The Light of Hannukah
The lesson and promise of Hannukah, much like the winter solstice, is that no matter how dark it gets, Hashem will always rekindle the flame.
I’ve long adored the joyous days of Hannukah, not just sizzling latkes in hot oil and jelly-stuffed sufganyot, but also illuminating the dark pit of winter with flickering candles which so magically and tenderly usher warmth and love into a world that sometimes feels like its tipping over into despair and capitulating to forces of evil. Now that we’re approaching the month of Kislev, I’ve started to wonder what Hannukah will look like this year, with our brethren fighting in Gaza and 240+ souls of Am Yisrael still trapped in unspeakable horror. A video circulated recently showing IDF soldiers blasting Kabbalat Shabbat from the loudspeakers of a muezzin in Gaza, hoping the holy melodies would reach the hostages. If we’re still neutralizing terrorists and rescuing our people by Hannukah, maybe our heroes on the frontlines will do the same: light candles in Gaza, publicly, imploring Hashem from the innermost chambers of their hearts that the hostages should feel the light aglow in their souls and have their spirits raised. Maybe Chabad will show up (I give it 50% odds), planting their massive menorahs on the sandy beaches of Gaza City and the rubble of collapsed buildings. That would be a hoot, wouldn’t it. Chabad of Gaza. After UAE normalization, anything is possible. Just wait for Chabad of Riyadh five years out.
At home growing up each of us 3 boys had our own menorah. Some had animals for candles (I remember lions, pandas and moneys) and some were more elegant, with curves of silver stretching up to the base of each candle dripping in wax. Boston winters are not for the faint of heart. They are cold, long and dark. The streets and sidewalks are covered in ice. Without gloves and earmuffs your fingers and ears turn red and numb in the unforgiving air. Therefore we welcomed the festive holiday each year with open arms, ready to light the flickering candles on the windowsill for all the neighbors and snowplows to see.
In his sefer on Channukah, Ner Mitzvah, the Maharal points out that the 25th of Kislev is an auspicious date for the first night of Hannukah. It’s not only the day when the Maccabees first lit the menorah with the small remaining jug of pure oil after defeating the Syrian Greeks and restoring the Second Temple. It’s also the winter solstice: the very darkest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, when the North Pole reaches its maximum tilt away from the sun. However the winter solstice is also when the days start to become incrementally longer and light begins to expand in the world. In other words, Hannukah is precisely when darkness transitions from its peak and slowly begins to weaken its grip on reality, writes Rabbi AY Jacobs. It is precisely then that the little but miraculously burning light was rekindled in the Temple.
A wave of darkness seems to be spread over Am Yisrael right now. After the sickening atrocities perpetrated by Hamas, a torrent of protests, riots, stabbings, murder, even attempted pogroms, have erupted against Jews and Israel across the globe. A 69-year Jewish man was killed in LA at a rally by a blow to the head. A young female Rabbi was stabbed in Detroit. Another women was killed at her home in Paris, where swastikas were spraypainted on the wall. The fate of the State of Israel and the fate of Jews worldwide have always been intertwined, but now with the shameless resolve and ruthless hatred of our enemies becoming revealed—emboldened by the pride and glee with which Hamas committed their terror—the common destiny of Jews living in our ancient homeland and those remaining abroad in exile has never been more clear. The darkness is spread not only the seven million Jews in Israel but roughly the same number living overseas. We feel outnumbered and alone, with hostile neighbors standing not only at the fences of Israel’s borders but the gates of our universities. Many have already infiltrated. We feel betrayed. We feel loss. We feel frustration and despair, engulfed in the thick, palpable darkness. I know I’m not alone in saying sometimes I can’t sleep at night. The terror is overwhelming; the silence of people we considered our friends and allies palpable. Suffice to say, it’s a hard time and we are not alright.
But! And there is always a but. The lesson and promise of Hannukah—much like the winter solstice—is that no matter how dark it gets, Hashem will always rekindle the flame. From the smallest amount of pure oil, the world will once again illuminate in goodness, kindness, laughter, joy and glory. Until Hannukah the days become darker. The sun sets earlier. The night becomes longer. But just when it seems like it can’t get any darker, something switches. The seed of Am Yisrael who thought itself buried will find itself planted. Together we will will light thousands and millions of chanukiahs across the globe. Together will publicize the miracle and spread light across the world, illuminating even the darkest rooms.
And as we will soon sing in Ma Otzur with the scent of frying potatoes and onions suffusing our homes,
My soul was sated with misery, My strength was spent with grief. They embittered my life with hardship, Enslaved under the rule of Egypt. But God with his mighty power Brought out His treasured people; While Pharaoh's host and followers Sank like a stone into the deep.
So too shall we prevail in the current war, and with God’s help way before Hannukah even!
To conclude on a Zionist note, I recently discovered that in the late 60’s, the poet and composer Naomi Shemer visited the Israeli strongholds along the Suez Canal during the War of Attrition. It was during the days of Ḥanukkah and she was so impressed by the spirit and resolve of the soldiers singing Ma’oz Tzur at the top of their lungs. That experience inspired her to write this poem, representing the spirit of the original Ma’Oz Tzur — that despite the trials and travails we endure, despite the bitter darkness, we will prevail. The poem and music were first released in 1971. Here is the original performance by the IDF band. It is a moving video, and I encourage you to watch it. The words in English are below.
O Refuge and Rock of my salvation Whom we praise in pleasance. Far, far away, beside my home, orchards exude their fragrance. I will pass through all the tunnels, caverns and fortresses, Through grottoes rocky and trenches dusty.. Somewhere in the depths of night, someone intent lies, Seeking my life, observing silently.
O Refuge and Rock of my salvation, unwavering, unyielding stronghold and trove. Almond trees beside my home are covered white with blossom down the grove. I will pass through all the tunnels, caverns and fortresses, through grottoes rocky and trenches dusty. Somewhere in the depths of night, someone intent lies, Seeking my life, watching me silently.
O Refuge and Rock of my salvation in endless battle victorious. My sister Ayelet's smile will be tinged with all her weariness. I will pass through all the tunnels, caverns and fortresses, through grottoes rocky and trenches dusty. Somewhere in the depths of night, someone intent lies, Seeking my life, in ambush silently.
Woe upon him I sting, woe upon him from my honey's taste; Woe upon him who seeks my life to take
