The dreidel’s story is a great example of how Jews take something from the surrounding culture and spin it into something deeply Jewish.
Historically, the dreidel began as a non-Jewish gambling toy in Europe, not as a Jewish ritual object. In medieval and early modern Christian Europe, people played with a four-sided spinning top (a “teetotum”) around Christmas time, especially in German-speaking lands. Each side had a letter that stood for a Latin or later German instruction in the game, such as “take nothing,” “take half,” “take all,” or “put one in.” Players would spin the top and win or lose from a shared pot of coins, nuts, or other small items.
Jews living in those societies encountered this popular game and, like people everywhere, especially children, joined in. Over time, Jewish communities adopted the top and gave it a Yiddish name: dreidel (from dreyen, “to spin”). The basic game remained the same—a simple gambling game played in winter—while gradually becoming associated with Hanukkah in Jewish homes rather than with Christmas in Christian homes.
Initially, the letters at the top functioned as shorthand for game instructions, but in Jewish hands they were reinterpreted as Hebrew initials. The four sides became נ (nun), ג (gimel), ה (hei), and ש (shin), read as an acronym for nes gadol haya sham— “a great miracle happened there,” referring to the Hanukkah miracle of the oil and the Temple’s rededication. In the Land of Israel, the last letter was changed to פ (pei), for po— “here”—so the phrase becomes “a great miracle happened here.”
This shift from gaming code to religious acronym is a classic move of Jewish folk creativity. A borrowed object is given new meaning, and the meaning links it directly to Jewish memory. The game rules also become Judaized: instead of abstract instructions, children often learn them as “nun—nothing, gimel—all, hei—half, shin—put one in,” but now in the context of a Hanukkah story they already know.
A much-loved legend says that during the time of the Maccabees, Jews were forbidden to study Torah so that they would gather in secret with texts. When Greek soldiers approached, they would quickly hide the books, pull out tops, and pretend they were only playing games. Dreidels, in this story, were tools of spiritual resistance and clever camouflage.
Historically, this tale appears very late—centuries after the Maccabean period and long after the game itself was already common—so scholars see it as beautiful folklore rather than literal history. It likely arose because Jews, especially adults, felt a need to more closely link an already beloved children’s game to the Hanukkah narrative of courage, learning, and defiance. Even if not historically accurate, the story conveys a real truth about Jewish life: Torah and play, resistance and normalcy, often coexist in the most ordinary objects.
Some historians and folklorists point out that spinning‑top gambling games existed across Europe and the Mediterranean, not just in German lands. There is evidence of similar tops and games in other languages and cultures, and of Jewish communities—Ashkenazi and Sephardi—adapting local toys and games into their own holiday cycles. That broader context strengthens the picture: the dreidel is not a uniquely Jewish invention but part of a much wider family of winter gambling games that Jews made their own.
This also explains why the dreidel is not mentioned in classical rabbinic literature as a Hanukkah practice. It emerges later, as a folk custom that gradually becomes so common it feels “traditional.” Today, although it is relatively “new” compared with lighting candles or singing HaNerot Halalu, it is one of the most recognizable symbols of the holiday.
When all of this is put together, the origin of the dreidel tells a layered story:
- It began as a non-Jewish European gambling toy.
- Jews adopted it, renamed it, and eventually tied it to Hanukkah.
- The letters were reread as a Hanukkah acronym, adding theological meaning.
- A later legend connected it to secret Torah study under persecution.
In other words, the dreidel itself embodies a Hanukkah message: Jews can live in complex, multicultural societies, borrow from their surroundings, and still insist on spinning those borrowed elements toward Jewish memory, story, and identity rather than letting Jewishness dissolve into the background.
