You’ve probably seen it. A little four-sided top spinning wildly on a kitchen table while kids scream about chocolate coins. It looks simple, maybe even a bit repetitive if you’re just watching from the sidelines. But if you're asking what is the dreidel, you’re actually tapping into a weird, multi-layered history that involves ancient Greek decrees, German gambling dens, and a bit of linguistic gymnastics. It’s not just a toy. Honestly, it’s a survival tactic disguised as a game of chance.
Most people think it’s just a Hanukkah thing. And yeah, it is. But the "why" behind it is where things get interesting. We’re talking about a tradition that managed to bridge the gap between religious defiance and a medieval pub game called "Toton." It’s basically the only time of year when it’s socially acceptable for Jewish parents to encourage their five-year-olds to gamble for candy.
The mechanics of the spin
Let's get the technical stuff out of the way first. A dreidel is a pointed, four-sided top. Each side has a Hebrew letter. Depending on which letter faces up when the top finally wobbles and dies, you either win big, lose everything, or—in the case of one specific letter—literally nothing happens.
Nun (נ): This stands for the Yiddish word nisht, which translates to "nothing." If you land on this, you do nothing. You don't get a coin, you don't lose a coin. You just sit there and wait for your cousin to take their turn. It's the most boring outcome possible.
Gimel (ג): The holy grail of the dreidel world. It stands for gants, meaning "whole" or "everything." You scoop up the entire pot. If there are fifty chocolate gelt coins in the middle, they are all yours. This is usually when the yelling starts.
Hey (ה): This is for halb, or "half." You take half the pot. If there's an odd number of coins, you usually round up, though this depends on how much of a stickler your grandma is for the rules.
Shin (ש): The letter of doom. It stands for shtel, meaning "put in." You add one or two coins to the pot. It’s a slow drain on your resources.
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The letters also form an acronym: Nes Gadol Hayah Sham. This translates to "A great miracle happened there," referring to the Hanukkah story of the oil in the Temple. In Israel, the "Shin" is replaced with a "Pe" (poh), changing the meaning to "A great miracle happened here." It’s a subtle but significant geographic flex.
Where did this thing actually come from?
There is a very popular story told to Sunday school kids. It goes like this: back in the second century BCE, the Seleucid Greeks banned the study of Torah. Jewish scholars would hide in caves to study anyway. When Greek soldiers came to inspect, the scholars would whip out tops and pretend they were just playing games. It's a great story. It’s dramatic. It’s inspiring.
It’s also almost certainly a myth.
Historians like David Golinkin have pointed out that the dreidel didn't really show up in Jewish literature until much, much later. The game actually seems to be a Jewish adaptation of a German game called "Trendel." The Germans got it from the English and Irish, who played a game called "Teetotum" as far back as the 1500s.
The letters on those original European tops weren't Hebrew. They were Latin: P (Post/Put), N (Nihil/Nothing), H (Half), and T (Totum/Whole). When the game migrated into the Jewish communities of Germany and Eastern Europe, the letters were simply swapped for Hebrew ones that sounded similar or meant the same thing. Over time, the religious meaning was back-filled to give the gambling game a spiritual "why." That’s the beauty of Jewish tradition—we’re very good at taking a common secular thing and making it feel like it was ours all along.
The psychology of the pot
You don't play for real money. Not usually. You play for gelt.
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Historically, gelt was real coins given to teachers or children during the holiday. Today, it’s almost exclusively those gold-foil-wrapped chocolate discs that taste slightly like wax but somehow feel like luxury when you're winning. Some families use raisins, nuts, or plastic chips.
The stakes feel remarkably high. I’ve seen grown adults get genuinely heated over a "Gimel" streak. There is no skill involved. None. You can try to "snap" it with a certain torque or use a flicking motion, but once the dreidel hits the table, physics takes over. It’s pure, unadulterated luck. Maybe that’s why it’s so popular. In a religion that places a massive emphasis on study, merit, and deed, the dreidel is a brief vacation into the chaos of the universe.
Different types of tops
Not all dreidels are created equal. You have the cheap plastic ones that come in bags of fifty. They’re light, they’re colorful, and they usually have a terrible center of gravity. Then you have the heavy wooden ones that feel substantial in your hand and can spin for a solid minute if the surface is smooth.
Collectors go even further. You’ll find silver dreidels, glass dreidels, and even "techno-dreidels" that light up and play "I Have a Little Dreidel" on a loop until you want to throw them out a window.
The miracle of the oil (and the math)
Why do we play it on Hanukkah? Because the holiday celebrates the victory of the Maccabees and the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem. According to the Talmud, there was only enough consecrated oil to light the menorah for one day, but it miraculously lasted for eight.
The dreidel serves as a reminder of that "Great Miracle."
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But let’s talk math. If you're wondering what is the dreidel from a statistical standpoint, it’s a zero-sum game. However, because the pot is replenished when it gets too low (usually by everyone putting in one coin), the game can theoretically go on forever. This is why most Hanukkah parties end not because someone won all the chocolate, but because the latkes are ready or someone’s toddler had a meltdown.
Modern spins and cultural impact
The dreidel has leaked into the broader culture in ways you wouldn't expect. There is an actual Major League Dreidel (MLD) based in New York. They have "Spinners" with nicknames like "The Hebrew Hammer" or "Spin Diesel." They compete for the longest spin time, rather than the gambling aspect. It’s as ridiculous and wonderful as it sounds.
Then there’s the music. The "Dreidel Song" is arguably one of the most recognizable holiday tunes in the Western world. Written by Samuel Goldfarb, it’s a simple earworm that reinforces the "clay" origin of the toy, even though most modern dreidels are definitely plastic.
How to actually win (or at least not lose your mind)
If you find yourself invited to a Hanukkah party this year, don't just sit there. Jump in. Here is the unofficial guide to surviving a dreidel circle:
- Check the surface: Avoid tablecloths. They create friction. You want a hard, flat surface like a wooden table or a stone countertop.
- The "Stem" grip: Don't grab it by the body. Use your thumb and index finger to grip the very top of the stem. Give it a sharp, quick twist.
- Mind the pot: If the pot is empty, everyone puts one in. If it has one coin, everyone usually puts one in to make it worth the spin.
- Don't eat your winnings immediately: If you eat your chocolate gelt, you have no capital left to bet. It’s a rookie mistake. Hold your hoard until the game is officially called.
Acknowledging the nuance
It's worth noting that some ultra-Orthodox communities historically frowned upon the dreidel because of the gambling association. Gambling is generally looked down upon in Jewish law (halacha). However, because the stakes are low and it’s for "the sake of the holiday," most authorities gave it a pass. It became a "custom" (minhag), and in Judaism, a long-standing custom can carry almost as much weight as a law.
Moving forward with your spin
Knowing what is the dreidel gives you a window into how culture survives. It's a mix of adaptation, resilience, and a bit of fun. It’s a toy that shouldn’t have survived the Middle Ages but did because it was small enough to hide in a pocket and significant enough to carry a story.
Actionable Next Steps:
- Get a "real" one: If you're going to play, skip the 10-cent plastic ones. Find a solid wooden or heavy cast-metal dreidel. The weight makes the spin much more satisfying.
- Upgrade the gelt: Forget the waxy supermarket chocolate. Use high-quality dark chocolate coins or even "fancy" gelt from local chocolatiers. It makes the "Gimel" win feel way more earned.
- Teach the acronym: When you're playing, remind people of the Nes Gadol Hayah Sham. It adds a layer of meaning to what is otherwise just a frantic grab for candy.
- Try a "Spin-Off": Instead of the gambling rules, try the MLD style. Set a timer and see who can keep their top upright the longest. It’s harder than it looks.
The dreidel is one of those rare objects that is exactly what it looks like—a toy—while also being a historical puzzle. It’s a link to the past that still works perfectly in the present. Spin it, win some chocolate, and remember that sometimes, the best way to keep a tradition alive is just to play a game.