Let us begin with a story.
Pearl Beinish recounts the tale of the last Chanukah in the death camp of Auschwitz Birkenau. It was 1945, and a righteous gentile handed a girl named Rivkah a small package. Miraculously, it contained two candies, two matches, and two tiny candles. He vanished as quickly as he had come, but the gift was authentic. Rivkah hastened to display this present from heaven, explaining that, according to her calculations, that night was the first night of Chanukah. Somehow, she lit a small flame, recited the first brocha, and set the candle aglow.
Suddenly, the darkness of Auschwitz was dispelled, and the light shone through. Tears glistened in everyone’s eyes as they sang Maoz Tzur. Time stood still, and for an instant, it seemed as if geulah was on the horizon. Indeed, liberation was not far off, and those tiny flames glowed like brilliant suns. Rivkah mustered the words to speak: “My dear friends,” she said, her voice firm yet trembling. “Klal Yisroel has survived countless tragedies. The Bais Hamikdosh was destroyed and it seemed as if all was lost. But during our golus, we found new life and drew closer to Hashem in our suffering. Tonight, once more, we have experienced the miracle of Chanukah. The eternal flame of our nation has returned to us. Let us not lose hope, for Hashem sends light even into the deepest darkness.” Everyone then chanted the ancient words, “Avenge the vengeance of Your servant’s blood from the wicked nation” (Sefer Haruach Shegovrah Al Hadarkon).
The Sefer Rokeiach teaches that the 36 neiros of Chanukah correspond to the 36 hours during which the primordial light, known as the ohr hagonuz, shone at the dawn of creation. But what is the link to the creation of the world?
Rav Dovid Cohen, rosh yeshiva of Yeshivas Chevron, explains (Yemei Chanukah, 5764 edition, page 98), citing the Leshem, that “from the beginning of the second Bais Hamikdosh, the gates of Torah were opened, and a new light emerged for Klal Yisroel.” With this principle, we can understand why the Rambam (Hilchos Chanukah 3:1) begins his discussion of the halachos of Chanukah by noting that these miracles occurred during the era of the second Bais Hamikdosh.
My rebbi, Rav Yitzchok Hutner, in several maamorim (Pachad Yitzchok, Chanukah 10:1, 13:1), highlights two seemingly contradictory accounts regarding the second Bais Hamikdosh. On the one hand, “in the time of the second Bais Hamikdosh, heresy arose within Klal Yisrael” (Rambam, Hilchos Avodas Yom Hakippurim 1:7). On the other hand, “the second Bais Hamikdosh was destined to surpass the first in glory” (Chagai 2:9). Moreover, “Ezra was so great that the Torah could have been given through him” (Sanhedrin 21b). Rav Hutner resolves this apparent conflict by explaining that “an elder who has forgotten his Torah must still be honored, as if he could yet instruct Torah” (see Brachos 8b). Although I am simplifying the rosh yeshiva’s extensive words, one conclusion is that Chanukah effectively rendered all of Klal Yisroel like a zakein sheshochach talmudo, still retaining the imprints and illumination of Torah.
This is the antidote to the Greeks’ objective of making us forget our Torah. It may appear to be lost, but it can never be entirely erased and can reemerge on multiple levels. Chanukah serves as a yearly opportunity to rekindle our ancestral ardor and affection for Torah. Even if we have been influenced by the Yevonim, our Yiddishe DNA will inevitably reignite, even through something as simple as lighting a candle. While researching a narrative for my recent book, Days of Gratitude, Days of Triumph, I knew that the rosh yeshiva, Rav Chaim Stein, experienced his own neis Chanukah, but I had not fully grasped the magnitude of that event. I was privileged to learn from his family the deeper significance of what occurred.
In the frigid wilderness of Siberia, Rav Chaim Stein and sixteen Telzer bochurim heard an impossible knock on their train door. A supposed “Cossack” offered two candles in exchange for something they conveniently had on hand. After lighting these candles with great joy, they all concluded that they had likely been visited by Eliyahu Hanovi.
To borrow from my rebbi, during the second Bais Hamikdosh, minus—heresy—had crept into the bloodstream of Klal Yisroel, yet they also merited a new style of writing from Ezra Hasofer and the gift of Torah Shebaal Peh through the early Tannaim. The darkness was indeed grim and desolate, but it also introduced blessings—the joy of uncovering novel ideas, interpretations, and depths in Torah that awaited discovery. This is one of the paradoxes of both Chanukah and the second Bais Hamikdosh. As Rav Tzadok Hakohein of Lublin writes (in Pri Tzaddik, Chanukah), “It was through the evil decrees and suffering [under the Greeks] that Klal Yisroel was granted the light of the Torah.”
Rav Cohen expresses it even more poetically, stating that “Hashem consoled us by revealing to us the secrets of His holy Torah.” We learn in Pirkei Avos that the rule for all spiritual attainment is lefum tzaara agra—the reward is perfectly commensurate with the effort and pain involved. This principle is nowhere more apparent than in the saga of Chanukah. As we noted last week, the Chashmonaim were criticized for seizing the monarchy from shevet Yehudah, but they remained “Your holy Kohanim” because even the negative aspects of the new kingdom—founded upon the mesirus nefesh of the Chashmonaim—produced light from darkness. Rav Tzadok concludes that yegiah in Torah is also challenging and arduous, but its fruits are everlasting and forever gratifying.
We should add that one way in which Klal Yisroel stands in direct opposition to the Yevonim is our readiness to endure hardship. The Greeks aspired only to self-indulgence and hedonistic pleasure, while we were prepared to risk our very lives—mesirus nefesh in the fullest sense—and were rewarded with the sublime joy of the loftiest Torah study, including the unveiling of its hidden layers. The Leshem (Sefer Hakellalim 2:3:10) points out that “all miracles are essentially the disclosure of another dimension of Hashem’s holy light.” This grants us a fresh perspective on the miracles of Chanukah: Hashem was not merely rescuing us or bestowing new insight. Our afflictions provided an opening to perceive how Hashem governs His world and elevates His people.
The Maharal (see Siddur, introduction to Al Hanissim) teaches that the sole reason for the miracle of the oil was to highlight Hashem’s role in our triumph over the Greeks. To prevent us from thinking “My strength and the power of my hand” accomplished this, Hashem granted us two miracles, one illuminating the other. Just as the menorah’s lights burned supernaturally, so every victory was orchestrated by the Hand of Hashem.
Rav Chaim Stein and the Telzer bochurim experienced a neis within teva, epitomizing the essence of Chanukah. The “Cossack,” an almost transparent messenger of Hashem, mirrors the candle that burned for eight days, where the few overcame the many. We often witness this in our own lives, though we may not immediately recognize Hashem’s intervention. Yaakov Astor has eloquently documented Hashem’s Hand in history in these very pages, and each of us can detect it beckoning within our personal stories. It is the Chanukah lichtel that empowers us to open our eyes to this frequently overlooked gift from our Father in heaven.
A lichtigen Chanukah to all.
