I want to ask you a simple question, and I’m sure you know the answer.
Who is the “hero of Hannukah?” Of course you know. It’s Judah Maccabee!
From as far back as we can remember, we are ALL taught that Judah Macabee is the one and ONLY hero of Hanukkah. I’m part of the problem, I’m teaching three Judah Macabee songs to the Early School kids right now, clapping and spelling out his name! Most of us don’t even learn about his famous father, Mattathias, or his four brothers—whatever their names were—who also helped win the war against the Syrian-Greeks. Maybe it’s just easier to have one Jewish superhero, dayenu…
But wait. If Marvel can have all kinds of superheroes, why can’t we? What if I told you that there were two other “heroes” of Hanukkah and that both of them were women? Yes, two amazing heroines with stories which led to the ultimate Jewish victory. Their names were Judith (Yehudit) and Hannah (Channah). Each has an inspiring tale even though we have no songs about them. Someone needs to get on that.
The story of Judith is not found in the Bible—like the Book of Maccabees it’s in the Apocrypha, the books that the Catholic church accepted but which didn’t make it into the Jewish or Protestant biblical canon. She isn’t in the Mishnah, Talmud, or any other early rabbinic literature. We don’t see her until the 10th or 11th century, about a thousand years after most scholars agree that the Book of Judith was written. It was likely an anonymous Palestinian author who created this wild mash up of historical periods, events, and figures.
Judith has many parallels to Judah Maccabee: her name, the king who wishes to be worshiped as a god, and the fact that a head of a general is also displayed in triumph just as Nicanor’s head is hung by Judah. But let’s not worry about the little things (hand wave) because the story of Judith is too important not to celebrate and share.
Her tale begins as the Assyrians have cut off the water supply of Bethulia, the town at the entrance of the narrow corridor leading to Jerusalem. The siege, which has lasted 34 days, has made the people fractious, thirsty, and bitter. Uzziah and the town’s other magistrates succumb to the townspeople’s demands and say they will surrender to the Assyrians in five days—unless the Lord takes pity. Upon hearing this, Judith, instead of going to Bethulia’s leaders, summons them to her home. Chiding them for testing God, she declares she has a plan to save Bethulia, Jerusalem, the Temple, and the people. She demands that the gates be opened and that she and her maid be let out of the city. She intends to be captured.
Stopped by an Assyrian border patrol and escorted by 100 men directly to Holofernes, she spins a tall tale with just enough fact to be believed. Claiming to have direct access to God, she promises to guide Holofernes and his army through the hill country to Jerusalem without the loss of life or so much as a dog growling at them. Her words delight the general and his attendants. Calling her beautiful and eloquent, he welcomes her and grants her request to travel through the camp at night to bathe at a spring and pray. By offering herself up as bait, she has gained access to the camp where she lies in wait for three days for a chance to strike and save Israel.
Finally Holofernes invites her to his tent for a banquet…and a seduction. Judith simply reclines on lambskins, nibbles her kosher food brought from Bethulia, and flatters the general by telling him “today is the greatest day of my whole life.” Holofernes, gullible and beset with lust, drinks himself into senseless oblivion.
With two strokes to the neck from his own sword, Judith beheads him—praying beforehand, of course! She rolls his corpse to the floor, yanks a jeweled canopy from above his bed, walks out of the tent, and hands his head to her waiting maid who puts it in the food sack. Together the women walk through the camp as they have on other nights, presumably to pray and bathe.
Instead, they head straight to Bethulia where she shares her story and her prize. She proclaims that she has not been defiled by Holofernes because the Lord protected her. Displaying his head—and the jeweled canopy—her story is believable. Uzziah proclaims Judith is blessed “by the Most High God above all other women on earth”. She commands the guards to hang his head up high for all of Holofernes’s armies to see.
The next morning, when Holofernes’ men see what has become of him—hoist on his own petard, as it were—they flee in terror. The Israelites enter the camps and plunder it for its invaluable riches, much needed after years of living under siege.
This amazing story was told for centuries during Hannukah as a parallel to the Maccabees. Many traditional Jews to this day eat dairy as a tribute to the cheese she fed Holofernes. She seems to have fallen off the radar, but there is an effort now to restore her to her place. It’s about time, I say!
This brings us to the story of Channah and her seven sons, a story of martyrdom and sacrifice in the face of religious persecution. It is told in the Second book of Maccabees and takes place in 166/167 BCE during the religious persecutions of Antiochus Epiphanes.
Chanah and her seven sons were arrested. When the king heard about the events which were taking place in Jerusalem, he decided to take an active role in enforcing his decrees. The mother and her sons were bound and brought before the king.
Antiochus tried to convince the eldest boy to abandon the Torah. The boy replied, “Why do you bother with this long speech, trying to inflict your religion on us? We welcome death for the sake of our holy Torah!”
The king was furious and ordered the boy’s tongue, hands and feet severed and placed in a fire. The soldiers proceeded to torture the boy before his family. Antiochus was sure this sight would intimidate them into submission.
But the martyrdom spurred them to a deep resolve—to accept their fate and sanctify G‑d’s name. When the second brother was brought to the king, even the members of the king’s retinue begged the boy to obey. But the boy replied, “Do what you will with me. I am no less than my brother in devotion to G‑d.”
And so the torture began again. As he died, the boy told the king, “Woe to you, pitiless tyrant! Our souls go to G‑d. And when G‑d awakens the dead and His martyred servants, we will live. But you—your soul will dwell in a place of eternal abhorrence!”
And so it went, each brother defying the king, each tortured to death.
Throughout, Chanah stood by her sons, giving them strength and encouragement. Now, only the youngest remained to face the king. When they brought him before the king, he was offered gold and silver if he would do the king’s will. The seven-year-old boy displayed the same courage as his brothers and taunted the king to carry out his threats.
The king couldn’t believe such words coming from a mere child, and he called out to Chanah.”Woman, have compassion upon this child. Persuade him to do my will so that you will have at least one surviving child and you too will live.” She pretended to agree and asked to speak with her son.
When they stood together, Chanah kissed the boy, then said, “My son, I carried you in my body for nine months, I nursed you for two years and I have fed you until today. I taught you to fear G‑d and uphold His Torah. See the heaven and the earth, the sea and the land, fire, water, wind and every other creation. Know that they were all created by G‑d’s word. He created man to serve Him and He will reward man for his deeds. The king knows he is condemned before G‑d. He thinks that if he convinces you, G‑d will have mercy on him. G‑d controls your life’s breath and can take your soul whenever He desires.”
Chanah returned to the king, saying, “I was unable to prevail upon him.”
Exasperated, the king addressed the child once more, but the boy replied, “Whom are you seeking to overpower with your words and enticements? I laugh at your foolishness. I believe in the Torah and in G‑d Whom you blaspheme. You will remain an abomination upon all mankind, loathsome and far from G‑d.”
The king was enraged. As they removed her son, Chanah begged to kiss him one last time. As if speaking to all seven children, she said, “My children, tell your ancestor Abraham, ‘You bound only one son upon an altar, but I bound seven.” Then Antiochus ordered that the child be tortured even more than his brothers.
Chanah was alone, surrounded by the bodies of her sons, a prayer exalting G‑d on her lips. Distraught yet believing, she threw herself from a roof and rested beside her martyred sons.
I think you can see why we have no songs about Channah.
There are no generals coming to kill us like Judith, but, like Channah, there are those who seek to separate us from our faith and traditions. They existed in the second century and have persisted in every century up until this very day. Sadly, as we see around us, the hatred remains.
Celebrating Hanukkah with family and friends is a good way to connect to our heritage, but this message needs to resonate longer than a mere eight nights. It needs to burn longer than the miraculous flames.
Chanukah is not about a physical victory or battle — but rather it is about a spiritual battle.
We put Menorahs in our windows with pride and proclaim, “We’re different, we will fight for our privilege and responsibility to remain different.” But how do we take a stand today like the heroes and heroines of old? And when? Are we as brave as Judith? Steadfast as Hannah and her sons?
As Jews—but especially as Jewish women—we have a special message to teach the world. We can treat others with kindness, we can raise our children to be moral in an immoral world. We can pray and strengthen the understanding of the transcendence of God in the world. We can stand up for Israel. But we don’t have to do it alone, on our own. We have the Torah to guide us and we have one another. We must find the strength to battle like Judith and practice Judaism unapologetically.
Spinning a dreidel and eating latkes inspires our families on how to live the unique and beautiful life of Judaism, but ultimately Judaism is so much more, it is to kindle light both within and without—the tangible, as our menorahs, and intangible, as our belief—which will sanctify, ennoble, and ultimately cast light to the entire world.
The story of Hannah was largely taken from here.