Chasing Away Inner Darkness
Ayelet Brodt and Lia Sonderling, Grade 10
One of the most self-evident explanations behind lighting Chanukah candles is that we are publicizing the miracle that took place during the times of the Maccabees, the miracle of a flask of oil that lasted eight days, when it should have only burned for one. While this explanation certainly has merit, the question arises as to whether there could be a deep meaning behind the Candles that for eight nights, adorn our windows.
The Baal Shem Tov provides insight on this question by bringing in the concept of the gematria of the word ‘light’. He explains that the gematria of the word ‘light’ is 207, identical to that of the word ‘raz’, translating into secret. At first glance, there seems to be a sense of irony to the peculiar connection of these two words; where light at its very nature illuminates the darkness, secrets often thrive in such darkness, in the absence of light. However, upon further reflection, there is a significant connection between the concept of ‘light’ and ‘secret’. When one is aware that another individual has a secret, particularly one that causes that person shame or grief, one can shine the light of kindness and understanding into that person’s life, thereby chasing away the darkness that feeds the heaviness of that secret.
באנו חושך לגרש, בידינו אור ואש
כל אחד הוא אור קטן, וכולנו אור איתן
As immortalized in the popular Chanukah song above, each of us can be a light chasing away what seems to be drowning darkness. May we all have a Chag filled with light!
Chanukah Sameach!
The Menorah in the Window: Lessons on Pirsumei Nisa
Mrs. Sharon Fixler, Assistant Principal
The Yad Vashem website famously contains the verification of this remarkable picture. According to Yad Vashem, “On Hanukkah 1932, just one month before Hitler came to power, Rachel Posner, wife of Rabbi Dr. Akiva Posner, took this photo of the family Hanukkah menorah from the window ledge of the family home looking out on to the building across the road decorated with Nazi flags.
On the back of the photograph, Rachel Posner wrote in German (translated here):
Chanukah 5692 (1932).
“Death to Judah,” so the flag says.
“Judah will live forever,” so the light answers.”
To me, this picture beautifully captures an important element of the mitzvah that we take into account when lighting our Chanukah menorot, that of Pirsumei Nisa, which is Aramaic for ‘publicization of the miracle’. Pirsumei Nisa is a concept discussed in great detail in the Gemara. In particular, there is lots of discussion on where the menorah would be most visible to people walking by. Rabbanim also argued over whether Pirsumei Nisa is relevant only to Jewish people, or if it applies to us publicizing the miracle of Chanukah to non-Jews, too.
The language in the Gemara states that the candles must burn until the tarmudai are no longer in the marketplace. Rashi explains that the tarmudai were non-Jewish wood merchants who sold firewood to customers in the marketplace until it was dark. From this explanation we learn that one fulfills his obligation to publicize the miracle even if the only people who will see the lights are non-Jews.
Rav Soloveitchik concurs with this approach, stating in his sefer Days of Deliverance that: “We do not have to announce to the gentile world that the Jew fights for his physical survival. A Jew is like any other person; he has an instinct for physical survival… However, Hanukkah was a fight for spiritual survival.”
As we know from the Chanukah story, the Greeks did not seek the physical destruction of our nation, rather they sought to destroy our spirituality. For this reason, Pirsumei Nisa on Chanukah applies even to non-Jews.
Considering this approach, the poignant picture of a menorah standing proudly across from a Nazi flag in Germany, circa 1932, is especially meaningful.
Miraculously, the owners of this famous Menorah, Rabbi Posner, Rachel and their three children left Germany for Israel in 1933. While the menorah belongs to Yad Vashem for 51 weeks of the year, Rabbi Posner’s descendants are permitted to take the menorah back each year for the eight days of Chanukah.
During Chanukah, the Posners’ great-grandson, Akiva Baruch Mansbach, named for his great-grandfather, lights their family menorah in Beit Shemesh and reflects on the significance of his act of lighting, as continuing a long tradition of fulfilling the mitzvah of Pirsumei Nisa. A few years ago, Mansbach was interviewed about his tradition of lighting his family menorah. He astutely noted that “whether it’s the Greeks on Hanukkah or the Nazis in Germany, they want the same thing — to destroy the nation of Israel… The menorah symbolizes the strength and continuity of our nation, the idea that it is strong and will conquer all its enemies.”
May we merit to internalize this message of the strength and resiliency of the Jewish people, as we publicize the miracle of Chanukah in our homes this year.
Jelly Doughnuts and the Essence of Chanukah
Noam Eizicovics, Grade 10
Chanukah, a time for eating too many jelly doughnuts, getting too many hugs from relatives we don’t know, and hearing too many people ask the famous question, “Why do we celebrate for eight days if there was enough oil for one and the miracle only lasted for seven?”
As the Gemara in Shabbat 21b says, ולא היה בו אלא להדליק יום אחד נעשה בו נס והדליקו ממנו שמונה ימים, “[a]nd there was sufficient oil there to light the Menorah for only one day. A miracle occurred and they lit the Menorah from it eight days.”
For those who study Gemara, though, a more fundamental question emerges: Why didn’t the Gemara just tell us the answer? Or better yet, knowing the Gemara’s style, why didn’t it tell us a dozen answers? Rava says that finding the oil itself was a miracle, Abaye counters that the military victory counts as a miracle, Rabbi Yosi holds that they used one eighth of the oil each night and so each night was a miracle, and so on. It’s not like the Gemara is afraid of going off on tangents and presenting multiple opinions.
I think we can suggest that the Rabbis of the Gemara did realize their math didn’t add up and that their statement about the oil begged the obvious question. But they intentionally wanted to stimulate discussion and argument. This is similar to the concept we find at the Pesach Seder, where certain steps are included “so that the children will ask questions.” The Rabbis wanted us to produce this question and struggle to answer it, as this process is at the heart of Torah study.
This is especially relevant in the context of Chanukah. While many of the other Jewish holidays follow the traditional and well-known format of “They tried to kill us. We won. Now let’s eat,” Chanukah is unique in that there was a direct attack on Torah study. It was not just our lives that were threatened, but our way of life. כי הם חיינו וארך ימינו.
In order to immunize us against future attacks on the Torah, the rabbis of the Gemara ensured that we would need to engage in the back and forth of Torah study every time Chanukah rolls around. While they may not have been able to foresee the variety of jelly doughnuts and the amount of hugging, they were definitely betting on the opening question of so many Divrei Torah.
Chanukah, a time for eating too many jelly doughnuts, getting too many hugs from relatives we don’t know, and hearing too many people ask the famous question, “Why do we celebrate for eight days if there was enough oil for one and the miracle only lasted for seven?”
As the Gemara in Shabbat 21b says, ולא היה בו אלא להדליק יום אחד נעשה בו נס והדליקו ממנו שמונה ימים, “[a]nd there was sufficient oil there to light the Menorah for only one day. A miracle occurred and they lit the Menorah from it eight days.”
For those who study Gemara, though, a more fundamental question emerges: Why didn’t the Gemara just tell us the answer? Or better yet, knowing the Gemara’s style, why didn’t it tell us a dozen answers? Rava says that finding the oil itself was a miracle, Abaye counters that the military victory counts as a miracle, Rabbi Yosi holds that they used one eighth of the oil each night and so each night was a miracle, and so on. It’s not like the Gemara is afraid of going off on tangents and presenting multiple opinions.
I think we can suggest that the Rabbis of the Gemara did realize their math didn’t add up and that their statement about the oil begged the obvious question. But they intentionally wanted to stimulate discussion and argument. This is similar to the concept we find at the Pesach Seder, where certain steps are included “so that the children will ask questions.” The Rabbis wanted us to produce this question and struggle to answer it, as this process is at the heart of Torah study.
This is especially relevant in the context of Chanukah. While many of the other Jewish holidays follow the traditional and well-known format of “They tried to kill us. We won. Now let’s eat,” Chanukah is unique in that there was a direct attack on Torah study. It was not just our lives that were threatened, but our way of life. כי הם חיינו וארך ימינו.
In order to immunize us against future attacks on the Torah, the rabbis of the Gemara ensured that we would need to engage in the back and forth of Torah study every time Chanukah rolls around. While they may not have been able to foresee the variety of jelly doughnuts and the amount of hugging, they were definitely betting on the opening question of so many Divrei Torah.
