Chanukah has always held a special place in Jewish hearts. Perhaps it is because the Rambam calls it a mitzvah chavivah ad me’od, but more likely, the Rambam himself is referring to some special delight that Yidden have always felt for the Yom Tov of lights. Let’s explore a bit about this unique relationship.
My rebbi, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, whose yahrtzeit (20 Kislev) ushers in Chanukah, asks a powerful question about our celebration. We all recite in Al Hanissim that the Greeks attempted lehashkichom Torasecha, to make us forget the Torah. We proclaim that we won, but didn’t we lose that one? The Gemara (Chagigah 16a) tells us that it was during the Greek occupation of Eretz Yisroel that machlokes, arguments, about the Torah began. In other words, because the Yevonim instituted harsh decrees against learning Torah, some halachos were forgotten, resulting in disagreements about the correct halacha. Since the Torah has ever since been replete with machlokes, doesn’t that mean that the Yevonim succeeded?
Rav Hutner answers that, in fact, the exact opposite is true. The Gemara (Eruvin 13b) teaches that when there is genuine disagreement between great talmidei chachomim, especially the holy Tannaim and Amoraim, both are actually correct. One example, with a Chanukah connection, is the famous teaching of the Arizal that in this world we follow the rulings of Bais Hillel, but in the World to Come, we will follow those of Bais Shamai. In the case of Chanukah, this means that on the first night we will light eight neiros, the second seven, counting down to one on the last night. Although it is hard to imagine now, this is something to consider for the future. In any case, we take note that a seeming negative became a net positive in the Hands of Hashem.
This fact brings to mind a fascinating epigram from one of the Gerrer Rebbes that is actually taught in relation to Chanukah (see Be’er Chaim, Chanukah, page 52, note 40). A man complained to the Pnei Menachem about the many troubles he was experiencing in life. The rebbe answered him with a story about his own youth. He related that he had been in a bank and witnessed two people entering to perform transactions. One came with a satchel full of money that he deposited with the teller. The other left with a large amount of money. “In my childish eyes,” the rebbe described, “I thought that the second man was the fortunate one, since he left with so much cash. To me, the first man seemed to be the unfortunate one, since he left empty-handed. However, after many years, I realized that the truth was the exact opposite. The first man was wealthy and he was depositing his money for safe-keeping in a secure place. The man who left with a large amount of currency had just obtained a large loan that he would soon have to repay, with a healthy addition of interest. This taught me an important life’s lesson. When something is taken away from you, it is not always to your detriment, and when you are given something, it is not always to your benefit.”
When I heard this story and the rebbe’s object lesson, I thought of Rav Hutner’s teaching about our hidden Chanukah triumph. Hashem showed how a downfall can lead to a windfall if we have emunah and bitachon. Indeed, my rebbi famously commented (Pachad Yitzchok, Igros Ukesavim 128, page 217) that when Shlomo Hamelech declared that “although the tzaddik may fall seven times, he will arise” (Mishlei 24:16), it doesn’t mean that despite falling he will arise. He will get up stronger than before because he fell. He encouraged a bochur who felt that he lost a battle with the yeitzer hara to think that he may “lose battles but win wars.”
This also answers another ancient question. We thank Hashem in Al Hanissim for our salvation and triumph. But why do we also thank our Creator for the wars themselves?
The answer is that our ability and willingness to engage in battle, to “fight the good fight,” is itself the greatest of gifts. To paraphrase the Pnei Menachem, although Yaakov Avinu left limping after the battle with Eisav’s emissary, that was a net gain, not a loss. The bochur with his struggles was winning and went home with the prize because hadn’t left the battlefield at all. That, too, was the triumph of the Chashmonaim and us all.
We can hear the echoes of this approach also in an answer Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv (quoted by Rav Yitzchok Zilberstein, Chashukei Chemed, Chanukah, page 35) gave to another ancient question. We are all enthralled with the miracle of Chanukah. However, Chazal (see Medrash Tanchuma, Tetzaveh 3) describe the tremendous miracles that happened with the menorah in the Bais Hamikdosh. Indeed, the fact that the menorah often burned miraculously from one Rosh Hashanah to the next seems to eclipse the beloved neis Chanukah we are about to celebrate. Rav Elyashiv answers that, as the Mishnah (Avos 5:5) depicts, when the Bais Hamikdash stood proudly, these miracles were constant and almost expected. However, after destruction and being defiled, after incursions and breaches, the Chanukah miracle stands not only as testimony, but as daily inspiration in our own lives. We can experience loss and failure, the statistics can be against us, and we can feel unworthy and fallen. But the bright Chanukah lights reassure us that we will arise better than before.
With all of this in mind, we can turn to the wisdom of the Chasam Sofer (Drashos for Chanukah I, page 67a) to understand a cryptic reference in the Chanukah story. We recite in Al Hanissim that the Chashmonaim lit the neiros b’chatzros kodshecha, in the outer sections of the Bais Hamikdash. The problem is that the menorah is lit in the inner Heichal. The Chasam Sofer quotes the Rambam (Hilchos Bais Hamikdosh 9:7) that a non-kohein was permitted to light the menorah if a kohein had already prepared the wicks and oil and brought the menorah out to where a zar was permitted to enter. At the time of Chanukah, the Heichal had been defiled by idols and other abominations and was therefore an inappropriate place to light the menorah. It was therefore lit outdoors in the chotzer. Hence we use the term chatzros kodshecha.
The lighting in the chotzeir also symbolizes the fact that the light of the Chanukah menorah shone through the darkness of many exiles and travails to illuminate Klal Yisroel in our times of trouble. It was not an inner protected lighting. It was out in the open, extending its incandescence into the void and obscurity of many trials and tribulations. That chotzer is the lives that we all lead — not in the protection of the pristine Bais Hamikdosh, but after bitter wars and enmity, after seemingly endless suffering and pain, the light is there shining brightly. To give the Chasam Sofer the final word, “Ufurkan kehayom hazeh” — the light of the Chashmonaim burns just as brightly as ever. If not for them, the Torah might indeed have been forgotten, but now we have not only the basic Torah, but all the takanos and seyogim Chazal have granted us so that we could continue to survive until the great light of Moshiach shines upon us, may it come speedily in our days.
