If you have a message that’s really important to you, that you think everyone needs to hear, what’s the way you get it out? I think some our students might be best equipped to answer. Twitter.140 characters. You have to be succinct, you have to be snappy, you have to catch the eye in an instant. Other people see it, are inspired by it, and pass it along to their friends.
And I think that Hanukkah is the original Twitter.*
And I’ve still got 16 characters to spare!
Twitter has been on my mind a lot this week actually. There’s a story that captured the news cycle for a few days that, to me, spoke to the true meaning of Hanukkah.
Last Saturday, a man stabbed three people in an East London subway station. Thank God, no one was killed and the injuries were non-life threatening. A video was taken on a cellphone when the suspect was being arrested by police. Off camera, a man says: “You ain’t no Muslim, Bruv.” Setting off a globally trending hashtag with the phrase.
For those who may be confused…Bruv is British for “bro” which is the modern American slang or “buddy” for “pal.” Kind of like how they call French fries “chips” and pants “trousers.”
Okay, let’s get back to the matter at hand.
Here’s why this event stuck out to me. In the past few weeks a lot has been happening in name of religion, or by people claiming to be “religious.” They insist that their religiousness compels them to commit hurtful, violent acts. And it’s scary to me. It’s scary because of the pain and terror it causes. And it’s scary because I worry people will think that I support those acts when I call myself religious.
And then, this guy comes along. We don’t see his face, we just hear his voice.
He says: No. This is not my religion. My religion is not one that condones or promotes violence. You cannot commit acts of hate and murder and call yourself religious.
What an amazing call. How perfect for the moment. How inspiring for the rest of us.
I want to talk to this guy. I want to know what being a Muslim means to him. I want to know what he thinks it means to be a person of faith. To be a religious person.
Thankfully, I have someone who told me recently what a religious person is. You might know her. She’s about yay tall. Brown hair. Spends a lot of time doing rabbi things…Rabbi Mara!
Think back allll the way to Yom Kippur. Rabbi Mara gave a sermon that’s been really sticking with me, and I think it’s worth revisiting. She called on all of us to reclaim the word “religious” and that we ought to be confident in calling ourselves by that title.
Here’s one of the many things she said that bears repeating:
“The most religious person can also be the most kind-hearted. A religious person can feel compelled by their own convictions and respect those of others. And by being a religious person, they have a protocol, a set of rules, a way of life, that demands putting more good out into the world.”
Pretty smart, huh?
Rabbi Mara told us that we can both stay true to our values and be people who call ourselves religious. And that when we are kind and when we show love and compassion to ourselves and the people around us, that we ought to call ourselves religious.
And I believe that right now, more than ever, we need to take her advice.
We can only be upset that horrible things are done in the name of religion if we are offering an alternative for what it means to be religious. And, when we perform acts of loving kindness and call them religious acts, we insist on our own definition of what it means to be religious.
And that is exactly what Hanukkah is for. Remember, way back when I started talking, how I said that Hanukkah was the original twitter? Well, here’s why.
When the rabbis start listing off the rules for Hanukkah, they tell us to put our Hannukah menorah in the window. Why? Because if it’s in the window, everyone can see it. פירסום הנס they call it. “Publicizing the miracle.” It’s an ancient attempt at building a viral social media campaign.
See a menorah in a window, remember the miracle of the holiday. The miracle of tolerance. The miracle of hope. The miracle of light.
When someone walks by your window, by our windows here, so full of light, we hope that they will see what we, as religious people, stand for. Inspired by our actions as proud, religious people, they will have a renewed confidence to light their own lights and share their own message of what it means to be religious. And their light might inspire others. And on and on and on.
On Hanukkah, we can start a viral campaign. We light our candles to proudly declare that we are religious. To make public the message that to be religious is not to hurt, but rather to bring comfort and healing. To publicize the miracles of love, warmth, and respect we get from being in a religious community. To share our light with others, not force it upon them, so that their light might, in turn, glow brighter.
The Maccabees had to struggle for their religious rights and for the ability to proudly call themselves religious, without fear of repercussion or violence.
I pray that during this holiday, whether we are inspired by our mystery Londoner, Rabbi Mara, the Maccabees, or the rabbis of the Talmud, that we proudly provide a positive vision of what it means to be religious. And that each of us finds a way to #MaccaBEtheLight.
Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom.
*Thanks to Rabbi Dennis Ross for this great, inspiring idea!
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