Festival of Lights – Mirta Ines Trupp~ Author

What’s a nice, Jewish girl to do when the vast majority of the population is snuggling by a roaring fire with Hallmark movies and Dickens’ classics? Well, I’ll tell you. If that nice, Jewish girl happens to write Jane Austen Fan Fiction, she may share a little bit of history on the Jewish Festival of Lights. She may also share a snippet or two from her novels to illustrate the true meaning of the season.

I’ll stop writing in the third person now…

I realize that we’re still in the fall season here in the northern hemisphere, and there are other holidays to commemorate before we head into the darkest part of the year. However, I felt that this post was well-timed as the Jewish community has been experiencing “the darkest part of the year” since the horrific events of October 7, 2023. To date, we are still waiting for all of our hostages to be returned.

In just a few weeks’ time, we will begin preparing our latkes and sufgenyiot for our holiday meals. Dreidels and coins will decorate our tables too. The battles that were won, the significance of the dreidels and coins, the reasons why we eat fried foods—or, even dairy—are all well documented; you can read more about it here.

A Great Miracle Happened There!

Chanukah tells the tale of an impossible victory over the mighty Greek army in the 2nd century. This was a true, historical event—a terrestrial miracle that serves as reminder that Jerusalem and the Temple were lost and recovered due to the Maccabean revolt against tyranny and forced assimilation.

The second miracle of the holiday, however, is not so tangible. It is the story of how a small vial of sanctified oil was able to keep the Temple’s menorah lit for eight days and nights. The flames of the chanukkiah (the Chanukah menorah) speak to faith (emunah) and trust (bitachon). In celebrating this holiday, we are encouraged to emulate these characteristics, even when the world is enveloped in darkness—even when we are heartbroken and our spirits are brought low. As an author of Jane Austen Fan Fiction (J.A.F.F.), I wanted to highlight these themes, and show how I have attempted to underscore their importance in my J.A.F.F. or Jewish Austen Fan Fiction.

חג חנוכה שמח

The Hebrew greeting noted above is transliterated as Chag Chanukah Sameach, which means Happy Chanukah Holiday. No doubt, you have seen many different spellings of Chanukah, Hanukkah, even Januca—as it is written in Spanish. While many people call it a minor holiday—it’s not included in the Torah (the Five Books of Moses a.k.a. Pentateuch)—it has been commemorated by Jews for centuries… even in Jane Austen’s time.

On November 5, 1817, just prior to the holiday season in Regency England, tragedy struck. Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent’s daughter, and heiress-presumptive to the throne, died after giving birth to a still-born son. The whole of the empire had been following this pregnancy; Charlotte was a favorite amongst the British people and her marriage to Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha had been a love match. The public were besotted by their fairy-tale union and by what the couple’s future foretold; however, Charlotte’s death at the age of twenty-one threw a stunned nation into deep mourning.

The outpour of grief for the young woman and her child was said to be unprecedented. Mourning protocols were highly respected during this period of time. Needless to say, when the deceased was a member of the royal family, and a favorite at that, the public were united in their sorrow.

“It really was as though every household throughout Great Britain had lost a favourite child.” ~ Henry Brougham

The Royal Exchange, the Law Courts, merchants, tradesmen, and schools closed down. There was a shortage of black cloth, as everyone wished to show their respect by wearing mourning armbands. Jane Austen and her family would have participated in these rituals. Naturally, the Jewish community aligned themselves with their compatriots.

Per the Gregorian calendar, November 19, 1817 correlated to the Hebrew date of the 10th of Kislev, 5578. Prior to the tragic news, Jewish congregations throughout the land would have been planning for the upcoming Festival of Lights; Chanukah falls on the 25th of Kislev. However, all such preparations came to a halt upon receiving the sorrowful news.

On November 19th, a memorial service was organized for “prayer and psalms for the day of grief” in the Great Synagogue, St. James’s Place. Congregants were allowed to “pour out their complaint before the Lord, on the day of burial of H.R.H. the Princess Charlotte.”

Hyman Hurwitz, the head master of a “fashionable” Jewish school at Highgate, composed Mourn the Bright Rose: A Hebrew Dirge and it was chanted to the tune of a well-known composition, typically recited on the Ninth of Av—a tragic and solemn occasion on the Hebrew calendar.

Rabbi Tobias Goodman, known amongst his congregation as Reb Tuvya, spoke on “the universally regretted death of the most illustrious Princess Charlotte of Wales and Saxe-Coburg.” Rabbi Goodman quoted Ecclesiastes in saying, “A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of one’s birth. It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.”

I don’t know what followed. Perhaps the rabbi repeated the time-honored phrase, “Od lo avda tikvatienu,” (our hope is not extinguished) capturing the essence of Chanukah. He might have referenced Joseph and his brothers in Egypt, by saying: “Praiseworthy is he who places his faith in God” and “Remember I was with you.” Whatever else was said that day, I can only imagine the congregation went home with words of consolation and hope.

Jane Austen said, “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” That speaks to her genius, of course. As in any book, there needs to be an arc to the storyline. There needs to be growth. The heroine must face her fears and rise above the obstacles placed in her path.

In my novels, these concepts are interwoven in Becoming Malka, Destiny by Design: Leah’s Journey, Celestial Persuasion, and most recently in The Jews of Donwell Abbey: An Emma Vagary. In keeping with Miss Austen’s playbook, my characters—Molly, Leah, Abigail and even Harriet Smith—all have a little trouble, but it is ultimately their faith and trust that helps achieve their Happily-Ever-After ending.

Of all my books, I think The Meyersons of Meryton highlights the Chanukah message best. In this story, due to a variety of unforeseen circumstances, Mrs. Meyerson—the rabbi’s wife—and Mrs. Bennet find themselves much in one another’s company. Miss Catherine Bennet (Kitty, as we know her) has endeared herself to the rebbetzin and her young daughter, Rachel. In a rather poignant moment, Kitty makes an emotive declaration and both Mrs. Meyerson and Mrs. Bennet are moved—most profoundly.

The passage below is a snippet of the final chapter, where Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have an interesting exchange.

An Excerpt from The Meyersons of Meryton…

When the happy couples at length were seen off and the last of the party had departed Longbourn, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were found in the dining room quite alone, sharing the last bit of port between them.

“What shall we do now, Mrs. Bennet, with three daughters married?”

Surprised at being asked her opinion, Mrs. Bennet gave the question some thought before replying. “I suppose we have earned a respite, husband. Let us see what Life has in store for us.”

“No rest for the weary, my dear, for soon Mary will leave us and then Kitty. We shall have to make arrangements for the inevitable. Perhaps you shall live with one of the girls when I am gone and Mr. Collins inherits the place.”

“Mr. Bennet,” she giggled, “you should have more bitachon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Perhaps it was the port, or perhaps it was pure exhaustion, but Mrs. Bennet found she had no scruple in sharing the entire tale of Chanukah with her most astonished husband. “Pray Mr. Bennet,” she finally concluded, “what was the true miracle of this holiday?”

“The logical answer,” he replied dryly, “would point to the miracle of such a small group of men overcoming a fierce and mighty army.”

“No, that is not it.” She giggled, as a hiccup escaped her lips.

“Well then,” he sighed, “the esoteric answer would point to the miracle of the oil lasting eight nights.”

“No, Mr. Bennet. Again, you are incorrect.”

“Pray tell me, wife, what then was the miracle, for I can see that you may burst with anticipation for the sharing of it!”

“The miracle, sir, was that they had bitachon. I do hope I am pronouncing correctly. At any rate, it means trust. They knew they only had one vial of sacred oil and had no means to create more. They lit the candle and left the rest up to the Almighty. And that is exactly what we should do in our current circumstance.”

“My dear, it is a lovely tale and I am certain that it has inspired many generations before us and will inspire many generations after we are long gone, but it does not change the fact that Mr. Collins is to inherit Longbourn…”

“Longbourn is entailed to Mr. Collins if we do not produce a son.”

“Yes, and well you know that we have produced five daughters, although you are as handsome as any of them, Mrs. Bennet. A stranger might believe I am the father of six!” he said with sincere admiration.

“You flatter me, Mr. Bennet. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I wish to say…”

“You were but a child when we wed,” he waved her silent, “not much more than Lydia’s age, if I recall. But, my dear, that is neither here or there, for in all this time a son has not been produced and there’s nary a thing to do for it!”

“Mr. Bennet, there is something I have been meaning to tell you. That is, if you could spare a moment of your time—or does your library call you away?”

His wife’s anxious smile made him feel quite the blackguard. Had he not made a promise in Brighton? Did he not vow he would change his ways? Mr. Bennet decided it was high time he put the good rabbi’s advice into practice. Bowing low, he replied, “Madam, I am your humble servant.”

Happier words had never been spoken.

No matter which holiday you celebrate this December, whether the lights of your chanukkiah or the lights of your Christmas tree shine brightly against the dark, wintery nights, I hope your home and your hearts are blessed with peace.

With love,

New Post

“The Mother of Chanukah”~ A Jewish Historical Fiction Author Looks at an American Icon

November 26, 2022November 26, 2022 Mirta Ines Trupp

In my attempt to discover Jewish heroines, both real and fictional, I’ve come across Penina Moïse, a teacher, author and proponent of Judaism in early American history. She was born on April 23, 1797 in Charleston, South Carolina. Her parents, both immigrants, met and married on the island of St. Eustace. They arrived to Charleston in 1791 and set up a home for their nine children.

Although the family came from affluence, like many immigrants, they had to rebuild their lives upon setting foot on American soil. However, their path was not an easy one. Penina was only twelve years old when she lost her father. She was taken out of school to help manage the household and to support the family budget with her needlework. In addition, her mother was frequently ill and needed caring, as did her brother Isaac, who suffered from asthma.

Still and all, Penina managed to continue to read and write—a beloved past time. Siblings, Rachel and Jacob encouraged this passion and great gift. No doubt, it was this enduring familial support that helped Penina see her first poem published in 1819. She began writing for newspapers and magazines throughout the country. Fancy’s Sketch Book, a collection of poems, was published in 1833—the first by a Jewish American woman. Her poetry covered diverse topics including local and current events, women’s interests, politics, and yes—Judaism.

The Moïse family were founders of the Hebrew Orphan Society and active members of Charleston’s Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim synagogue. By 1841, however, Penina’s brother, Abraham, began a campaign to introduce Reform Judaism to this staunch, traditional setting. His committee went so far as to commission Penina to write the new hymnal for the congregation. She took on this work, spirited on by the desire to encourage fidelity to Judaism and to promote the celebration of religious life. With their backing, she went on to compose most of the American Reform Jewish hymnal. This was no small feat for a woman or a Jew in the Protestant South.

It is estimated that there were less than 250,000 Jews in the entire country at this time. Basic items such as a prayer books, candles, or kosher foods were hard to find. And as such, commemorating holidays—let alone Shabbat—called for careful planning and commitment. Needless to say, following such events as Pesach, Sukkot, or Yom Kippur, Chanukah was a minor festival at best. It would have been easy to let the holiday slip by unnoticed, particularly amongst their evangelical Christian neighbors who actively encouraged the community to join their ranks—especially during the Christmastide.

At the behest of her brother and the leaders of the congregation, Penina composed a hymn entitled, “Feast of Lights” at the onset of a holiday season in 1842. As powerful reminder of the importance of remaining faithful despite the onslaught of challenges, the hymn extoled the ancient Israelites as they fought to recover and rededicate their temple. Great Arbiter of Human Fate! was written in a contemporary style and expressed a common feeling among many Jews living as a minority.

Penina’s words were meant to inspire pride amongst the congregation and she used every instrument in her toolbelt to make the holiday resplendent and noteworthy. In keeping with the formal style of the Old South and Charleston’s sense of refinement, she insisted that the first night of Chanukah be celebrated in grand style. The chanukkiah was to be lit with pomp and a choir was organized to sing new hymns. Chanukah, The Festival of Lights, become entrenched in Charleston’s holiday season. Penina Moïse, in many ways, became the “Mother of Chanukah.”

The Civil War forced Penina to leave her post as superintendent of the religious school. They sought refuge in Sumter, South Carolina until hostilities ceased. After the war, she returned to her home in what only can be termed reduced circumstances. She, along with her widowed sister and niece, conducted a Sunday school in order to support themselves. Penina never married nor had children of her own. She was a Southerner and a supporter of the Confederacy. However without this woman, American Jews—and very likely, the world at large—would not celebrate the Jewish holiday of Chanukah in the same light (pun intended). The festivities, the importance of family and community, the games, and other traditions all stem from this spinster who championed a cause near and dear to her heart.

Towards the end of her life, Penina’s poor eyesight began deteriorating and she suffered from debilitating headaches. However, during these trying times when she was confined at home, she wrote some of her best work, “rejoicing in God’s mercy and thanking him for his goodness.” Penina died on September 13, 1880 in Charleston. She was the first Jewish American woman to contribute to the worship service, writing 190 hymns for Congregation Beth Elohim. The Reform movement’s 1932 Union Hymnal still contained thirteen of her hymns.

Great Arbiter of human fate!

Whose glory ne’er decays;

To thee alone we dedicate,

The song and soul of praise.

Thy presence Judah’s host inspired,

On danger’s post to rush;

By thee the Maccabee was fired,

Idolatry to crush.

Amid the ruins of their land,

(In Salem’s sad decline,)

Stood forth a brave but scanty band,

To battle for their shrine.

In bitterness of soul they wept,

Without the temple-wall;

For weeds around its courts had crept,

And foes its priests inthral.

Not long to vain regrets they yield,

But for their cherished fane,

Nerved by true faith they take the field,

And victory obtain.

But whose the power, whose the hand,

Which thus to triumph led,

That slender but heroic band,

From which blasphemers fled?

‘Twas thine, oh everlasting king,

And universal Lord!

Whose wonder still thy servants sing,

Whose mercies they record.

The priest of God his robe resumed,

When Israel’s warlike guide

The sanctuary’s lamp relumed,

Its altar purified.

Oh! thus shall mercy’s hand delight

To cleanse the blemished heart;

Rekindle virtue’s waning light,

And peace and truth impart.

The courage and vision of these women never ceases to amaze me. Like Jane Austen, this brilliant writer composed poetry and other written material that spoke to the world around her. She used her wit and her intelligence to get her point across. She was an immigrant, like me. She was a Jew, like me. She was passionate and stubborn and loyal—like me. We may not have agreed on many points, but on this particular topic there can be no doubt. Am Israel Chai! The people of Israel live! And it is in no small part thanks to the wonderous deeds performed for our ancestors in days of old at this season. Chag Chanukah Sameach! Happy Chanukah! A Gut Yontif! Feliz Januca! ! חג חנוכה