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winterbadgerLast night was the first night of Hannukkah. Tonight as I was driving home from gaming with my friends I was listening to NPR's Hannukkah Lights and trying to think of a story or a midrash that I could use to relate to Hanukkah.
I've been reading a bit about the American Revolution lately, about the Battle of Trenton in December of 1776 in particular.
Hannukkah is about the miracle in the Temple, the oil that lasted longer than it had any reason to, the victory of the Maccabis over Seleucids. The Selucids are nowadays referred to as the Syrians for a little modern relevance, but in fact they were one of the Hellenistic kingdoms set up by Alexander the Great's generals after his death, their own fiefdoms carved out of the remains of his empire. The Seleucids, like most of the states that took Greek culture and transplanted it throughout Asia, were modern and worldly and civilised. Reading about the fanatical, fundamentalist Maccabis, I've often thought with a twinge that I might have been more comfortable with the Seleucids. The attempt to turn the Hannukkah story into one about religious freedom rings hollow if you study the Maccabis themselves at all.
But Hannukah is also about an unexpected victory, light brought powerfully into the darkness of winter. And that pretty much sums up the daring attack of the American army at Trenton. Beaten from pillar to post throughout 1776 by the more powerful, better equipped, better trained, better supplied, more professional British army, George Washington and his men were indeed a classically ragtag band. Long Island, Harlem Heights, White Plains, Fort Washington, Fort Lee, Newport--the year had been one defeat after another, one retreat after another for the green and poorly prepared Continental Army. Only the unwillingness of the leading British commanders (brothers General Sir William and Admiral Richard Howe, both of whom were Whigs, sympathetic to many of the Americans' political demands) to close off and round up the Americans staved off disaster. If they had been more interested in a crushing defeat instead of a negotiated peace, the war might have ended in 1776.
But this trail of defeats didn't break Washington's spirit. Uncharacteristically for someone who was not bold, who knew himself to be a poor tactician, who had deep and abiding reservations about his own troops, Washington decided on a counterattack. Perhaps he figured that nothing would be lost by throwing the dice one last time. Perhaps he underestimated the British (in this case, with justification). In any case, he took the shattered remains of his force, combined it with the remnants of other unsuccessful American armies, and planned a lightning raid, an attack across the ice-choked Delaware River the day after Christmas, seeking to take one of the outlying British garrisons by surprise.
Against all odds, he succeeded. The army that had barely managed to keep a tenth of its forces together before and which had almost no professional officers managed that most difficult of tasks, an amphibious landing on enemy territory. The German troops in the Trenton garrison, contrary to modern American legend, were not surprised--they had expected an American attack for weeks, and their commander had asked repeatedly either be reinforced or allowed to withdraw from his position. Nor, American propaganda notwithstanding, were they drunk; they were exhausted from constant alarms and watch-standing, but for the most part they were sober.
The Americans did attack early in the morning, waking some of the German troops out of fitful slumbers. But mostly the Continentals won for that most prosaic of military reasons: they had more men and executed they plan more effectively. One division marched to a position south of Trenton and acted as an anvil. Two more divisions marched to the north and west of Trenton and attacked like hammer and tongs, smashing the much smaller German force between their attacks and the barrier of the blocking force. Nearly 5,500 Americans crossed the Delaware and killed, wounded, or captured most of the Trenton garrison of 1,400 men. Another 3,000 or more American troops conducted supporting operations nearby. The Howes, confident and (relatively) far off in New York had not conceived that so many American troops could be rounded up and directed in so coordinated an operation. General Charles Cornwallis was sent out of New York to defeat the ragged Continentals but was rebuffed in one battle after the new year and then nearly lost his rearguard in an American attack at Princeton.
The winter had begun harsh, cold, and full of bitterness for the Americans. Thomas Paine had penned the immortal words, "These are the times that try men's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman." Washington and the men of the Continental Army had earned those thanks, bringing hope out of despair, light out of the darkness of winter.
So, tonight when I light my Hannukkah candles, I'm thinking of those men who got into boats in the freezing sleet and snow of Christmas Night, rowed across a river filled with ice, marched nearly ten miles on the other side, and fought a battle that brought hope to a nation still in the process of being born. A miracle by any standards.
Blessed are you, o Lord, who wrought miracles for our fathers and mothers in days of old, at this season.
I've been reading a bit about the American Revolution lately, about the Battle of Trenton in December of 1776 in particular.
Hannukkah is about the miracle in the Temple, the oil that lasted longer than it had any reason to, the victory of the Maccabis over Seleucids. The Selucids are nowadays referred to as the Syrians for a little modern relevance, but in fact they were one of the Hellenistic kingdoms set up by Alexander the Great's generals after his death, their own fiefdoms carved out of the remains of his empire. The Seleucids, like most of the states that took Greek culture and transplanted it throughout Asia, were modern and worldly and civilised. Reading about the fanatical, fundamentalist Maccabis, I've often thought with a twinge that I might have been more comfortable with the Seleucids. The attempt to turn the Hannukkah story into one about religious freedom rings hollow if you study the Maccabis themselves at all.
But Hannukah is also about an unexpected victory, light brought powerfully into the darkness of winter. And that pretty much sums up the daring attack of the American army at Trenton. Beaten from pillar to post throughout 1776 by the more powerful, better equipped, better trained, better supplied, more professional British army, George Washington and his men were indeed a classically ragtag band. Long Island, Harlem Heights, White Plains, Fort Washington, Fort Lee, Newport--the year had been one defeat after another, one retreat after another for the green and poorly prepared Continental Army. Only the unwillingness of the leading British commanders (brothers General Sir William and Admiral Richard Howe, both of whom were Whigs, sympathetic to many of the Americans' political demands) to close off and round up the Americans staved off disaster. If they had been more interested in a crushing defeat instead of a negotiated peace, the war might have ended in 1776.
But this trail of defeats didn't break Washington's spirit. Uncharacteristically for someone who was not bold, who knew himself to be a poor tactician, who had deep and abiding reservations about his own troops, Washington decided on a counterattack. Perhaps he figured that nothing would be lost by throwing the dice one last time. Perhaps he underestimated the British (in this case, with justification). In any case, he took the shattered remains of his force, combined it with the remnants of other unsuccessful American armies, and planned a lightning raid, an attack across the ice-choked Delaware River the day after Christmas, seeking to take one of the outlying British garrisons by surprise.
Against all odds, he succeeded. The army that had barely managed to keep a tenth of its forces together before and which had almost no professional officers managed that most difficult of tasks, an amphibious landing on enemy territory. The German troops in the Trenton garrison, contrary to modern American legend, were not surprised--they had expected an American attack for weeks, and their commander had asked repeatedly either be reinforced or allowed to withdraw from his position. Nor, American propaganda notwithstanding, were they drunk; they were exhausted from constant alarms and watch-standing, but for the most part they were sober.
The Americans did attack early in the morning, waking some of the German troops out of fitful slumbers. But mostly the Continentals won for that most prosaic of military reasons: they had more men and executed they plan more effectively. One division marched to a position south of Trenton and acted as an anvil. Two more divisions marched to the north and west of Trenton and attacked like hammer and tongs, smashing the much smaller German force between their attacks and the barrier of the blocking force. Nearly 5,500 Americans crossed the Delaware and killed, wounded, or captured most of the Trenton garrison of 1,400 men. Another 3,000 or more American troops conducted supporting operations nearby. The Howes, confident and (relatively) far off in New York had not conceived that so many American troops could be rounded up and directed in so coordinated an operation. General Charles Cornwallis was sent out of New York to defeat the ragged Continentals but was rebuffed in one battle after the new year and then nearly lost his rearguard in an American attack at Princeton.
The winter had begun harsh, cold, and full of bitterness for the Americans. Thomas Paine had penned the immortal words, "These are the times that try men's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman." Washington and the men of the Continental Army had earned those thanks, bringing hope out of despair, light out of the darkness of winter.
So, tonight when I light my Hannukkah candles, I'm thinking of those men who got into boats in the freezing sleet and snow of Christmas Night, rowed across a river filled with ice, marched nearly ten miles on the other side, and fought a battle that brought hope to a nation still in the process of being born. A miracle by any standards.
Blessed are you, o Lord, who wrought miracles for our fathers and mothers in days of old, at this season.
