בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְותָיו וְצִוָּנוּ לַעֲסוק בְּדִבְרֵי תורָה:
Blessing for Torah Study
Barukh Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melekh Ha'Olam Asher Kideshanu Bemitzvotav Vetzivanu La'asok Bedivrei Torah
Blessed are you Adonai, our God, Sovereign of Eternity, who has made us holy through Your mitzvot (sacred callings) and called upon us to immerse ourselves in the words of Torah.
מאי חנוכה
The Gemara asks: What is Hanukkah, and why are lights kindled on Hanukkah?
In the apocryphal books, the story of the people of Israel during the Hellenistic period places special stress on the battles and victories of the Hasmonean (Maccabee) family. The war fought by the Hasmoneans is given a religious meaning; it was a struggle against the suppression of Judaism, culminating in the purification and rededication of the Temple of Jerusalem. The rededication took eight days; hence the eight days of Hanukkah.
The Gemara asks: What is Hanukkah, and why are lights kindled on Hanukkah? The Gemara answers: The Sages taught in Megillat Ta’anit: On the twenty-fifth of Kislev, the days of Hanukkah are eight. One may not eulogize on them and one may not fast on them. What is the reason? When the Greeks entered the Sanctuary they defiled all the oils that were in the Sanctuary by touching them. And when the Hasmonean monarchy overcame them and emerged victorious over them, they searched and found only one cruse of oil that was placed with the seal of the High Priest, undisturbed by the Greeks. And there was sufficient oil there to light the candelabrum for only one day. A miracle occurred and they lit the candelabrum from it eight days. The next year the Sages instituted those days and made them holidays with recitation of hallel and special thanksgiving in prayer and blessings.
The fact that different Jewish communities have found various meanings in Hanukkah drives home the truth about all religious rituals. They thrive only when they mean something to people, when they externalize deeply felt concerns. Often, when we are attached to a ritual, we will infuse it with special meaning or manifest some latent significance in it. In other cases a ritual may fall out of use for lack of contemporary impact. Yet, the Jews have had the wisdom to keep even underutilized rituals on the books. As circumstances change, we may rediscover their power at some time later on.
A favorite rabbinic question concerning Hanukkah is, What is the miracle of the first day, since there was enough oil in the cruse to burn for that day?
To my mind, the answer that comes closest to the meaning of Hanukkah is that the miracle the first day was the deep faith that it took to light the menorah, knowing there was not enough oil for eight days. That same faith led the Maccabees to revolt against impossible odds, to strike like hammers and scatter sparks of revolt in the hills of Judea. They believed they would prevail "not by strength, nor by power, but through My spirit--says the Lord." This faith allowed them to light the menorah, and it is this faith that made it burn for eight days. It is the miracle of faith despite darkness, and of belief in the growth of light in the depths of winter.
In reflecting on the miraculous nature of the Hanuka lights, Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter, the Grer Rebbe and late-19th-century author of the S'fat Emet, described the Hanuka candles as embodying the divine light that illuminated the Temple. He said that with the right intention, lighting the Hanuka candles could be a path to recovering the hidden light and purity within our own souls.
Hanuka may be seen as Judaism's answer to seasonal affective disorder (SAD), or as its winter solstice practice. In the longest darkness of winter, we kindle a growing number of lights to remind ourselves that spring will come and life will emerge once more. In this context, placing the Hanuka lamp in the window serves a different purpose of pirsum hanes, publicizing the miracle, and making it a more universal miracle of hope in the midst of despair and darkness.
This is an excerpt from an essay by Chaim Potok recalling Hanukkah 1938. The reference to burning synagogues refers to the wholesale destruction of temples in Germany during the Nazi-inspired riots of Kristallnacht.
I wanted a miracle. But there were no miracles during that Hanukkah. Where was God? I kept dreaming of burning synagogues.
On the eighth and final night of the festival I stood with my parents in front of the burning candles. The darkness mocked their light. I could see my parents glancing at me. My mother sighed. Then my father murmured my name.
“You want another miracle?” he asked wearily.
I did not respond.
“Yes,” he said, “You want another miracle.” He was silent a moment. Then he said, in a gentle, urging voice, “I also want another miracle. But if it does not come, we will make a human miracle. We will give the world the special gifts of our Jewishness. We will not let the world burn out our souls.”
The candles glowed feebly against the dark window.
“Sometimes I think man is a greater miracle-maker than God,” my father said tiredly, looking at the candles. “God does not have to live day after day on this broken planet. Perhaps you will learn to make your own miracles.”
I lay awake a long time that night and did not believe my father could ever teach me that. But now, decades later, I think he taught me well. And I am trying hard to teach it to my own children.