In the Window or on the Table?: Concealing and Revealing
In the lobby of a local community center last weekend, a group of Kavana parents -- participants in our Hanukkah session of Prep & Practice -- sat in a circle and dug into a meaty and timely conversation about Jewish identity. The topic at hand was how each of our families is choosing to celebrate Hanukkah this year... and specifically, how public we should be about our Judaism in this moment.
The specific decisions the group discussed -- for example, whether to light our menorahs in the window or on a table, to what extent we each choose to decorate the outside of our homes for the holiday, and whether/how we'll each share our holiday with non-Jewish friends and neighbors -- are all manifestations of a larger question. As members of a religious minority group in America, most of us have a choice about how "out" to be as Jews, and we are accustomed to shifting our own behavior and language subtly, sometimes even subconsciously, as we move from one context to the next ("code-switching"). This season, the context feels different to many of us; in our post-October 7th world, these questions about how we manage our public-facing Jewish identity -- that is, when we conceal and when we reveal who we really are -- are weighing more heavily on us. [As an aside, I'll note that it is jarring and scary that we're feeling the pinch of antisemitism enough to even spark such thoughts and conversations, and at the same time, we are fortunate that, for most of us, these questions feel new or more acute than ever before in our lifetimes. But all of that is probably a topic for another week...]
Concealing and revealing of identity is a theme that features prominently in this week's Torah portion as well. In Parashat Vayeshev, we embark on the Torah's telling of the Joseph story. This story begins with high drama: Joseph's brothers are jealous of and annoyed by him; they throw him into a pit, sell him into slavery, and he ends up in Egypt. There, after a stint in prison, he ultimately ascends to become the second in command, Pharaoh's right-hand man. This is an astounding position of authority for a non-Egyptian to attain, and the plot of the Joseph story (which will continue to unfold over the coming few weeks) revolves around the fact that Joseph conceals his true identity to those around him such that, later, even his own brothers believe him to be an Egyptian rather than an Israelite and fail to recognize who he really is.
As if one example weren't enough and the Torah needs to make this theme super obvious, Parashat Vayeshev also detours from Joseph's story for a chapter to tell the tale of the heroine Tamar. When her husband dies, she should be entitled to remarry within the family in order to conceive offspring within this tribal line. But when her father-in-law Judah doesn't fulfill this obligation in this regard, Tamar decides to take matters into her own hands, concealing her own identity and dressing as a prostitute, in order to become pregnant through Judah himself (see Gen. 38).
In our society today, most of us think of healthy communities as being those in which individuals can express their true identities. We celebrate "Coming Out Day," send our kids to schools that espouse the value of diversity, and help draft corporate policies around equitable hiring (just to name a few examples of what this looks like in the year 2023). Indeed, our ancient Jewish texts support this notion. The Hanukkah story, at face value, seems that it would encourage us to be brave and forceful -- like the Maccabees -- in asserting who we are and what we believe in. Similarly, both the Joseph narrative and Tamar's tale ultimately end in big identity reveals. Being able to be open and unabashed in revealing one's true identity represents wholeness and completion; this is how things should be.
However, at the same time, Jewish tradition encodes a kind of pragmatism that gives us permission to make decisions that feel like safe ones. Last weekend with the Prep & Practice parents' group, I shared a short text from the Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 21b, which reads:
The Sages taught: It is a mitzvah to place the Hanukkah lamp at the entrance to one’s house on the outside, so that all can see it. Those who live upstairs place it at the window adjacent to the public domain. And in a time of danger, they can place it on the table and that is sufficient to fulfill the obligation.
It's clear in this text that the ideal is to be open and public about one's identity. Indeed, pirsum ha-nes, "publicizing the miracle," is a core mitzvah of the holiday of Hanukkah, and if you have the opportunity to light your menorah facing out towards the street or the public square, that is the best way to do so.
But as we discussed this text on Sunday, many in our learning circle found it comforting to know that Jewish tradition also acknowledges that there are times when it's okay to let go of that ideal. This reminder -- that there have been times of danger in our Jewish past, that what we're experiencing right now is not without precedent, and that our tradition already contains the mechanisms for dealing with these realities -- felt like a source of solace to our group. We talked about the fact that many of us are here only because we had ancestors who knew when to keep their heads down or to go into hiding, when to conceal their Jewish identities in ways both small or large. Parashat Vayeshev underscores this notion, because the Torah's plot only moves forward by virtue of our heroes' concealment. Had Tamar not gone undercover, she never would have given birth to Judah's descendants Perez and Zerach. And, had Joseph not hidden his identity and become the vizier of Egypt under the Egyptian name Zaphnath-Paaneah, his brothers might never have survived the famine in the land of Canaan and gone on to become the Israelite nation.
The bottom line, then, is that our tradition contains a sacred interplay between concealing and revealing. This comes through in the stories of Joseph and Tamar, and also in our traditions about lighting the menorah. We aspire to live in a world in which we can make our full selves and our full identities manifest in all times and all settings, and yet we acknowledge that we live in a real world which is imperfect... so sometimes we need to do whatever we need to do in order to feel safe. We are granted the permission to use our own discretion in deciding when to conceal or and when to reveal our identity.
In this year in particular, I hope you will hear this message as a validating one. I imagine that many of us will choose to light our menorahs in the window -- in the place where our small Hanukkah lights can shine most brightly, lighting up the darkness of night. Doing so may feel like a micro-act of strength and defiance... a little taste of Maccabbean heroism that is empowering and perfect for our moment! For others, the Talmud's permission to light the menorah on the table -- especially taken together with the knowledge that Joseph and Tamar both conceal their true selves for the purpose of advancing our people's plot line -- may be reassuring in this year. Even if concealing doesn't feel great, sometimes it's what we need to do, and the mitzvah absolutely still "counts" when done in this way.
In addition, I hope that these themes will continue to resonate in a variety of ways, throughout Hanukkah and beyond. For example, many Kavana partners have spoken to me in recent weeks about the challenges of managing personal relationships with friends, family members, and colleagues who hold very different political views. This theme of concealing and revealing might be a helpful lens for thinking about when we choose to keep our political beliefs close to our chests for the sake of preserving relationships, and when we need to assert our beliefs more forcefully in order to feel whole in who we are.
Finally -- and particularly if we are finding it hard to be fully ourselves in public spaces -- it's all the more important right now that we find places where we don't have to conceal any part of who we are. This is certainly one of the value propositions of Kavana: a richly diverse Jewish community where we welcome folks to "come as you are" and show up fully in the context of an embracing Jewish community.
Whether you choose to place your menorah in your window or on a table (and again, either is fine -- the choice is yours to make), I hope that you find a way to light it meaningfully this evening and for each night of this Hanukkah holiday. Together, may our small lights shine bright, illuminating a pathway in our world from concealment towards the revealing of light, love, and truth.
Chag Hanukkah sameach, and Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum
