Of all the holidays on the Jewish calendar, Chanukah, which began last Sunday evening, has always been one of my favorites. Even when I was younger and far less observant, I appreciated the holiday’s well-known rituals and customs: lighting the menorah, spinning the dreidel, eating potato latkes, and so forth. My given Hebrew name — “Maccabee,” because Judah Maccabee was nicknamed “the hammer” — is also synonymous with the hero of the holiday’s story. Because of the holiday’s timing and the general desire by corporate America and elected officials to include Jewish Americans in annual Christmastime festivity, Chanukah is the most commercialized and among the most frequently discussed of all the Jewish holidays. The commercialization of Chanukah is anodyne, if a bit of a distraction. More problematic is the time-tested tradition of American politicians distorting the holiday’s meaning — often, for self-serving reasons. For as long as I can remember, liberal politicians have taken pains to invoke the imagery of the Chanukah menorah’s light in order to pontificate about abstract universalist principles such as justice and freedom and, as former President Barack Obama put it two years after leaving office, about an occasion to “recommit ourselves to building a brighter future for our families, our communities, and our world.” Sometimes they even get the most basic facts of the Chanukah story egregiously wrong, as the Jewish then-second gentleman, Doug Emhoff, did two years ago. I have always found this recurring humiliating ritual to be worse than embarrassing. It’s offensive. Chanukah, I’ve always thought, is the Jewish people’s quintessential particularist and nationalist holiday. It is a tale about the Maccabean revolt against the Greek-Syrian Seleucid Empire, which occupied Judea and attempted to Hellenize the Jews — to crush them physically and subdue them spiritually. Many are familiar with the miracle that followed the Maccabees’ victory: The scant oil found in the courtyard, upon repurifying and rededicating the Temple, lasted eight nights. But the more impressive miracle was the military victory over the Seleucids and the Hellenized Jews who joined them. The core message of Chanukah, then, is one of traditionalism and cultural preservation in the face of menacing and assimilationist forces, both within and without. The core message of Chanukah, then, is one of traditionalism and cultural preservation in the face of menacing and assimilationist forces, both within and without. That’s the real meaning of the holiday — not exchanging gifts or waxing poetic about universalist platitudes. Yet paradoxically, especially in light of tragic recent events, something occurred to me for the first time: This stridently particularist Jewish holiday does have broader — indeed, global — relevance. It’s just not the relevance liberal politicians have ascribed to Chanukah. Indeed, it’s the exact opposite. The Maccabees were able to prevail and thereby preserve Judaism, against the odds, because they had purpose and conviction. They believed that Judaism stood for something important: They believed that ethical monotheism was important, the Hebrew Scriptures were true, and the Land of Israel belonged to the Children of Israel. In short, the Maccabees had national and civilizational pride, and it was because of that pride that they fought so valiantly and refused to bend the knee to Hellenistic assimilation. They rejected the universalist cri de coeur that all cultures and peoples are equal — and perhaps interchangeable. In recent decades, and even more acutely in recent years, Western civilization has had to learn that lesson anew. Human beings, while all made in God’s image and thus all deserving of dignity and moral worth, are immensely complicated. We are not reducible to widgets on an economics chalkboard. Our inherited cultural traditions and learned customs and mannerisms are often very different from one another. We don’t all value the same things, pursue the same goals, hold the same social standards, or believe in the same political institutions. We are, in short, different. The Maccabees understood that there was something special about the truths, values, and principles that Judaism introduced to the world. They were not willing to sacrifice those truths, values, and principles to the siren song of Hellenistic universalism. Western nations today must learn that same lesson anew. The modern Maccabee martyrs senselessly slain last Sunday at Sydney’s Bondi Beach are yet the latest victims of Hellenism gone awry, as one culture tries to replace and erase another. It doesn’t have to be this way. A culture can be proud without being chauvinistic. And a people can be self-confident without being imperious. If there are going to be fewer Bondi Beach-style massacres, moving forward, Western cultures and nations are going to have to rediscover and reprioritize what made them great in the first place. They’re going to have to remember that human beings, and the specific societies they constitute, are unique. They cannot, and should not, be swapped or frivolously bartered like goods in a marketplace. We have our traditions, values, and ways of life that are worth cherishing and preserving from one generation to the next. It might not be politically correct, but that is how we can apply the true lesson of Chanukah. READ MORE from Josh Hammer: Don’t Go Wobbly on China The Welcome Demise of Climate Change Catastrophism How to Remain Grounded and Thankful Amid the Chaos To find out more about Josh Hammer and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com. COPYRIGHT 2025 CREATORS.COM

The following is a list of 20 articles published by various outlets, mainly yesterday or today, that caught our eye. They cover topics such as the Ukraine/Russia war, the Middle East conflict […] The post News Stories from various sources (19.12.2025) first appeared on The Expose.

“Let There Be Shred” is the most recent single from Megadeth’s self-titled final album, due on January 23rd. “When Megadeth started, we said we would be fast and furious… we said so on the flyers we handed out,” frontman Dave Mustaine (pictured above) remembered. “This song is fast and furious. Know it! It has a very hooky chorus that draws you in and you can’t help but play air guitar and headbang to this one.” Directed by Keith Leman, the video features Mustaine participating in a mixed martial arts battle alongside live performance footage. Let There Be Shred “Let There Be Shred” follows “I Don’t Care” and Tipping Point” as singles from the album. Tipping Point I Don’t Care “Megadeth” Tracks: 01. Tipping Point02. I Don’t Care03. Hey, God?!04. Let There Be Shred05. Puppet Parade06. Another Bad Day07. Made To Kill08. Obey The Call09. I Am War10. The Last Note11. Ride The Lightning (Bonus Track – Metallica cover) Megadeth ### The post Megadeth’s New Single From Final Album appeared first on RockinTown.

Portuguese national also suspected of killing MIT professor.

The program arrives at the height of left-wing hysteria in the UK over popular opposition to mass third-world immigration and online censorship.

The vagrant man, who goes by John, posted on Reddit to sound the alarm about a suspicious person he saw hours before the deadly shooting.

from The Conservative Treehouse: Volodymyr Zelenskyy is huddled with European Leaders at the European Council meeting in Brussels.  The key effort by the assembly is how to use frozen Russian assets to give money to Ukraine. The EU itself does not want to lend Ukraine money directly because people within each nation of the EU […]

by Rhoda Wilson, Expose News: A documentary aired in 1991 describes how Adolf Hitler and the Nazis created an entirely new faith, complete with a holy book, venerated relics and a priestly elite. It was a religion based on obedience and power, with Hitler himself conceived in Messianic terms. As the quote below demonstrates, Adolf […]

from WeAreChange: TRUTH LIVES on at https://sgtreport.tv/

  In the 18th century, the Austrian newspaper Wiener Realzeitung poetically declared, “What is not allowed to be spoken in our time is sung.” The statement certainly applies to one of Mozart’s most famous operas: Le nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro).   Indeed, the story of the clever barber Figaro, staged for the first time in 1786, perfectly embodied the spirit of the times. In the years leading to the French Revolution, the lower classes grew increasingly dissatisfied with the status quo, calling for more political and civil rights. In this sense, Figaro’s successful battle of wit against his master seemed to foreshadow the imminent revolt against the existing social and political order in Europe. For this reason, The Marriage of Figaro is often referred to as the embodiment of the French Revolution.   A Revolutionary Play Drawing of a costume for the character of Figaro in Le Mariage de Figaro by Beaumarchais. Source: Gallica, Bibliothèque nationale de France   In 1783, Austrian composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was looking for a subject for a new opera, hoping to repeat the success enjoyed the previous year by The Abduction from the Seraglio. After a couple of failed attempts, he finally decided to write an opera based on Beaumarchais’ irreverent play Le Mariage de Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro). The comedy was the sequel to Le Barbier de Séville (The Barber of Seville). In 1782, Italian composer Giovanni Paisiello had already turned Beaumarchais’ first chapter of the “Figaro Saga” into a highly successful opera.   Portrait of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart by Barbara Krafft, 1819. Source: The Prague Post   Written around 1778, The Marriage of Figaro quickly gained notoriety because of his explicit attack against the aristocracy and its privileges. The French censors immediately prohibited public performances of the play. However, countless illicit copies of the work began to circulate throughout Europe. In 1784, when Beaumarchais was finally free to stage his Marriage of Figaro, the story of the clever barber was already a hit. The social satire and political message of the play even caused a riot during its first performance in Paris.   The manuscript of Le Mariage de Figaro. Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France   When Beaumarchais began writing his second comedy revolving around Figaro, the English colonies in North America had just set in motion their rebellion against the King of England, demanding political independence and their right to choose their own government. From the early stages of the American Revolution, the French playwright sided with the American rebels.  He even supplied them with arms bought with his personal funds. Beaumarchais also advocated for France to support the American colonies. In 1775, the author suggested creating a private trading company through which the French government could channel aid overseas.   Figaro’s struggle of wits against his master, the Count of Almaviva, echoed Beaumarchais’ life, full of intrigues and adventures. The son of a watchmaker, he became a member of the French aristocracy through marriage. Before venting his frustration with the upper classes on the stage, Beaumarchais was already a known advocate for social justice and equality. In 1773, he ridiculed the French elites and exposed government corruption in a series of pamphlets written during a lawsuit against a magistrate. “No writer in the eighteenth century protested more than he did,” declared Frédéric Grendel in his Beaumarchais: The Man Who Was Figaro.   “The Revolution Already in Action” Drawing of a scene in Act IV of Le Mariage de Figaro. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York   The plot of The Marriage of Figaro revolves around the antagonism between Figaro and his master, the despotic Count of Almaviva. In the first chapter of the saga, Figaro, a witty barber living in Seville, helps the young aristocrat win the affection of Rosina. Some years into their marriage, however, the former romantic hero has no qualms about cheating his wife. Indeed, he is determined to seduce Suzanne, Figaro’s fiancé and the countess’ maid. Upon learning of the count’s nefarious intentions, the barber relies on his cunning and resourcefulness to bet his master in an entertaining game of wit that inevitably ends with the defeat of the aristocrat.   Figaro was not the first servant to challenge his master on stage. The character of the crafty valet was a staple of comedies. His first appearance dates back to Ancient Rome, where Plautus peppered his plays with slaves who often defied their masters. In Beaumarchais’ plays, however, this character developed a clearly defined class consciousness his predecessors lacked. The defiance of Figaro against the corrupt Count Almaviva turned into an open attack against the existing social hierarchies.   The political message of Beaumarchais’ comedy is evident in the famous monologue pronounced by Figaro in Act 5, Scene 3:   “Because you’re a nobleman you think you’re a great genius. Nobility, fortune, rank, status: so much to glory in. But what did you do to get where you are? You took the trouble to be born, and that’s all.”   Given the direct condemnation of aristocratic privileges, it is unsurprising that Napoleon Bonaparte would later describe The Marriage of Figaro as “the revolution already in action.”   Two Irreverent Artists: Mozart and Lorenzo Da Ponte Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Source: Dallas Symphony Orchestra   Unlike Beaumarchais, Mozart was never actively involved in politics. While it would be incorrect to describe the Austrian composer as a revolutionary, he was undoubtedly shaped by the idea of the Enlightenment. A gifted musician, Mozart was also an acute observer of the social and cultural landscape.   In 1791, when the French Revolution was already well underway, he echoed Figaro’s rejection of the idea of social status as a reflection of personal worth: “It is the heart [alone] that confers the patent of nobility on a man—although I am no count, I surely have more honor within me than many a count.”   Mozart’s aversion to social injustices also stemmed from his personal experience. As a musician, he relied on the benevolence of the aristocrats and the court to earn his income. While Mozart’s genius ensured him a considerable level of success, the fickleness of his patrons made financial security almost impossible. In particular, the composer loathed the time spent in the service of Archbishop Colloredo. Besides the lack of creative freedom, young Mozart resented being treated as a household servant. “I didn’t know that I was a valet de chambre,” recalled the musician in a letter to his father, Leopold, “and that broke my neck.”   After his death, the uneasiness of the Austrian composer to tailor his works to meet the tastes of the fickle musical scenes gave rise to the image of Mozart as a rebellious spirit.   Portrait of Lorenzo Da Ponte. Source: Columbia University Department of Music   In 1783, at the court of Joseph II, the irreverent prodigy met another artist who shared his temperament: the Italian poet Lorenzo Da Ponte. Born Emanuele Conegliano in the Republic of Venice, he became Lorenzo Da Ponte after his Jewish family converted to Catholicism. Following a common custom, young Emanuele was named after the minister officiating the baptism.   While his parents urged him to become a priest, Lorenzo Da Ponte soon grew restless with religious life. As a result, he moved to Venice, where he spent his time between gambling and pursuing affairs with several women. His freethinking and libertine lifestyle eventually led to his expulsion from the city. Da Ponte spent the last period of his adventurous life in New York, where he taught Italian literature at Columbia College, now Columbia University.   Figaro: A Revolutionary Barber A piano transcription from The Marriage of Figaro. Source: National Library of Australia   When Mozart and Da Ponte met in Vienna, the former priest was busy writing a libretto for Antonio Salieri, Mozart’s biggest rival at the Viennese court. “He has promised after that to write a new one for me,” reported the composer to his father, “but who knows whether he will be able to keep his word … as you are aware these Italia gentlemen are very charming to your face.” Despite Mozart’s initial misgivings, he and Da Ponte soon embarked on a fruitful collaboration.   As Mozart planned to showcase his talent with Italian operas, the operatic genre in vogue at the time in Vienna, he asked Da Ponte to turn Beaumarchais’ hit into a libretto. At the time, however, Emperor Joseph II had banned the revolutionary play. To avoid censorship, Da Ponte had to cut the most controversial scenes. “I have omitted and shortened anything that could offend the sensibility and decency of a spectacle at which His Sovereign Majesty presides,” assured the poet. Ultimately, the emperor decided to allow the opera to be performed in the court’s theater. His ongoing conflict with the aristocracy on taxation might have influenced his final verdict.   A scene from The Marriage of Figaro performed at the Metropolitan Opera. Source: Metropolitan Opera, New York   While the changes introduced by Da Ponte toned somewhat down the political message of the play, Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro was no less critical of class privileges than the original piece. The idea of setting the action in a modern setting was also novel in the operatic world. Instead of telling the stories of mythological heroes or ancient gods and goddesses, The Marriage of Figaro revolved around the feelings and struggles of household servants.   Meaningful of censorship, Da Ponte did not include Figaro’s famous monologue in his libretto. However, his barber did not lose his sarcasm and defiance against his master. Se vuol ballare, Signor Contino, il chitarrino le suonerò (“If, my dear Count, you feel like dancing, it’s I who’ll call the tune”), sings Figaro upon learning of the count’s plan to seduce Susanna, his fiancé.   The “revolutionary” quality of the opera was also subtly conveyed by Mozart’s musical score. Far from relegating Figaro and the other servants to the role of comic relief, the melodies conveyed their feelings and inner turmoils, emphasizing their nobility of spirit and humanity.   In the end, Susanna, disguised as the countess, manages to expose the count’s infidelity and lustful nature. In a poignant scene, the aristocrat begs his wife for forgiveness on his knees in front of all his servants. Contessa, perdono (“Countess, forgive me”) sings the humiliated count.   The Marriage of Figaro & The End of the Ancien Regime A drawing depicting the three estates of France: Clergy, Nobility, and Commoners. Source: Library of Congress   Performed just a few years before the siege of the Bastille in Paris, The Marriage of Figaro seemed to foreshadow the imminent social and political upheaval that would end the Ancien Regime. As a result, the opera is often described as the embodiment of the French Revolution.   After Mozart’s early death, the lack of autobiographical accounts led to the circulation of exaggerated stories and dubious theories that turned him into an almost unearthly figure. For example, in Mozart and Salieri, the Russian author Pushkin described him as “an immortal genius inside a buffoon’s, an idle hooligan’s, skull.”   Contrary to these dubious theories, Mozart was deeply immersed in the cultural scene of his times. In particular, as a child of the Enlightenment, he shared the philosophers’ ideas regarding equality, freedom, and the power of human reason.   A cahier de doléances (list of grievances) compiled before the Estates General in 1789. Source: University of Oregon   The Marriage of Figaro, staged as French society was on the brink of revolution, perfectly reflected the ongoing cultural and social shift in Europe, with the middle classes demanding the abolishment of the privileges enjoyed by the elite.   “What is the Third Estate?” wrote Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès in The Third Estate, his famous 1789 pamphlet, “Everything. What has it been until now in the political order? Nothing. What does it want to be? Something.” Against the resistance of the aristocracy, argued Sieyès, the “sole hope” of the new social forces “lies in its own intelligence and courage.” Wits and inner resourcefulness were also the only effective weapons of Figaro and his fiancé in the opera, conscious of their worth and unwilling to accept the count’s despotic power.   Prise de la Bastille (Storming of the Bastille) by Jean-Pierre Houel. Source: Cincinnati Enquirer   In 1787, Don Giovanni, the second opera born from the collaboration between Mozart and Da Ponte, reminded the contemporary audience of the changes simmering below the surface. “Night and day I slave for one who does not appreciate it. I put up with wind and rain, eat badly, never sleep, I want to be a gentleman and give up my servitude,” sang Leporello in the opening scene. Two years later, his demands would be shared by the crowd storming the Bastille, thus signaling the beginning of the bloody French Revolution and the wave of 19th-century uprisings that would follow.