Parashat Miketz Genesis 41:1-44:7
Haftarah Zechariah 2:14-4:7
Dear TBE Community,
Maoz Tzur is a Hanukkah favorite, joyfully sung — most often to the tune of a German Protestant chorale — around the growing number of candles on the eight evenings of the festival. The first stanza most people know by heart sums up the essence of the holiday: Praising God as the mighty rock, or stronghold of salvation (“Rock of Ages”), the lyrics make mention of the historic kernel and literal meaning of Hanukkah: the dedication of the House of Prayer, the Temple.
The song is a Hanukkah staple; yet this year, after the attacks in Sydney, the words of Maoz Tzur feel even more relevant – the entire words.
Like many Christmas songs (who knows the third stanza of Silent Night?), Maoz Tzur has many more, lesser-known stanzas. For the most part, the song/poem reviews the long painful history of persecution, from Egypt to Assyrian oppression to Babylonian exile to the days of Achashverosh and Haman and Greek rule until “a miracle was wrought for the roses” – the roses a lyrical image for the Jewish people; the miracle here the oil lasting for eight days (or the Maccabees’ military victory.)
When played in full, many versions, like this one by Yosef Karduner, will have a bridge or interlude before the last stanza begins, which goes like this:
Expose your holy arm, and bring (near) the end; salvation
avenge the abuse of your servants from the bad nation
For the salvation has long been delayed for us and there is no end to the days of misery
Reject Edom in the shadow of the image, raise up for us the shepherd of the seven.
Scholars assume that the last paragraph was added later, probably in the wake of new and relentless days of persecution and slaughter of Jews during the Crusades: “For the salvation has long been delayed for us and there is no end to the days of misery.”
After the miracle that was wrought for the roses, things had become dire again (and again), and this last stanza is a desperate prayer or plea, a cry out to God, the maoz tzur of salvation. Appealing to the holy arm that together with a mighty hand and awesome power wrought miracles before, is like reminding God that miracles are needed now, again. The last stanza conjures up a better world, a world redeemed, where the days of misery are over and the wolf dwells with the lamb, the leopard lies down with the kid; the calf, the beast of prey, and the fatling together, with a little child to herd them, as stated in Isaiah 11:6.
This verse describes a famous eschatological scene; idyllic, full of promise. A differently worded ending exists, referencing seven shepherds, based on a verse by the prophet Micah.
In both cases, the unknown poet of Maoz Tzur (or the author who added this last paragraph) longs for deliverance from oppression and persecution and conjures up either a utopian paradise or seven influential leaders of the Jewish people.
And in both cases, that longing for better days is not passive. While I described the last stanza earlier as a desperate plea, simply writing the poem is also an act of hope and self-determination. And singing Maoz Tzur during Hanukkah, as Jews have done for thousands or more years, is an act of resilience, a demonstration of faith and of the prevalence of spirit over might and power, as the prophet Zechariah as well as Debbie Friedman insist.
Hanukkah is a festival that marks the reassertion of control, the rededication of sacred spaces. As that, it also is a festival that expresses and celebrates an invigorating belief in redemption, miraculous or utopian as it may be. Singing Maoz Tzur can be understood as a manifest that dreams, like the one’s Joseph dreamed as a young man, can come true eventually, even when their fulfillment feels overdue.
The gunmen in Sydney drenched yet another Jewish holiday with blood, at the very onset of the festival’s yearly celebration, in Australia, where it was already evening while California was still asleep. As night was falling around the globe longitude by longitude, more and more saddened, shocked yet resilient Jews kindled the first Hanukkah candle – and the words of Maoz Tzur reverberated, together with the light of the small but mighty flames, through the darkness.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch