The Jewish people have faced many existential threats. One of the more poetic ones is the story of Hanukkah, which has some parallels with the painful struggle our state is facing today.
Antiochus’s empire had taken control of Judea and Jerusalem. Like the families today who wake each morning not knowing if their loved ones held in Gaza still live, abandoned by those who promised to protect them, the Jews of ancient Jerusalem lived under a shadow of fear and uncertainty.
Antiochus banned Jewish practices and desecrated the Holy Temple, much as terrorists on October 7 violated the sanctity of Israeli homes and communities in Israel’s South. His empire, the Seleucids, took Jewish children as hostages to ensure their parents’ compliance with Greek customs. I need not make the clear comparison here.
But in ancient times, a small group refused to accept this reality. Led by Judah Maccabee and his brothers, they launched a resistance against overwhelming odds. Today, the families of hostages show similar resolve.
They refuse to let their loved ones be forgotten, stage protests that fall on deaf ears, and demand action from a government that seems more concerned with political maneuvering than bringing their people home.
The Maccabees’ guerrilla warfare campaign lasted three years. Through strategic attacks, they gradually weakened the mighty Seleucid army, and their dedication to freeing their people never wavered. Like the families today who refuse to accept empty promises and bureaucratic excuses, who camp outside government offices, and carry photos of their captured relatives, the Maccabees understood that time was of the essence.
Each day meant more suffering for their people.
Time is of the essence
We, unlike the Maccabees, don’t have three years. Every single hour, minute, and second that has gone by without our hostages returning home is another hour, minute, and second that they are being held in horrible conditions with no access to medical resources, suffering in unmentionable ways, and enduring unspeakable trauma.
When the Maccabees finally recaptured Jerusalem and the Temple, they found it in ruins. But amid the devastation, they discovered one sealed jar of pure olive oil bearing the seal of the High Priest.
Though it contained only enough oil for one day’s lighting of the menorah, the small vessel burned for eight days – just long enough to prepare new oil under conditions of ritual purity.
If only today’s leaders showed such dedication to purity of purpose.
This miracle of light amid darkness resonates today with the families who cling to hope, who light candles at rallies, and who refuse to let the light of hope for the return of their loved ones be extinguished – even as their government seems to prioritize everything else.
Like the Maccabees, who wouldn’t accept defeat despite overwhelming odds, these families persist in their demands for action, for negotiation, and for the return of their people, even as weeks turn to months of anguished waiting.
Just as that small cruse of oil defied expectations to keep the Temple’s light burning, the families of hostages keep their own flame of hope alive, pressing for negotiations despite the endless stream of excuses and delays, refusing to let the world forget those who remain in captivity.
Each Hanukkah, when Jews light the menorah, they place it in their windows as a public declaration of the miracle of light overcoming darkness.
This year, those lights shine alongside yellow ribbons, posters of the hostages’ faces, and the empty seats left for them. Each flame is a bitter reminder of government inaction, each candle an accusation against those who could do more but choose not to.
The miracle of Hanukkah came from divine intervention – but today’s families shouldn’t have to wait for a miracle when human action could bring their loved ones home.
The writer is deputy editor-in-chief of The Jerusalem Post.