The Duke of Cumberland and the Battle of Culloden
It all began with a war between two rival claimants to the British throne in the mid-18th century. 1746, to be precise.
At that time, the Scottish House of Stuart faced off against the English House of Hanover. Tensions escalated and ultimately culminated in a series of bloody battles. The worst of these was the Battle of Culloden, where Prince William Augustus of the House of Hanover – the Duke of Cumberland and son of King George II – defeated the House of Stuart. On his road to victory, the Duke committed a terrible massacre against his enemies, murdering 450 Scottish captives in cold blood.
Ostensibly, this was just one of many bloody battles throughout world history, but in recent decades these events have gained some additional notoriety thanks to the Outlander series of novels by author Diana Gabaldon, which were later adapted into a successful television series.
Yet the Battle of Culloden holds significance not only as a historical retrospective or as an exciting plot for a fascinating novel. It also, in most unlikely fashion, led to the creation of one of the Israel’s most beloved Hanukkah songs.
This English victory and the way it was achieved led to internal criticism even among the English themselves and caused something of a public relations crisis for the House of Hanover, especially the Duke of Cumberland, who was now being called “The Butcher.”
In the interests of damage control, a series of events were planned, beginning with a large victory march upon the Duke’s return to London. In addition, and as part of a badly-needed rebranding for “The Butcher,” an elaborate musical work was written and performed in his honor in London upon his return in 1747. The piece praised the heroism of the Duke by co-opting the story of another hero from the history books, Judah the Maccabee, with all in attendance being very much aware that the leader of the Maccabean revolt was in this case merely a symbol of their own brave Duke.
Judas Maccabaeus, an Oratorio in Three Parts
Judas Maccabaeus is an oratorio by the German-British composer George Frideric Handel, based on a libretto written by Thomas Morell. The two were among the biggest artists in Britain at the time. The allegory linking the Duke of Cumberland and the great Jewish hero was not merely a matter of later interpretation or an invention of the House of Hanover propaganda office. Indeed, the work’s official dedication left little room for doubt:
To His Royal Highness Prince William, Duke of Cumberland, this faint portraiture of a Truly Wise, Valiant, and Virtuous COMMANDER, as to the Possessor of the like Noble Qualities, is, with most profound Respect and Veneration, inscribed, by His Royal Highness’s Most obedient, and most devoted Servant, The Author
The British audience got the message.
So we’ve established that a great piece of music was once created, which made use of our own Hanukkah hero, Judah the Maccabee, to praise a completely unrelated historical figure. But what does all that have to do with Israeli children’s music?
If you peruse the oratorio in its original, you won’t find anything resembling any particular Hanukkah song.
Well, less than a year after the initial release of Judas Maccabaeus, Handel and Morell created another oratorio dedicated to another famous Jewish general, Joshua. This work, unlike the one dedicated to the victorious Duke, was not particularly successful, but one section, devoted to the figure of Joshua himself, did strike a chord with the audience. Thus, in 1751, four years after the first version of Judas Maccabaeus was put on stage, Handel simply attached the chorus about Joshua to the oratorio about the hero of Hanukkah:
See, the conqu’ring hero comes!
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums.
Sports prepare, the laurel bring,
Songs of thriumph to him sing.
See the godlike youth advance!
Breathe the flutes, and lead the dance;
Myrtle wreaths, and roses twine,
To deck the hero’s brow divine.
This section, often referred to simply as See, the Conqu’ring Hero Comes! continued to be popular with crowds even after the original oratorio Judas Maccabaeus faded, leading many composers to adapt it. Beethoven wrote twelve variations for piano and cello. In 1884, Swiss writer Edmund Louis Budry wrote new words in French for the passage to be sung in chorus. The tune was often played by brass bands at the openings of railroads and railway stations in 19th century Britain. The song was also adopted as part of Sir Henry Wood’s Fantasia on British Sea Songs, performed during the BBC’s annual Last Night of the Proms concert. And there are many more examples of this.
The Conversion of Judah the Maccabee
The song then took quite the scenic route before reaching us here in Israel, first landing across the Atlantic in the United States of America. In the early of the 19th century, decades before Herzl and Zionism, another visionary for a Jewish state was working on his own dream. His name was Mordecai Manuel Noah. In 1825, Noah acquired Grand Island in the Niagara River for a then-astronomical sum of $1,000, naming it “Ararat.”
Later, he conducted an impressive ceremony declaring the foundation of a new home for the Jewish People, during which he wore a purple robe and crowned himself an “Israelite judge,” with Judas Maccabaeus playing in the background. Noah’s initiative was dismissed by leaders of the local Jewish community, and having failed to raise funding for the project or “citizens” for the new venture, he sold the land to a local lumber merchant. Mordecai Manuel Noah’s grand scheme was the inspiration for the novel Isra Isle by Israeli author Nava Semel.
It was only well after this American adventure that the world-famous song eventually reached the Land of Israel. The oratorio was fully translated for the “Land of Israel Oratorio Choir,” conducted by Fordhaus Ben Tzissi, and was performed many times during the early years of the State of Israel.
But the section See, the Conquering Hero Comes (which was actually about Joshua, remember?) was first translated into Hebrew by Aharon Ashman in 1932. The song was then performed at the opening of the first Macabbiah games. The event’s program indeed mentions Neginah – indicating that musicians played a musical piece – but it does not mention what songs were played.
A little later, in 1936, Levin Kipnis wrote a new version set to the same music. This was a new and original reworking of his own, rather than a direct translation.
Kipnis’ song was the version that took off here in Israel. It became a huge hit with people of all ages and was performed by greats such as Uzi Benziman, Hanny Nahmias, and Eran Tzur. Kipnis gave it the title Chag HaNitzachon [The Festival of Victory] but it is often known by its first line – Hava Narima [Let Us Lift Up). This song was not originally written for Hanukkah, nor for Judah the Maccabee, but nevertheless, thanks to a minor Hanukkah miracle, it has become one of the songs most identified with both.
A little like all of us, the song is made up of connections that seem to make little sense: A Jewish 2nd century BCE hero and a claimant to the British crown, a 20th century Russian-Jewish lyricist, and a British-German composer from the Baroque era. From this motley gathering came a song which was something new in and of itself, a light unto this nation.
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While preparing this article I made use of a number of historical resources as well as the work of Eliyahu HaCohen, the scholar of modern Hebrew song.
