights, the Biden administration explained, “Among the great challenges posed to democracy today is the use of technology, data, and automated systems in ways that threaten the rights of the American public. Too often, these tools are used to limit our opportunities and prevent our access to critical resources or services.” These AI systems can be biased, overreaching and misleading. They give too much unregulated power to businesses and people who have no regrets exploiting it. It can underestimate the power of human interaction, creativity, and compassion. The concept of “covenant” is central to Jewish thinking. Being in covenant means being accountable to one another. AI has the power to become modern day Nephilim - a powerful, divine hybrid; lacking soul. Regulations and moral considerations must be instituted.
My final example is a bit different from the first two. It has to do with our elders. As more people live longer lives, we must learn to not just respect our elders, but to value them. Older folks report to me all the time about how they feel invisible or forgotten. American society has no blueprint for what to do when you are no longer working or producing children. Jewish tradition preaches the opposite when it comes to our elders, with text after text reminding us to value the wisdom of older generations. Honoring folks as they age means more affordable health care, combating age bias, and changing our definitions of what makes a person “productive” to society. Pirkei Avot stresses that a person should continue teaching and learning Torah well into their old age, as it says in Ecclesiastes, “In the morning sow your seed, and in the evening let your hand not rest” (1:1).
***
When I was in high school, I took Latin. They promised it would help me on my SATs. I’m not sure it did, but I turned out ok. The best part about Latin class was reading the Aeneid and watching Clash of the Titans, getting lost in the epic stories. We even had a yearly Saturnalia celebration. It was cupcakes and juice; an excuse to goof off for 40 minutes.
In my civics class and at religious school, however, I learned about ethics. I learned about social and spiritual contracts. They didn’t give me superhuman strength, but they did empower me. I carry no magical sword on a hilt, but I do have a moral compass that developed over the years.
I hope to live a long life. Considering the age I’ve been born into, my chances are pretty good. But more than extending my years, I hope to extend my impact; to not grow bored or callous or indifferent to the world around me.
According to the rabbis, the first human held a celebration in honor of the world’s natural rhythms. I pray that whether our days are longer or shorter, we will find the opportunity to cherish them.
May we always express gratitude for that which is truly immortal: the Divine presence of God which unites all living things, the Divine love we are meant to share with one another and with our planet. May we choose life in all the practical and spiritual ways available to us.
Tomorrow morning we will read: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life—if you and your offspring would live—by loving the Eternal you God, heeding God’s commands, and holding fast to [God]. For thereby you shall have life and shall long endure…” (Deut 30:19-20).
Ken yhi ratzon, may it be God’s will.
--------
CLOSING THOUGHTS
In “The Human Comedy,” William Saroyan reflects on death:
“Try to remember that a good [person] can never die. You will see [them] many times. You will see [them] in the streets. You will see [them] in the houses, in all the places of the town. In the vineyards and orchards, in the rivers and clouds, in all the things here that make this a world for us to live in. You will feel [them] in all things that are here out of love, and for love — all the things that are abundant, all the things that grow. The [body of a person] may leave — or be taken away — but the best part of a good [person] stays. It stays forever. Love is immortal and makes all things immortal.”
As we embark upon these next 24 hours of teshuva, we will have ample opportunity to meditate on our mortality. Let us use this most sacred day to appreciate how fragile our bodies are and how prone we are to sin. Knowing this, let’s turn our attention to that which matters most: the sacred bonds we have with one another, the earth and with God. Tzom kal…may it be a meaningful fast.
No comments:
Post a Comment