Connections: Brotherly Love
The menorah on the lawn of Chabad Lubavitch in East Hampton looks like a Hanukkah menorah because it has eight rather than seven branches. The eight branches represent the ancient miracle that turned oil for one day into enough oil for eight, after the Maccabees took back the First Temple in Jerusalem for the Jewish people. The ninth branch is the one from which the others are lighted.
Christian and Jewish children know this story. What is lesser known, perhaps, is that menorahs are thought of simply as symbols of light. The Chabad menorah can be thought of this way, and as the congregation’s way of expressing the light of brotherly love. Be that as it may, its presence on the main thoroughfare into the village has made some people uncomfortable.
To me, on first reflection, it appears as harmless as the nativity scenes one sees on the lawns of churches during the Christmas season. Those are, like the menorah, on private (often church-owned) property and in no way raise any controversy over the constitutional requirement for the separation of church and state. In any event, the courts have addressed the topic of manger scenes and the like on public property over and over. For the most part, they have been permitted.
Of course, nativities — by necessity, I would think, as well as tradition — are taken down at the end of the Christmas holiday season, while the Woods Lane menorah is apparently intended to remain in place year-round. The public in general, I think, accepts it for what it is.
My husband and I got to thinking about this after reading back-and-forth letters to the editor of The Star from readers who disagreed with each other about whether the menorah was an inappropriate way to greet those entering the village. To us, the Chabad menorah is pleasantly decorative, in the way that the sculptor Bill King’s wooden heads are on Goodfriend Drive off Route 114, or as other large sculptures have been for decades in front of Guild Hall.
The only other specifically religious incursions into public consciousness here that we could come up with are the recorded hymns broadcast from the belfry of the East Hampton Presbyterian Church (or, perhaps, if you think of it in a certain light, the very spires of various Christian denominations here and there, which hold symbolic religious meaning, too). Like the menorah on Woods Lane, we find the hymns benignly pleasant and not an obnoxious religious imposition. My husband loves hymns; he grew up with them and can sing many with all the words at a moment’s notice. And I am also known to enjoy (and sing) religious music, even though I do not practice any religion.
The crux of the issue here is expressions of faith that — while done on private property — are intended for public viewing (or, as the case may be, hearing). This touches on several issues at the heart of our democratic ideals: not just the separation of church and state but the almighty principle of free speech. Then, too, none of us likes to feel proselytized to.
According to Google, communities across the country have grappled with all manner of incidents, both similar and more — how shall I put this? — amusing. According to the Pew Research Center, a Festivus pole of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans, in celebration of a holiday invented by the writers of “Seinfeld,” and a display dedicated to the Flying Spaghetti Monster made it into public religious displays in Florida last December. Perhaps we should all just accept the menorah on Woods Lane as I’m told it is intended — to shed light — and lighten up.