Coming to Term with Sacred Myths
A Thanksgiving and Hanukkah Dvar Torah
Rabbi David Baum, November 2021
Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash
As we approach the holiday of Hanukkah, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit the story as to why the Temple Mount in Jerusalem was chosen as the site of the Holy Temple. There were many strategic and logical reasons that this mountain was chosen, but there is a story told in Jewish folklore that you may not be aware of.
Once there were two brothers who inherited a farm and worked together for years in brotherly love. After a time, one of them found a wife, so the brothers divided up the farm. The married one built a new house and lived with his wife, while the single brother lived by himself in the old house. The brothers' farms flourished and became wealthy
The one who had a wife eventually had a large family, ten children, but the other brother was still looking for a wife; he was alone.
One day, the unmarried brother thought to himself: "I've got this whole farm and all this money, but I only have myself to take care of. My brother has the same amount as me, but he has twelve mouths to feed." So in the middle of the night he took some bundles of wheat, climbed up the hill that separated the two farms, then over into his brother's farm - putting the wheat in his brother's silo.
One night the married brother was thinking to himself, "You know, I've got ten kids, I've got a wife. My world is rich. But my brother, he's all alone. What does he have? All he has is wheat." So, in the middle of the night, he took a bundle of wheat, climbed the hill, and carried it over to his brother's silo.
Back and forth each of the brothers went. Every night each one would climb the hill, pass over to the other side and put wheat in the other's silo. And the next morning each one always wondered, how come I have the same amount of wheat?
One night, while they were passing over to bring the other their bundles of wheat, the two brothers met at the top of the hill. And immediately they understood what had been happening. They fell into each other's arms, hugging and kissing.
It is on this site that the Almighty chose to build the Holy Temple.
We know through the books of Samuel and Kings how the Beit HaMikdash came to be, but this story is also told. The story is what we would call a sacred myth.
I learned this concept from theologian and rabbi, Neil Gilman ,who coined the term from two non-Jewish theologians, Paul Tillich and Paul Ricoeur, but he made sure to teach us that myth did not mean that the story isn’t true. In his seminal book, Sacred Fragments, he writes, “Myths are “sublime metaphors, poetic constructs that capture dimensions of reality beyond normal experience.” They “inspire us to act in certain ways and strive for certain goals, and most important, lend infinite meaning to our lives in the here and now.”
The idea that the Torah was given at Sinai, he asserted, is a myth that helps us conceptualize our lives as Jews; thinking about our sacred scriptures as all having originated in a certain place at a certain time lends coherence to our religious lives and creates an important sense of unity and order—a sacred framework—through which we can understand our voluminously diverse inherited traditions and our confusing, chaotic world.
I bring this up because of the sacred myth for the holiday that our country observed, Thanksgiving. The story we learned in grade school was of Pilgrims coming to a new land in search of religious freedom and being welcomed by the local Native American tribes, the Wampanoag tribe in particular.
The Thanksgiving meal they shared together, the Natives saving the Pilgrims from death by starvation, is the sacred myth of Thanksgiving. But that myth is more complicated. The sacred myth that the Wampanoag tribe holds is much different. In 1970, the tribe said that Thanksgiving is to be a day of mourning and remembrance.
One of the organizers of the event, Kisha James, a member of the Aquinnah Wampanoag and Oglala Lakota tribes, said, “We Native people have no reason to celebrate the arrival of the Pilgrims. We want to educate people so that they understand the stories we all learned in school about the first Thanksgiving are nothing but lies. Wampanoag and other Indigenous people have certainly not lived happily ever after since the arrival of the Pilgrims. To us, Thanksgiving is a day of mourning, because we remember the millions of our ancestors who were murdered by uninvited European colonists such as the Pilgrims. Today, we and many Indigenous people around the country say, 'No Thanks, No Giving.'”
It is harsh to read, and whenever we challenge our sacred myths, we have a visceral reaction. There are some who say that revisiting these nuanced tellings is yet another example of cancel culture. I think the real issue is about losing the sacred myth - what do we do when the story we hold turns out not to be the story that actually happened?
Let’s apply this to the next holiday we will observe - Hanukkah.
Take a moment and tell yourself the story of Hanukkah and why we kindle the lights. Undoubtedly, you likely told the story of the miracle of the oil that was found in the Holy Temple. I will explain why this is problematic in a minute, but first, we must delve deeper into how the rabbis dealt with this holiday and problematic narratives.
The Rabbis of the Talmud barely mention the holiday of Hanukkah, but it comes up in a discussion of holiday candles.
But the Rabbi’s introduce it in an interesting way (BT Talmud Shabbat 21b) - they ask the question: What is Hanukkah? Mai Hanukkah? On a surface level, they are asking the question, why do we kindle lights on Hanukkah. The Gemara explains, and they tell the story of the Hasmonean victory over the Assyrians and the purification of the Temple. So far, this is a heavily redacted version of the book of the Maccabees, but they add something else - the miracle of the oil.
Here’s the interesting thing - if I ask you what the miracle of Hanukkah is, you will say, without hesitation, the miracle of the oil, but the Gemara tells the story of the victory as well, which was the miracle for the Jews living after the Hanukkah story.
But the real story of Hanukkah is one of civil war - of Jewish brothers, traditionalists on one side and Jewish Hellenists on the other side, battling each other until the Jewish Hellenists brought the Assyrians in to fight the traditionalists. The Maccabees, against all odds, win their independence and the battle for Israel’s soul, but that dream turned into a nightmare. After they seized power, the Hasmoneans who fought against Hellenism, eventually became influenced by Hellenism. They slid into civil war again, and the beginning of the end came when one of the descendants of the Hasmoneans brought Rome in to protect them.
And while the revolt worked for the Hasmoneans against the Assyrians, the revolt that happened hundreds of years later against the Romans ended in the destruction of the Temple, the murder of 2/3 of the Jewish people, and the beginning of the exile.
The rabbis knew this and they knew the dangers of fomenting future revolt; they didn’t erase the story, rather, they added a different element - the miracle of the oil and the introduction of Hanukkah as the festival of lights.
The focus became based on light and miracles which are both deeply Jewish ideas grounded in our texts. Out of all the miracles that are in the Tanach, a miracle of everlasting oil doesn’t seem to be even in the top 10, but this secondary sacred myth, even if it was factually true, was necessary for our people at the time, and today.
The story of the oil gave us the strength and faith that the Jewish people could keep the flame of the Beit HaMikdash alive wherever we lived in the world, especially in our homes which became the centerpiece of the holiday, and in the heart of every Jew who lived in exile. That flame kindled every year brought us back to our land where, once again, we are under our own rule.
As I reflect on the sacred myth of Thanksgiving, I actually think we should add another story to it - the story of how Thanksgiving actually began as a national holiday in 1863. It was the height of the Civil War, and although President Abraham Lincoln knew there was more bloodshed to come, he knew that the north would be victorious and the country would be physically reunited. But how would they spiritually reunite?
In a proclamation, Lincoln asked all Americans to ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.”
Personally, I find this story more inspiring as the basis for this wonderful American holiday. Lincoln needed a story to help people understand what it would mean for two bitter enemies to lay down their arms and come together in Thanksgiving. The Civil War was the beginning of the acknowledgment that different peoples, especially slaves who came here and were freed, had an equal stake in this land. It was this country that reunified that brought millions of Jewish refugees in, and yet, we must also hold the sacred myth of other peoples who were not welcomed but oppressed.
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce nation, who lived from 1840 - 1904, once said, “if the white man wants to live in peace with the Indian, he can live in peace…treat all men alike. Give them all the same law. Give them all an even chance to live and grow. All men were made by the same Great Spirit Chief. They are all brothers. The Earth is the mother of all people, and all people should have equal rights upon it.”
On this Thanksgiving weekend, I am grateful for the gifts granted to us, grateful for the complicated stories that inspire us because of their complexities and hope, and grateful that we have work to do as a country to ensure that we hear all stories, especially the painful ones because they help us become a perfect union.
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