Religion: Hanukkah in Jerusalem

In the dark of the year—the winter solstice—is the feast of light. Long ago men lit bonfires to strengthen the expiring sun; the Romans celebrated the seven-day Saturnalia with outdoor illuminations and gifts of candles; the Christians came to honor Christmas with a light-decked tree. For the Jews, the feast of light is Hanukkah.

Last week in Jewish homes around the world, Hanukkah lights were lit—one for each of Hanukkah’s eight nights.* Children played with the little spinning top called dreidel for candies and coppers, and some were given a new present for each Hanukkah day. In the U.S., Hanukkah has become an increasingly important part of the Jewish year, with Hanukkah cards, presents and parties providing a Jewish counterpart to Christmas festivities. But, in a way, the most remarkable Hanukkah this year took place in Israel, where, along with the traditional gaiety, it brought a truce in a strange, bitter struggle between the orthodox and the unobserving.

“Shabbes.” In Jerusalem each Friday afternoon, as the sun dips behind the old, whitish buildings and the Sabbath begins with the sound of a horn, black-coated men with beards and side curls scurry through the orthodox Jewish district known as Mea Shearim (Hundred Gates) to roll heavy stones across the entrances to the quarter. Thus they make sure that for the next 24 hours—until the first three stars are visible on Saturday night—there will be no profanation of their self-imposed “ghetto” by “heathen” Jews who do not observe the Sabbath. No one smokes or turns on a light, carries money in his pocket, or answers a phone.

No car may move through Mea Shearim (although exceptions are sometimes made for ambulances).

Even outside this orthodox quarter, the Sabbath lies on the city like a heavy prayer shawl. The strong orthodox contingent in Jerusalem’s city government has seen to it that public transportation is banned from the streets; shops and cinemas are closed. For the unobservant Jews, who make up about half Jerusalem’s population outside Mea Shearim, the Sab bath became a day of insufferable tedium.

Last fall some enterprising truck drivers began to run Sabbath excursions for young boys and girls, packing them in for a day of swimming, ice cream, fun and games in the country. But the elders of Mea Shearim began turning up after morning prayers at the truckers’ parking lots to yell “Shabbes” (Yiddish for Sabbath) at the holiday makers, often adding such insults as “sons of whores, abominations, unclean creatures.” Last month Jerusalem saw a wave of violence, with orthodox Jews stopping cars and roughing up their occupants or beating up those seen smoking publicly on the Sabbath.

Safer Driving. Hanukkah brought at least temporary peace to the Holy City.

Emerging from jail (where he had served 21 days for leading the orthodox rioters), Rabbi Abraham Blau, foremost of the zealots, called for an end to violence and discord. The members of the anti-orthodox League Against Religious Compulsion also sheathed their resentment for the holy occasion.

This week, when Jerusalem’s Hanukkah lights had flickered out, few believed that the peace would last. Many Sabbath drivers took the precaution of marking their cars with the Shield of David—the symbol ofthe Jewish Red Cross that marks doctors’ cars. “Even with a Magen David one isn’t safe,” said one driver, “but at least one is safer.” The orthodox leader, Rabbi Blau, however, deplored the violence. “If I had my way,” he said, “every Jew who wishes to stand up against what he believes to be a desecration of his faith would demonstrate with his hands tied be hind his back to prove he came in peace.”

* Hanukkah (literally, “dedication”) commemorates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after Judah Maccabee and his brothers overthrew the Syrians, who were led by Antiochus (circa 165 B.C.). The legend goes that the sacred light (Menorah) burned for eight days with only a single day’s supply of consecrated oil.