Chanukah is remarkable in a number of ways. Jewish holidays are typically marked by physical actions one is required to do and prohibitions—some combination of a requirement to eat (or refrain), a prohibition on certain labor, or certain physical actions (such as building a sukkah, etc.). Chanukah, however, has no prohibition on work, there is essentially no positive command to eat, and the holiday of Chanukah has, essentially, a single mitzvah: lighting the menorah. Why is Chanukah so unadorned by physical prohibitions or requirements?
Indeed, the menorah’s apparent centrality is itself a perplexity. Why is the menorah miracle the central reason for the holiday? What about the heroic resistance, war and then victory over the Greeks? Even answering that Hashem decided to make the miracle just refocuses the question: Why did Hashem choose the menorah to be the vehicle for a miraculous event in addition to the victory and rededication—events that would seemingly have provided the basis for quite a jolly holiday by themselves?
To answer these questions, we have to understand the historical context from which Chanukah emerged. Prior to this era, the Jewish people reliably had prophets (neviim) to remind them of what is objectively right and wrong. The neviim spoke with confidence as to what Hashem wanted—because Hashem, of course, spoke directly to them. However, the last neviim were Chaggai, Zecharya and Malachi during the beginning of the Second Beit Hamikdash. By the time of Chanukah, it was quite clear that the era of the neviim was over.
Knowing what Hashem wants in any situation one has not previously been faced with is now a premium skill, and the obligation of deducing such knowledge could no longer be received passively from the neviim. And when one used to a certain path is faced with a new pressure, there are three approaches to take: ignore the new situation, capitulate to the pressure and take the easiest path provided, or carefully reflect and rigorously resolve the new situation with one’s existing understanding.
Unfortunately, many of the Jews of that era responded to the new challenges by capitulating and gravitating toward Greek culture at the expense of Judaism. The Sadducees, for their part, insisted that there was no Torah she’baal peh and could only accept the literal words of the Bible. The Maccabees resisted both, and Chanukah was, and celebrates, the Jewish people’s first attempt to grapple with their newfound post-nevuah responsibility of attempting to resolve the new situation with one’s existing understanding.
They did well. Sefer Maccabim (I 2:29-37) describes that the Maccabees originally refused to fight on Shabbat and were killed as a result. Yehuda Macabbee then, after apparently struggling with how such a result could occur to a revolt seemingly in accordance with Hashem’s will, worked hard and came upon the drasha that one is permitted to violate Shabbat in order to save a Jewish life.
This drasha, and the talmud Torah that brought it to light, resulted in the victory over the Greeks. In turn, this era marks the acceleration of the development of the Torah she’baal peh by the rabbis. The chachamim further refined the Torah she’baal peh by delving deeper and deeper into pesukim through the midot she’haTorah nidreshet bahem and the other traditions that were handed down to actively figure out what Hashem required, a burden borne today by our community’s Torah leaders.
The menorah miracle was necessary because the menorah neatly encapsulates the theme of the holiday regarding the internal, private, day-to-day struggles of the post-nevuah world. The pasuk tells us ki ner mitzvah v’Torah ohr, “the commandment is a lamp and the Torah is a light and the way of life, instruction and reproof.” The menorah was in the south-facing part of the Beit Hamikdash, and the Talmud mentions that one should pray toward the south if one seeks to pray for additional wisdom. Finally, the menorah and talmud Torah are alike in their requirement of being “tamid”—perpetual through thick and thin. Moreover, in the menorah service the oil is completely consumed, clearly making the menorah a symbol of an internal world.
The menorah serves as a reminder to reject both simply capitulating to outside pressure and the “way of the world” as well as simply focusing on what one does well without self-reflection. Rav Schachter, shlita, notes that Rav Yaakov Emden asks that the Mishnah tells us that liquids in the Beit Hamikdash can never become impure. So why was there a need for a miracle to allow them to rely on pure oil, especially only enough for one day? Perhaps we can explain that the Chashmonaim still used the one remaining bottle of pure oil on the first day as a symbol of their victory over those who had attempted to
capitulate to the Greek pressure. On the other hand, the elevation of the menorah over the victory, as many sefarim explain, also cues us to the Chashmonaim’s failure to implement Yehuda HaMaccabi
careful self-reflection in their governing. After the bright lights of the battlefield had died, the Chashmonaim took the kingship even though they were not from the tribe of Yehuda, and the governance that followed was filled with corruption and infighting. Ultimately, they became dominated by forces across the Mediterranean quite similar to those that the original Chashmonaim had rebelled against.
There is enormous tension and stress inherent in the conflicting priorities of a Torah lifestyle—prioritizing one’s personal talmud Torah and spiritual growth, working and supporting oneself, raising a well-adjusted family, and participating in communal life. Such is the Torah way: not to give up and capitulate, or simply follow one’s instincts, but to reflect, struggle and reconcile it all. Supporting such private, personal struggle is the challenge of our communal era after the completion of the big, public battles of being able to be a Sabbath-observant Jew in society and building institutions and communities. Moreover, whether looking to inspire youth to remain religious or non-observant to become so, I believe this message may be more inspiring than styling Judaism in pop culture-like glossy, easy and simplistic terms, at least to those (and that being just about everyone) who live lives that are more challenge than gloss.
Pop culture glamorizes following your heart, perfection and those who have it easy, but Chanukah, and really Judaism generally, celebrates seeking light in the darkness.
By Rabbi A. B. Felsenthal
