On Monday, the second gentleman Doug Emhoff, who is himself Jewish, attracted much criticism for a social-media post about Hanukkah that mangled the holiday’s story and its significance. Arynne Wexler provides a less anodyne understanding of the holiday, grounded in the two books of Maccabees, which, although excluded from the Jewish canon, are the festival’s ur-texts. Their message is summed up in the verse: “For it is better for us to die in battle, than to behold the calamities of our people and our sanctuary.” (1Maccabees 1, 3:59)

As Jewish identity frayed on the edges, the ruling Seleucid King Antiochus IV Epiphanes brought a new set of pressures. Unlike the previous rulers who had largely left Jewish culture and institutions alone, Antiochus directly targeted them. In one of his campaigns of persecution, Antiochus forced devout Jews to eat pork publicly as a display of cultural acceptance and submission. Famous acts of Jewish martyrdom come from this period, including when Antiochus commanded [a scribe named] Eleazar to participate in this public rebuke of Jewish observance. Instead, in a final act of defiance, Eleazar dramatically spit out the food as an example to the young Jews who were watching. He was dragged away, tortured, and killed. [2Maccabees 6:18–31]

Don’t ignore the lesson here. It’s an uncomfortable one for us today. It is much easier to apply laws and stories as convenient and ignore the ones that directly challenge our modern choices. The argument here is not that we should all be black hats; I myself am far from frum. But it is to contend that we like to convince ourselves it’s acceptable to give up on the very things that make us Jewish in order to survive. Our entire history as a people, and especially the story of Hanukkah, reminds us that freedom and survival only come when we fight for it.

If Iran succeeds in obtaining nuclear weapons, the war in Gaza, let alone the protests on college campuses, will seem like a minor complication. Jonathan Schachter fears that this danger could be much more imminent than decisionmakers in Jerusalem and Washington believe. In his view, Israel seems to be repeating the mistake that allowed it to be taken by surprise on Simchat Torah of 2023 and Yom Kippur of 1973: putting too much faith in an intelligence concept that could be wrong.

Israel and the United States apparently believe that despite Iran’s well-documented progress in developing capabilities necessary for producing and delivering nuclear weapons, as well as its extensive and ongoing record of violating its international nuclear obligations, there is no acute crisis because building a bomb would take time, would be observable, and could be stopped by force. Taken together, these assumptions and their moderating impact on Israeli and American policy form a new Iran concept reminiscent of its 1973 namesake and of the systemic failures that preceded the October 7 massacre.

Meanwhile, most of the restrictions put in place by the 2015 nuclear deal will expire by the end of next year, rendering the question of Iran’s adherence moot. And the forces that could be taking action aren’t:

The European Union regularly issues boilerplate press releases asserting its members’ “grave concern.” American decisionmakers and spokespeople have created the unmistakable impression that their reservations about the use of force are stronger than their commitment to use force to prevent an Iranian atomic bomb. At the same time, the U.S. refuses to enforce its own sanctions comprehensively: Iranian oil exports (especially to China) and foreign-currency reserves have ballooned since January 2021, when the Biden administration took office.

Israel’s response has also been sluggish and ambiguous. Despite its oft-stated policy of never allowing a nuclear Iran, Israel’s words and deeds have sent mixed messages to allies and adversaries—perhaps inadvertently reinforcing the prevailing sense in Washington and elsewhere that Iran’s nuclear efforts do not present an exigent crisis.