MENORAHS REMIND THE FAITHFUL THAT GOOD TRUMPS EVIL

Margaret Bromberg with a menorah she purchased 50 years ago, photographed at her home in Sag Harbor on October 19th, 2021

On December 21 at 7:10 a.m., the morning sun will mark the start of the winter solstice — just nine hours, 14 minutes and 10 seconds of daylight in Southampton, varying by a few minutes, or even seconds, in neighboring towns, villages and hamlets across the East End.

To celebrate — or perhaps, cope — with the shortest day of the year, a Pagan Scandinavian winter festival once burned Juul logs to symbolize the returning sun, while revelers drank Meade around the bonfires and listened to minstrel-poets sing of ancient legends.

In other parts of the world, Saturnalia, a Roman Pagan festival, honored Saturn, and the seven-day Festival of Chawmos in Pakistan revolves around a ritual of baths, chanting, dancing, bonfires, food and a torchlit procession. In China, the Dongzhi Festival continues to this day, its origin dating back millennia to the Ying and Yang philosophy of balance and harmony in the cosmos — and an increase of positive energy flowing in with the sunlight.

For Jewish families around the globe, there is Hanukkah — an eight-day festival of lights that, first and foremost, commemorates a miracle, explained Rabbi Berel Lerman of the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor, while also serving as a reminder that good triumphs over evil, and light will always banish darkness.

“There’s a lot of uncertainty, there’s a lot of anxiety, there’s a lot of problems that the world is facing,” he said. “But as bleak and as hopeless as the situation may seem, you can never lose hope. Even the bleakest circumstances can be transformed into the greatest miracle possible.”

While Hanukkah comes early this year — it starts on Sunday, November 28 — the traditions remain the same. On the first night, one candle is placed in the far-right branch of the hanukkiah, a menorah specifically used for the holiday, and lit using the shamash, or “helper candle,” which rests in the center, slightly higher than the rest.

Each subsequent night adds a candle to the right, plus the shamash, and is lit from the left — until, by the eighth night, the entire menorah is aglow.

“We’re constantly increasing the light to dispel more and more darkness, more and more hopelessness,” Lerman said. “That’s the message of Hanukkah and I think all of that really hits home when kindling a menorah of such sentimental value.”

For Lerman, that menorah is the one on display in the synagogue’s lobby, he said. Based on its design, and the dragon-like feet that hold it up, the brass candelabra was forged in the late 19th or early 20th century, he said, and likely brought to the United States from Austria by its original owner, who donated it to the temple.

“You look at this menorah and just reflect on what the world has gone through in the short or long life of this menorah, however you want to look at it,” the rabbi said, noting that it has survived two world wars and a pandemic. “The world has turned over a few times from this period and here we are, still kindling this menorah, still shining bright, still shining a beacon of light in the darkness that, at times, descends upon the world.”

At the Jewish Center of the Hamptons, dozens of antique hanukkiah comprise the East Hampton synagogue’s menorah collection, each with its own story and history.

But there is one that stands out among the rest, according to Rabbi Joshua Franklin.

“It’s interesting, it’s different, it has mystery that surrounds it,” he said. “For us, that’s more important than finding the most beautiful menorah. There’s lots and lots of beautiful menorahs that we have. This one, somehow, captures our imagination in a really interesting way.”

Measuring about 3 feet wide, the colossal wooden menorah hails from Morocco, a country more widely associated with Islam than Judaism, and hand-carved into a material that is flammable. But nevertheless, the statement piece was purchased there by Evan Frankel, who founded the synagogue, before donating it to Betty Marmon about 30 years ago. Then, her daughter, Nan Kafkan, eventually donated it to the temple.

“Our maintenance gets angry at me every single time I ask them to bring it somewhere, move it somewhere, because the thing weighs 50 pounds,” Franklin said with a laugh. “It’s pretty cool and definitely raises a lot of questions, and has an interesting story.”

Outside of not knowing the identity of the carver, part of the mystery surrounding this menorah are the inscriptions along its base. One is part of a blessing that is traditionally recited on Hanukkah, but the rest resemble random Hebrew letters that amount to nothing more than gibberish — at least as far as Franklin can tell — and he invites members of the community to help him decipher them.

“It’s certainly possible, though I don’t speak Arabic, that the inscription is in Judeo-Arabic, which would be Hebrew letters, but spelling out Arabic words,” he said. “If that’s the case, of course, I’m not a linguistics expert. It even took me some time to figure out the Hebrew, just because it’s scrawled on there, not elegantly carved.”

The nine stoic men carved into each of the menorah’s branches require less guesswork, Franklin said. They most likely depict members of the Maccabees, a guerilla-style Jewish army at the heart of the Hanukkah story. Against all odds, they won a battle against the Seleucid Empire and reclaimed the Second Temple of Jerusalem that they had desecrated. But as the soldiers readied for a rededication, they only found enough pure olive oil to light its menorah for a single night.

Miraculously, the flames flickered for eight, giving the Jews enough time to find a fresh supply of oil.

“The message of that is that when everything seems bleak, when everything seems hopeless, we can never give up hope because if we connect to a higher power — higher than the laws of nature — then there’s no such thing as a circumstance that is hopeless, that is written off,” Lerman said. “If we’re able to connect to a higher power, then miracles happen, great miracles, and that’s what the lights of the menorah teach us.”

While Hanukkah is a relatively minor Jewish holiday in strictly religious terms, it has taken on cultural significance, both in its proximity to Christmas and in the traditions that connect many Jewish households during the holiday, like making latkes, spinning the dreidel and, of course, lighting the candles — which is predominantly practiced at home, not in a synagogue, explained Margaret Bromberg, a longtime member of Temple Adas Israel in Sag Harbor.

While many families light their menorahs using candles, the most authentic practice is using oil, she said, which can come in pre-filled jars outfitted with a wick — whereas some people prefer to do it themselves, with mixed results, she said with a laugh.

“My husband, who doesn’t like to waste anything, overfilled some of these little containers, and we lit the menorah and put it in our window,” she said. “And the next thing we know, our 3½-year-old granddaughter is yelling, ‘There’s a fire!’

“We, indeed, lit up the whole menorah and glass broke and we were able to put it out with a wet towel,” she continued. “After that, we don’t use liquid oil, we use the solidified oil.”

The Brombergs, who split their time between Sag Harbor and Israel, typically spend Hanukkah in Jerusalem, where it is common for Jews to display menorahs in permanent glass boxes outside of their homes.

“When we are here, we put that glass menorah on our porch — because one of the traditions is for the light to go out into the world,” she said. “You’re lighting the world.”

For Jewish families on the East End who do not have a menorah, the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor will provide one, Lerman said, stressing the importance of joining the community in this tradition.

“The ritual of lighting the menorah together with friends or family is so heartwarming, it’s insightful, it’s inspirational, it’s empowering,” Lerman said. “Let’s illuminate the darkness. Let’s illuminate any form of evil, any form of hopelessness, and bring joy and hope to people.”

On December 21 at 7:10 a.m., the morning sun will mark the start of the winter solstice — just nine hours, 14 minutes and 10 seconds of daylight in Southampton, varying by a few minutes, or even seconds, in neighboring towns, villages and hamlets across the East End.

To celebrate — or perhaps, cope — with the shortest day of the year, a Pagan Scandinavian winter festival once burned Juul logs to symbolize the returning sun, while revelers drank Meade around the bonfires and listened to minstrel-poets sing of ancient legends.

In other parts of the world, Saturnalia, a Roman Pagan festival, honored Saturn, and the seven-day Festival of Chawmos in Pakistan revolves around a ritual of baths, chanting, dancing, bonfires, food and a torchlit procession. In China, the Dongzhi Festival continues to this day, its origin dating back millennia to the Ying and Yang philosophy of balance and harmony in the cosmos — and an increase of positive energy flowing in with the sunlight.

For Jewish families around the globe, there is Hanukkah — an eight-day festival of lights that, first and foremost, commemorates a miracle, explained Rabbi Berel Lerman of the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor, while also serving as a reminder that good triumphs over evil, and light will always banish darkness.

“There’s a lot of uncertainty, there’s a lot of anxiety, there’s a lot of problems that the world is facing,” he said. “But as bleak and as hopeless as the situation may seem, you can never lose hope. Even the bleakest circumstances can be transformed into the greatest miracle possible.”

While Hanukkah comes early this year — it starts on Sunday, November 28 — the traditions remain the same. On the first night, one candle is placed in the far-right branch of the hanukkiah, a menorah specifically used for the holiday, and lit using the shamash, or “helper candle,” which rests in the center, slightly higher than the rest.

Each subsequent night adds a candle to the right, plus the shamash, and is lit from the left — until, by the eighth night, the entire menorah is aglow.

“We’re constantly increasing the light to dispel more and more darkness, more and more hopelessness,” Lerman said. “That’s the message of Hanukkah and I think all of that really hits home when kindling a menorah of such sentimental value.”

For Lerman, that menorah is the one on display in the synagogue’s lobby, he said. Based on its design, and the dragon-like feet that hold it up, the brass candelabra was forged in the late 19th or early 20th century, he said, and likely brought to the United States from Austria by its original owner, who donated it to the temple.

“You look at this menorah and just reflect on what the world has gone through in the short or long life of this menorah, however you want to look at it,” the rabbi said, noting that it has survived two world wars and a pandemic. “The world has turned over a few times from this period and here we are, still kindling this menorah, still shining bright, still shining a beacon of light in the darkness that, at times, descends upon the world.”

At the Jewish Center of the Hamptons, dozens of antique hanukkiah comprise the East Hampton synagogue’s menorah collection, each with its own story and history.

But there is one that stands out among the rest, according to Rabbi Joshua Franklin.

“It’s interesting, it’s different, it has mystery that surrounds it,” he said. “For us, that’s more important than finding the most beautiful menorah. There’s lots and lots of beautiful menorahs that we have. This one, somehow, captures our imagination in a really interesting way.”

Measuring about 3 feet wide, the colossal wooden menorah hails from Morocco, a country more widely associated with Islam than Judaism, and hand-carved into a material that is flammable. But nevertheless, the statement piece was purchased there by Evan Frankel, who founded the synagogue, before donating it to Betty Marmon about 30 years ago. Then, her daughter, Nan Kafkan, eventually donated it to the temple.

“Our maintenance gets angry at me every single time I ask them to bring it somewhere, move it somewhere, because the thing weighs 50 pounds,” Franklin said with a laugh. “It’s pretty cool and definitely raises a lot of questions, and has an interesting story.”

Outside of not knowing the identity of the carver, part of the mystery surrounding this menorah are the inscriptions along its base. One is part of a blessing that is traditionally recited on Hanukkah, but the rest resemble random Hebrew letters that amount to nothing more than gibberish — at least as far as Franklin can tell — and he invites members of the community to help him decipher them.

“It’s certainly possible, though I don’t speak Arabic, that the inscription is in Judeo-Arabic, which would be Hebrew letters, but spelling out Arabic words,” he said. “If that’s the case, of course, I’m not a linguistics expert. It even took me some time to figure out the Hebrew, just because it’s scrawled on there, not elegantly carved.”

The nine stoic men carved into each of the menorah’s branches require less guesswork, Franklin said. They most likely depict members of the Maccabees, a guerilla-style Jewish army at the heart of the Hanukkah story. Against all odds, they won a battle against the Seleucid Empire and reclaimed the Second Temple of Jerusalem that they had desecrated. But as the soldiers readied for a rededication, they only found enough pure olive oil to light its menorah for a single night.

Miraculously, the flames flickered for eight, giving the Jews enough time to find a fresh supply of oil.

“The message of that is that when everything seems bleak, when everything seems hopeless, we can never give up hope because if we connect to a higher power — higher than the laws of nature — then there’s no such thing as a circumstance that is hopeless, that is written off,” Lerman said. “If we’re able to connect to a higher power, then miracles happen, great miracles, and that’s what the lights of the menorah teach us.”

While Hanukkah is a relatively minor Jewish holiday in strictly religious terms, it has taken on cultural significance, both in its proximity to Christmas and in the traditions that connect many Jewish households during the holiday, like making latkes, spinning the dreidel and, of course, lighting the candles — which is predominantly practiced at home, not in a synagogue, explained Margaret Bromberg, a longtime member of Temple Adas Israel in Sag Harbor.

While many families light their menorahs using candles, the most authentic practice is using oil, she said, which can come in pre-filled jars outfitted with a wick — whereas some people prefer to do it themselves, with mixed results, she said with a laugh.

“My husband, who doesn’t like to waste anything, overfilled some of these little containers, and we lit the menorah and put it in our window,” she said. “And the next thing we know, our 3½-year-old granddaughter is yelling, ‘There’s a fire!’

“We, indeed, lit up the whole menorah and glass broke and we were able to put it out with a wet towel,” she continued. “After that, we don’t use liquid oil, we use the solidified oil.”

The Brombergs, who split their time between Sag Harbor and Israel, typically spend Hanukkah in Jerusalem, where it is common for Jews to display menorahs in permanent glass boxes outside of their homes.

“When we are here, we put that glass menorah on our porch — because one of the traditions is for the light to go out into the world,” she said. “You’re lighting the world.”

For Jewish families on the East End who do not have a menorah, the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor will provide one, Lerman said, stressing the importance of joining the community in this tradition.

“The ritual of lighting the menorah together with friends or family is so heartwarming, it’s insightful, it’s inspirational, it’s empowering,” Lerman said. “Let’s illuminate the darkness. Let’s illuminate any form of evil, any form of hopelessness, and bring joy and hope to people.”

On December 21 at 7:10 a.m., the morning sun will mark the start of the winter solstice — just nine hours, 14 minutes and 10 seconds of daylight in Southampton, varying by a few minutes, or even seconds, in neighboring towns, villages and hamlets across the East End.

To celebrate — or perhaps, cope — with the shortest day of the year, a Pagan Scandinavian winter festival once burned Juul logs to symbolize the returning sun, while revelers drank Meade around the bonfires and listened to minstrel-poets sing of ancient legends.

In other parts of the world, Saturnalia, a Roman Pagan festival, honored Saturn, and the seven-day Festival of Chawmos in Pakistan revolves around a ritual of baths, chanting, dancing, bonfires, food and a torchlit procession. In China, the Dongzhi Festival continues to this day, its origin dating back millennia to the Ying and Yang philosophy of balance and harmony in the cosmos — and an increase of positive energy flowing in with the sunlight.

For Jewish families around the globe, there is Hanukkah — an eight-day festival of lights that, first and foremost, commemorates a miracle, explained Rabbi Berel Lerman of the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor, while also serving as a reminder that good triumphs over evil, and light will always banish darkness.

“There’s a lot of uncertainty, there’s a lot of anxiety, there’s a lot of problems that the world is facing,” he said. “But as bleak and as hopeless as the situation may seem, you can never lose hope. Even the bleakest circumstances can be transformed into the greatest miracle possible.”

While Hanukkah comes early this year — it starts on Sunday, November 28 — the traditions remain the same. On the first night, one candle is placed in the far-right branch of the hanukkiah, a menorah specifically used for the holiday, and lit using the shamash, or “helper candle,” which rests in the center, slightly higher than the rest.

Each subsequent night adds a candle to the right, plus the shamash, and is lit from the left — until, by the eighth night, the entire menorah is aglow.

“We’re constantly increasing the light to dispel more and more darkness, more and more hopelessness,” Lerman said. “That’s the message of Hanukkah and I think all of that really hits home when kindling a menorah of such sentimental value.”

For Lerman, that menorah is the one on display in the synagogue’s lobby, he said. Based on its design, and the dragon-like feet that hold it up, the brass candelabra was forged in the late 19th or early 20th century, he said, and likely brought to the United States from Austria by its original owner, who donated it to the temple.

“You look at this menorah and just reflect on what the world has gone through in the short or long life of this menorah, however you want to look at it,” the rabbi said, noting that it has survived two world wars and a pandemic. “The world has turned over a few times from this period and here we are, still kindling this menorah, still shining bright, still shining a beacon of light in the darkness that, at times, descends upon the world.”

At the Jewish Center of the Hamptons, dozens of antique hanukkiah comprise the East Hampton synagogue’s menorah collection, each with its own story and history.

But there is one that stands out among the rest, according to Rabbi Joshua Franklin.

“It’s interesting, it’s different, it has mystery that surrounds it,” he said. “For us, that’s more important than finding the most beautiful menorah. There’s lots and lots of beautiful menorahs that we have. This one, somehow, captures our imagination in a really interesting way.”

Measuring about 3 feet wide, the colossal wooden menorah hails from Morocco, a country more widely associated with Islam than Judaism, and hand-carved into a material that is flammable. But nevertheless, the statement piece was purchased there by Evan Frankel, who founded the synagogue, before donating it to Betty Marmon about 30 years ago. Then, her daughter, Nan Kafkan, eventually donated it to the temple.

“Our maintenance gets angry at me every single time I ask them to bring it somewhere, move it somewhere, because the thing weighs 50 pounds,” Franklin said with a laugh. “It’s pretty cool and definitely raises a lot of questions, and has an interesting story.”

Outside of not knowing the identity of the carver, part of the mystery surrounding this menorah are the inscriptions along its base. One is part of a blessing that is traditionally recited on Hanukkah, but the rest resemble random Hebrew letters that amount to nothing more than gibberish — at least as far as Franklin can tell — and he invites members of the community to help him decipher them.

“It’s certainly possible, though I don’t speak Arabic, that the inscription is in Judeo-Arabic, which would be Hebrew letters, but spelling out Arabic words,” he said. “If that’s the case, of course, I’m not a linguistics expert. It even took me some time to figure out the Hebrew, just because it’s scrawled on there, not elegantly carved.”

The nine stoic men carved into each of the menorah’s branches require less guesswork, Franklin said. They most likely depict members of the Maccabees, a guerilla-style Jewish army at the heart of the Hanukkah story. Against all odds, they won a battle against the Seleucid Empire and reclaimed the Second Temple of Jerusalem that they had desecrated. But as the soldiers readied for a rededication, they only found enough pure olive oil to light its menorah for a single night.

Miraculously, the flames flickered for eight, giving the Jews enough time to find a fresh supply of oil.

“The message of that is that when everything seems bleak, when everything seems hopeless, we can never give up hope because if we connect to a higher power — higher than the laws of nature — then there’s no such thing as a circumstance that is hopeless, that is written off,” Lerman said. “If we’re able to connect to a higher power, then miracles happen, great miracles, and that’s what the lights of the menorah teach us.”

While Hanukkah is a relatively minor Jewish holiday in strictly religious terms, it has taken on cultural significance, both in its proximity to Christmas and in the traditions that connect many Jewish households during the holiday, like making latkes, spinning the dreidel and, of course, lighting the candles — which is predominantly practiced at home, not in a synagogue, explained Margaret Bromberg, a longtime member of Temple Adas Israel in Sag Harbor.

While many families light their menorahs using candles, the most authentic practice is using oil, she said, which can come in pre-filled jars outfitted with a wick — whereas some people prefer to do it themselves, with mixed results, she said with a laugh.

“My husband, who doesn’t like to waste anything, overfilled some of these little containers, and we lit the menorah and put it in our window,” she said. “And the next thing we know, our 3½-year-old granddaughter is yelling, ‘There’s a fire!’

“We, indeed, lit up the whole menorah and glass broke and we were able to put it out with a wet towel,” she continued. “After that, we don’t use liquid oil, we use the solidified oil.”

The Brombergs, who split their time between Sag Harbor and Israel, typically spend Hanukkah in Jerusalem, where it is common for Jews to display menorahs in permanent glass boxes outside of their homes.

“When we are here, we put that glass menorah on our porch — because one of the traditions is for the light to go out into the world,” she said. “You’re lighting the world.”

For Jewish families on the East End who do not have a menorah, the Center for Jewish Life-Chabad Sag Harbor will provide one, Lerman said, stressing the importance of joining the community in this tradition.

“The ritual of lighting the menorah together with friends or family is so heartwarming, it’s insightful, it’s inspirational, it’s empowering,” Lerman said. “Let’s illuminate the darkness. Let’s illuminate any form of evil, any form of hopelessness, and bring joy and hope to people.”

The rear side of an old Moroccan Menorah owned by the Jewish Center of the Hamptons, photographed in the sanctuary on October 18th, 2021

A late 19th century menorah that once belonged to the Denenholz family that now resides at the Center for Jewish Life in Sag Harbor, photographed on October 19th, 2021