Rabbi Neil Tow
This week’s Torah portion is Mikeitz: Genesis 41:1 – 44:17.
Some of us spell it “Hanukkah.”
And others spell it “Chanukah.”
Josephus calls it “Festival of Lights” since our “right to worship … was brought to light.” An Israeli friend of mine calls it, “Hasmonean Independence Day.”
According to the Talmud, the rabbis ask, “What is Chanukah?”
They answer their own question:
“The Greeks entered the Sanctuary and defiled the oils there. When the Hasmoneans overcame them and emerged victorious, they searched and found only one cruse of oil placed with the seal of the High Priest. There was sufficient oil to only light [the menorah] for one day, but a miracle occurred and they lit it for eight days. The next year they made those days holidays with Hallel and thanksgiving.” (Shabbat 21b)
The key event here that inspires the holiday is the chanukat ha’Bayit, the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem, with the miraculous lighting of the Temple menorah as the central symbolic moment of that rededication.
Rashi’s commentary suggests the Sages established the holiday specifically due to the miracle of the oil that lasted for eight days.
It can also be miraculous when a human being persists beyond expected limits through physical pain, mental anguish and spiritual uncertainty. These forces have the power to reduce and debilitate us. Then we watch someone finish a marathon, complete a degree while raising a family and working or continue on after a tragedy that upends their life.
Often with the help and support of others, the person can take one more step and find light on the other side of adversity. Their achievements and example strengthen us.
Faith and hope can also keep our inner candles burning, as we read in Proverbs, “The life breath of a human being is the candle of God.” (Prov. 20:27)
We think at this moment of the hostages still being held in Gaza — in darkness and dread — far from their families and loved ones.
We pray they somehow, in some way, feel the collective light of millions of candles burning around the world through the eight days of Chanukah.
We pray the Jewish people around the world feel uplifted by the collective power of the lights shining from windows to publicize the miracle and rekindle our strength and resolve.
When we recite the blessings, sing the songs and chant Hallel, we are exercising our souls.
The Sefat Emet, Rabbi Yehudah Leib Alter of Ger, explains, “By recognizing their salvation and expressing heartfelt thanks, Bnei Yisrael (the Jewish people) drew the miracle’s light into the world for generations.” In other words, each time we sing the words and light the candles, we’re feeling the impact of the spiritual gift of generations past, and we’re paying it forward to future generations.
How do we celebrate, though, when our people are suffering here and abroad? How do we rejoice when people and synagogues are under attack, when antisemitism in all its forms is surging, when we may not feel safe?
In such a moment, we may choose to light the candles in the same way many held a silent hakkafah on Simchat Torah. We continue to pray and hope, but in a spirit of steadfastness and solidarity rather than the spirit of rousing song and dance. We light like the lighthouse keeper who stands watch at all times to ensure others have the strength and ability to find their way home.
As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z”l, teaches, “A candle of hope may seem a small thing, but on it the very survival of a civilization may depend.” This is Chanukah.
Rabbi Neil Tow is the rabbi at Congregation Sha’are Shalom in Leesburg, Virginia.
