December 06, 2009

Hanukkah: first victory for freedom of worship

Hanukkiot in the window of Judith and Jeff Green's
  home in Jerusalem's Abu Tor neighborhood

Hanukkah, the eight-day "festival of lights" begins with the lighting of the first candle at sundown on the eve of the 25th day of the Hebrew month of Kislev in the Hebrew calendar, also called the Jewish calendar. Each year, the corresponding day on the Gregorian [civil] calendar changes, and this year, Hanukkah begins at sundown on Friday, December 11, 2009.

No matter how the Hebrew word חֲנֻכָּה is transliterated into English (Hanukkah, Hanukka, Chanukka, Chanukkah, [fill in your own]), no matter the era or place people celebrate it —
What is most inspiring about Hanukkah is that it memorializes the first clear victory in history for freedom of worship, a celebration that, as contemporary rabbis point out, belongs to all religious people.
From the Desire of the Everlasting Hills by Thomas Cahill

Hanukkah Q&A

What is the difference between a traditional Menorah and a Hanukkah Menorah (or Hanukkiah)?
The seven-branched Menorah is a candelabrum of Jewish historical and ritual meaning that can be found on ancient coins, gravestones, and synagogue decorations, and is today the seal and emblem of the State of Israel.

The nine-branched Hanukkah Menorah (or Hanukkiah) is a candelabrum with eight branches of equal size and height (one for each night of the Hanukkah festival) and a separate (ninth) candleholder for the "Shamash" (an attendant). We use the Shamash to light the other eight candles, in observance of the ruling to view the Hanukkah lights, not to use them.

What's the story?
The Hanukkah festival commemorates the (second century BCE) Jewish Maccabees' miraculous military victory over the Greek-Syrian army and the rededication of the Second Temple to the worship of God.

Why the lights?
The Temple purification began on the 25th day of the Hebrew month of Kislev in the year 165 BCE. According to the Talmud, the single-days-worth of pure oil found in the Temple miraculously burnt for eight days until more pure oil could be brought.

Victory's message?
"Not by might, not by power, but by My spirit." לֹא בְחַיִל, וְלֹא בְכֹחַ--כִּי אִם-בְּרוּחִי (From Zachariah 4:6, whom we read this Shabbat following the Torah portion.)

Where is the history recorded?
The First Book of Maccabees tells how, in response to religious persecution and oppression, Judah Maccabee and his four brothers organized a group of resistance fighters who succeeded to drive the far larger Greek-Syrian army out of Judea.

How do we celebrate this fun festival?
Lighting the Hanukkiah is the central observance. Whereas once all lights were oil lamps, using candles is a lot simpler. The first night, a single candle is lit, with an additional one lit each successive night.

As shown in the photo at the top of this post, we place the Hanukkiah by a window or door, fulfilling the commandment to "publicize the miracle."

While lighting the candles, we recite blessings, chant the ancient Hanerot Hallalu, and play dreidel games. We (over)eat oil-rich foods featuring potato pancakes and Hanukkah donuts called sufganiyot (shown on the right), commemorating the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days.

What about gifts?
The custom of giving Hanukkah gelt (money) in the form of gold-foil-wrapped chocolate coins to children once brought pure bliss to me and my older sister and to previous generations. (Shiny pennies, won playing dreidel games, were acceptable, too.) I recall the year we got pink gloves! Mine were angora, marking not only graduation from mittens but equally from practical plain wool! My sister's, on the minus side, were wool, while on the plus side, featured black velvet ribbon threaded through each wristband. Whose was the prettier gift? I still wonder.

Who am I remembering this year as I kindle the Hanukkah lights?
My childhood family: my mother and my father, my maternal grandparents, and my sister. My Israeli family.

And I am remembering all those children everywhere who desperately need light to shine on them. Children whose spirits are darkened by ignorant adults, unemployed or underemployed parents, poor diets, insufficient shelters, shabby clothing, inadequate health care, disinterested leaders, and misguided politicians. Children whose birthright is light, daily, and who require comprehensive support and services, steadily.

And I ask myself: What am I doing to help shine the light?

Happy Hanukkah!

NOTE: In this post, I changed only the Gregorian date of Hanukkah in my original post of December 4, 2007.

November 26, 2009

Tulasi Ghimirey's Thanksgiving letter


"I have the pictures of all the volunteers
in my memory of my heart."


NOTE: I met Tulasi Ghimirey last July Fourth at the picnic of the Atlanta Bhutanese Refugee Support Group. In 1991, Tulasi and his community were exiled from Bhutan, their homeland, in an ethnic cleansing. In 2000, he arrived in the U.S. from United Nations-run refugee camps in southeastern Nepal. Thousands in his community remain in the camps' squalid makeshift huts of bamboo and plastic —  homeless, stateless victims enduring years of struggle and poverty. Last month, at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport, Tulasi's parents joined him in an emotional reunion (photos here).

Dear Friends,

It is a THANKSGIVING time and a happy time.

In recent months, many great citizens of this country were involved in helping our Bhutanese people in our transformation process to this new way of life. It is totally different to the way we are brought up and raised.

Take my family, for example. They know manual work, not like high technology work here. We know how to plough the fields using a big bull but not a tractor or the one shown in [children's TV program] Bob the Builder.

We came to this land where human rights and democracy are respected. 
After my arrival, I realized that I can wear the clothes of my own choice and can eat the food of my habits. I can speak freely and write freely and can have a lawyer in the court house in one's defense. What a free world.

My dad used to pay fees for having a radio in my house and that was a source of great entertainment. Few lucky ones used to own this, also. Here everyone has their own TV, computer and wristwatch.

We were never exposed to the greater world... and came from a bamboo hut to a beautiful furnished house where heating and cooling device is under your control. No more running to the muddy rivers. Boy! Clothes can be washed within a few hours.

Yet every evening you go and talk to my friends: they are nervous.
Smoke alarm is beeping. Someone tried to  warm a boiled egg in the microwave and there was a big bang. Three people came and robbed our cash, showing a gun. A Bhutanese guy was in a dumpster [to recycle some items], and the pickup truck came. The guy's friend saw [the situation] yet couldn't explain in English to the driver that a man was in the dumpster. The driver kept loading the dumpster until, the friend knocked on the door of the truck and pointed to the dumpster. The driver finally understand, and the man's life was saved.

Cold was the greatest danger for us. 
Back in refugee camps, the temperature was always hot. People reached Atlanta with NO warm clothes. Children and older people were the victims, especially. And several HEROS OF MANKIND jumped in and started helping our people. There were child volunteers, young volunteers, old volunteers, female volunteers, male volunteers, and of all colors. No one asked me, What is your race?

There are thousand of such stories and a reality. Now things are getting better. Yet this transformation process definitely will take a long time, and your help and support is always needed.

American citizens are great and now we have to learn this culture too. 
I have the pictures of all the volunteers in my memory of my heart. Your love and kindness. Your hard work, time and dedication to improve the living conditions by using your talents is a greatest gift for us. Several projects have began to support us. God, please protect this great people.

Today Tulasi is with his family for Thanksgiving and would like to thank each of you with greatest respect for your support for me, my family and my community.

Wish you a happy Thanksgiving. Namaste [Sanskrit: a friendly greeting, meaning, I bow to you].

— Tulasi, Kumari and Ryan

My related posts
Cross-posted at Bhutan > Atlanta

November 10, 2009

Kristallnacht: Night of Crystal, or "Night of Broken Glass"


 German bystanders view smashed windows
Kristallnacht, November 9–10, 1938

It is the 71st anniversary of the Night of Broken Glass.

On November 9–10, 1938, the Nazis launched vicious pogroms — state sanctioned, organized anti-Jewish persecution and riots in Germany.

They plundered and destroyed synagogues and Jewish-owned stores, community centers, and homes. And the shattered windows carpeting the grounds inspired the term Kristallnacht to identify those pogroms. The German word has two parts: Kristall (crystal), which refers to the appearance of the broken glass, and Nacht (night).

Poet, professor, and diarist Karen Alkalay Gut's parents left Danzig (now Gdansk, Poland) on the last bus out the night Hitler invaded, August 31, 1939. She dedicates her poem to them.

Night Travel
for my parents

On that night in Danzig the trains did not run
You sat in the bus station till almost dawn
knowing that if you could not get out,
the invaders would find you, grind you among the first
under their heels.

Toward morning an announcement came of a bus,
and without knowing where it would go
you raced to the stop.
But the Nazis were there first, and you watched
as they finished their search -
checking each traveler for papers,
jewelry, a Jewish nose.

Among the passengers you recognized
a familiar face - a German woman - sitting
with someone else you'd seen
in the neighborhood.
They winked a greeting,
waited for the soldiers to leave,
and jumped out -
pushing you up in their place.

Thus you escaped to Berlin, remaining alive
by keeping silent through the long train ride
from Berlin to Cologne in a car filled with
staring German soldiers -

And arrived the next day in Holland,
black with fear and transportation.

— from Ignorant Armies by Karen Alkalay Gut
Published in 1994, Cross-Cultural Communications (Merrick, N.Y)


October 26, 2009

Bhutanese Atlantans repurpose "the vine that ate the South"

Atlanta Bhutanese Refugee Support Group volunteers and friends have been promoting our new Bhutanese neighbors in a collective enterprise that helps them to feed their families. Here’s the recipe.
  • Step 1. Harvest local scourge, kudzu, growing around their apartment complexes.
  • Step 2. Using ancient artisan techniques, weave the vines into one-of-a-kind baskets, wreaths, and custom-ordered products.
  • Step 3. Sell the products at the Morningside Farmers' Market and other markets, fairs, houses of worship, community events, and shops.
Watch the video (4:31 minutes).



More information
See photos here and here of kudzu basket weaving demos and sales at the Morningside Farmers' Market. For basket orders and inquiries, send an email. For background on Bhutanese refugees in Atlanta, visit Bhutan > Atlanta.

Related posts and news articles
Cross-posted at Bhutan > Atlanta.

October 04, 2009

Happy Dashain, Bhutanese Atlantans!

This year, we the Bhutanese in Atlanta, will do a common program and worship celebrating Dashain that we hope will strengthen our unity we had.
Pabitra Rizal, a Bhutanese community organizer

Watch the video (4:50 minutes).



On the heels of the recent Hindu Teej festival that I attended — a pampered guest of my new Bhutanese neighbors, Dashain gallops in, a celebration of good triumphing over evil (the short version). And, in our engagements, I discover that I am becoming s-l-o-w-l-y less totally ignorant of another faith, people, journey, political status, challenges, and strengths, chief among them: humor.

This humor and the wisdom it transports draws me to my neighbors, weekly and often for hours. In their homes and around the apartment complexes where they live, the constant gentle flow of children and adults beckons.

The Bhutanese people I have met in Atlanta have something that many with material wealth, privilege (of birth, color, gender, religion, political status), or dumb luck don't always have. They have a community. A bond. And laughter is their song. My non-Bhutanese friends who take me up on meeting our new neighbors or helping them to resettle in the U.S. (collecting donations of clothing or household items, ferrying people to medical appointments and fun field trips, planting community gardens, as examples) — well, they keep coming back.

Tragedy, abuse, trauma, heartache, and struggle for sheer survival have been these refugees’ individual and collective lot. For nearly 20 years, they were living in U.N. refugee camps in Nepal — victims of ethnic cleansing in Bhutan, their homeland. And now in a third country, the U.S. (and several others), they are struggling to survive in a new culture. For starters.

Yet when you meet them, you learn that they have faced all that with dignity, patience, long-range perspective, hard work, respect for elders and community, and a deep spirituality. And, somehow, with gales of laughter, as they journey forward in our nation of immigrants.

Note: To learn more or to get involved, visit Bhutan > Atlanta. Find out about volunteer projects or develop your own by linking your passions and talents to needs in the Bhutanese community.

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