by Rabbi Sam Richardson

I was born in the northern part of the Galilee in Israel some 10 years after the Romans began what is called the Common Era.  Although I am now an old man, it was not so long ago that I celebrated Hanukkah as a child.  I remember the splendor and wonder of lighting the candles each night, the joy of playing dreidel, and the telling of the story which was so fresh in the minds of all who lived in Israel.

I remember how my father would gather the children around him after the candles were lit.  He told us how Mattathias the priest refused to dishonor God and the Torah.  His son Judah Maccabe took up arms against the Greeks, and although outnumbered 10 to 1, defeated them.  On the 25th of Kislev, 167 years before the Common Era, they marched into Jerusalem and re-claimed the Temple mount for our God and for His people.  The war had been fought long and hard.  The people did not even have the opportunity to celebrate Sukkot.  When the Temple was rededicated to God, our leaders felt that it was appropriate to honor him by celebrating the eight-day-long feast at that time.  Sukkot is that Holy Day which causes us to remember the concept of "Emmanu-el," God-with-us.  And God had been with us.  He went before us in what was the greatest battle since Joshua led Israel against the peoples of Canaan.  My grandmother told me that some even expected the Messiah to enter Jerusalem on the last day of the celebration.  Even when I was a child, there were still those who would pray for the Messiah to come not only at Sukkot, but at Hanukkah as well.

Unfortunately, the sovereignty of our land was not to last.  Eventually, the Romans came and gained control over this land which is Holy to our God.  They removed our chosen king and replaced him with one who was not even descended from David.  This man whom they called "Herod the Great" was actually no king at all - but a mere servant of Pagans.  Yes, he did build what came to be known as the "Second Temple," but what distinguished him from other rulers before him was his cruelty and abusiveness towards his own subjects.  As Rome's puppet, Herod assured his own comfort by exacting taxes from the Israelites to send to the Emperor, Caesar Augustus.

Rome had a unique way of collecting taxes.  Caesar wanted to ensure that no one was left out of this grand Roman tradition.  To this end they decreed that a census be taken.  Such a measure required each family to return to its town of origin for recording and the paying of the tax.  Pragmatic as they were, the most efficient time for this census taking was during the High Holy Days and during Sukkot, when people are gathering their families together for worship.

My mother once told me of such a year when she was a young woman - about the 4th or 5th year before the Common Era.  She was so looking forward to celebrating Sukkot in Jerusalem with her family.  She and her brothers spoke of how they would stand in awe of the Priests and Levites as they emerged from the Temple.  Each year at this time they would descend the Temple mount to the Pool of Shiloh where the High Priest would draw out a pitcher of water.  As they ascended the steps of the Temple, the Psalms of Ascent (120 - 134) would be sung by the musicians.  A crowd of thousands would join in the dancing and the worship unto our God.  Each would pray that perhaps this year the Messiah will come.

I remember the Hallel Psalms.  They were the first that I learned as a child.

I Will lift up my eyes to the mountains; from whence shall my help come?   My help [comes] from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.   He will not allow your foot to slip; He who keeps you will not slumber.   Behold, He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.   The Lord is your keeper; The Lord is your shade on your right hand.   The sun will not smite you by day, nor the moon by night.   The Lord will protect you from all evil; He will keep your soul.   The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever.

Herod the Great ruined the High Holy Days for my mother's family that year - and for all of Israel as well.  Rather than meet the family caravans on the way to Jerusalem, each male was instructed to return to his ancestral city for the recording of the census and the paying of the tax.  The joy of the season was all but gone.  Many families did not even have enough left over to continue on to Jerusalem for worship.  I hear that one by the name of Luke has recorded this event so that none would forget.

My mother told me that a year or so later - just when we thought the situation could get no worse - an edict was issued by Herod that all male children two and under in and around Bethlehem were to be killed - murdered.  This order was given due to the words of some astrologers.  These wise men from the east had come in search of a child-king.  Herod feared for his throne, no doubt.  When word of this travesty spread throughout Israel, even the women in the Galilee, in the north of Israel, feared for the lives of their children who were at Herod's mercy. That year in our history has been one some of the rabbis consider to be the fulfillment of Jeremiah's prophecy:

A voice was heard in Ramah Weeping and great mourning.  Rachel weeping for her children.  And she refused to be comforted Because they were no more.

How many great and righteous men would have come from Judah had Herod never lived?

I remember only a few times as a child making the journey to Jerusalem for the High Holy days. My family was poor.  Although somewhat trained in the Torah, Prophets and Writings, my father, who desired to be a Pharisee, followed in the footsteps of his father and became a baker who had little time for travel or family gatherings.

What I do remember are the years when Abba did well.  Those years, at Hanukkah, my brothers and I would each get a new dreidel made of wood.  Abba would tell us of the times when reading the Torah was forbidden.  The young men would study the Bible scrolls until a Greek soldier came by.  Then they would quickly hide the scroll, bring out the dreidel, and pretend to be engrossed in a game of tops!  When the soldier left, the Torah study would resume.  And, of course, Abba told us the story of how, when the Temple was captured from the Greeks, there was only enough oil to light the Temple menorah for one day.  God, however, provided a miracle, and the lamp did not go out for eight days.

I also remember my father telling us about the Hanukkiah lights - especially about the Shamash - the servant flame which is used to light the other branches of the menorah.  Abba said that the Shamash flame represents God - and the rest represent those who have faith in the One True God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  As common men, we have no true light of our own, but God gives us His light - and life.  Those who accept this gift of life from God have their place secured in the world to come - the Olam Ha Ba-ah.  Abba would also tell us that those who do know God have a responsibility to share this gift of life with others - whether Jew or Gentile it does not matter, for the God of Creation is the God of all.

I was not what you would call a model child.  My mother said that I could cause more trouble than a goat trapped in a potter's shop.  I once overheard my father wondering out loud how long I would rebel against his authority.  There came a time in my life however - my late teens - when I started to consider the words my father spoke concerning the Torah and the Prophets.  I distinctly remember thinking one day, just as a fresh batch of Challa bread came out of the oven, that if all these teachings are truly the words of God to men - So what?  What do they mean to me?  Of what consequence is there to me how I live my life if these words are true?  If I say I believe the Bible, how then should my life be different from that of the Pagans?  Even some of the Greeks and Romans live moral lives.  Could there any more?

I returned to my studies, long since put aside, and re-read the words of Isaiah the Prophet.  He wrote that we are all like sheep and have gone astray from God.  He also said that our sins are as red as crimson - but God will forgive them, making them as white as snow.  I poured over the words of Jeremiah who prophesied that some day God would make a new covenant with the house of Judah and the house of Israel.  He will write His Torah on our hearts and forgive our sin.  Would He forgive my sin?

Could these words be true?  How could I know for sure?  What do these words have to do with a poor, unknown boy from Galilee?

The air was crisp with the first hints of winter coming to Israel.  The shepherds had already moved their flocks from the highlands to the valleys for winter pasture.  Around the 10th of Kislev, December on the Roman calendar, I gave leave of my father.  I told him that I would like to make the journey to Jerusalem for the Feast of Dedication.  I explained to him that if this is the time each year when Israel celebrated the Maccabeean victory - when God demonstrated His love, sovereignty and provision for His people - perhaps this year He would provide me with the answers to my own personal battles.

I arrived in Jerusalem on the 24th of Kislev ? That evening was the first night of Hanukkah.  I was staying with a family which had been close to mine for generations.  At their bidding, and due to the cold, I refrained from venturing out to the Temple for the first two evenings.  We lit the candles, told embellished stories of the Maccabees and played dreidle with the children.

By the third night, I just could not contain myself.  I felt drawn to the Temple.  I had so many questions - and so few answers.  Even on that night, God dwelt with His people in the Temple.  Hundreds of Pharisees and other rabbis had come for the celebration, to teach and gain new disciples.  Surely between the presence of God and the abundance of teachers I could find the way!

When I arrived, the wind had come up and was howling through the columns and porticoes of the Temple.  Most of the rabbis and their disciples had gone inside.  Others huddled together to provide some warmth in numbers.  I did not feel right intruding on what appeared to be closed discussions.

I remembered from a previous visit to the temple that the east side, near Solomon's Porch, was somewhat sheltered from the weather.  As I made my way, I noticed a young rabbi who was walking as he taught - his disciples appearing to hang on every word he spoke.

I felt sure I had seen him somewhere before - but few of the great teachers made it as far to the north of Galilee as our small village.  As I joined the small group and listened, I found myself lost in his words.  His teaching was somehow different than that of the other rabbis I had heard before.  He spoke of the deep and living faith of Abraham, of the humble obedience of Moses, and of the grace of God to have mercy and forgiveness towards His children.  As the evening progressed, the number of people listening to this unique teacher was growing.  One who stood close to him asked, "Teacher, when we were here in this very place at the Feast of Tabernacles, you spoke to us words which are difficult to understand.  Will you tell us again?"

The Rabbi stopped where he was and said, in a voice filled with a compassion I had never heard before, "I will tell you again.  If any man is thirsty, let him come to me and drink.  He who believes in me, as the Scriptures say, `From his innermost being shall flow rivers of living water.' " After a pause he pointed to the Hanukkah menorahs placed on the Temple wall, the Shamash and three other flames illuminated each one.  He said, "I am the light of the world; he who follows me shall not walk in the darkness but shall have the light of life."  This man spoke with an authority like none other.  I knew then that from this man I would find the answers to my questions!

He continued to use metaphors to explain who he was.  His teaching was at the same time difficult ? and wonderful!. As I looked around me, it was evident that others were feeling the power of his words as well.  Some began to sit at his feet.  Still others were becoming nervous - their anxiety distracting.

Suddenly, one man from the crowd stood up and said, "How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us so plainly!"

"I told you - and you do not believe," he answered.  "The works I do in my Father's name testify on my behalf.  But you do not believe because you are not included among my sheep.  My sheep listen to my voice.  I recognize them, they follow me, and I give then eternal life.  They will absolutely never be destroyed, and no one will snatch them from my hands.  My Father, who gave them to me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them from the Father's hands.  I and the Father are one."

Seconds passed like years.  The words of this young rabbi went through me as a sword, plummeting through my heart, as if cutting it in two.  This man had made himself out to be God in the flesh!  In my heart I believed each word.  On the other hand my mind doubted one who would have the audacity - or lunacy - to make such a proclamation on this Holy ground.

Those on the outer rim of the crowd seemed to retreat.  They soon returned carrying stones.  Others had simply looked down to grab what was scattered at their feet. If he was lying - or if he had gone mad - there was only one way for the crowd to respond to such a claim.  Someone handed me a rock.  It was cold - biting cold.  The jagged edges seemed to cut into my hand as he cried out, "I showed you many good works from the Father; for which of them are you stoning me?"

At first, no one answered.  Then, a well-known and respected rabbi pushed his way to the front.  "We are not stoning you for any good deed," he stated with restrained ager, "but for blasphemy - because you, who are only a man, are making yourself out to be God!"

Although the younger man replied, I could not concentrate on the exchange of words occurring in front of me.  All I could do was look into the eyes of this one who claimed to be the very Son of God.  All at once they were filled with truth, love, peace - and even forgiveness for those who would to strike him down in moments.  Surely this man was either the greatest liar every to be seen in Israel, a lunatic unaware of what he was saying - or he was the exact representation of God come to earth.

He said, "If I do not do the works of my Father, do not believe me; but if I do them, though you do not believe me, believe the works, that you may know and understand once and for all that the Father is in me and I in the Father." The rock fell silently from my hand.

No one moved.  It was as though every man there was struggling with each word the rabbi spoke.  Some began to raise their arms in preparation to carry out the judgment.  Strange.  He was just - gone.

I saw the young rabbi again a week later.  I had taken the longer way home - through the Jordan Valley.  This way would afford me time to think and to pray on the things revealed to me that cold night in the Temple.  There was a small group of people gathered at the water's edge.  I recognized some as the disciples who were with him at the portico in the Temple.  Others had gathered as well - not to ridicule as before, but to listen and to learn.

They called his name Yeshua. He said that he had come to bring an abundant life to all those who would believe in Him.  Once, after he had answered a question concerning the sacrifices, he turned to look straight at me and said, "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me."

The next spring, just after Pesach, I heard that this teacher had been judged by the Pharisees as a blasphemer and a heretic - and then executed by the Romans.  His followers say He rose from the dead - and they are living out His teachings to this day, awaiting His return.

The years which have passed since then have been filled with many unanswered questions for my people.  The Temple has been gone now for about two years.  There will be no more festive Hanukkah celebrations in Jerusalem.  No more joyful worship at Sukkot.  No more sacrifice at Yom Kippur.  It is a dark time for the Jewish people.  So many questions.  The rabbis try to answer - but no human answer is sufficient to explain what God has allowed to come upon Israel.

Do I still celebrate Hanukkah?  Of course.  I help my grand children light the flames of the menorah and recite the blessings each night and pray for the restoration of our people and the land.  And I tell them, as my father told me, about the Shamash flame and how it represents the light of God which is given to those who believe.  Only I can tell them the whole story - I met the Shamash - the servant Messiah who was sent from God and did a great miracle in me.  He gave me his light - and he also gave me his life.

You see, in Yeshua is life, and that life is the light of men.  And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

HAPPY HANUKKAH!