The Lights of Hanukkah
One of the things I love about belonging to a UU congregation is that we get to learn about all kinds of holidays. Last month I spoke about Diwali, which turned out to be even more interesting than I expected it to be. And on Sunday morning I gave my second sermon about Hanukkah. Last year I talked a lot about history; this year, I went for the other side of the story and spoke about the the Hanukkah lights. For anyone who's interested, here it is. Note that the title is stolen from two books edited by Noam Zion and Barbara Spectre; both are listed in the notes below.
Hanukkah: A Different Light
A long time ago in a tiny country far away, a small band of guerilla fighters defeated the armies of a powerful emperor. They recaptured their holy city, took back the temple which their conquerors had defiled, and rededicated it to their God.
The rededication ceremony required the burning of pure, consecrated olive oil in a special lamp. But only one small container of the oil - enough to burn for one day - could be found. It would take eight days to make more. The people decided to go ahead and start the rededication ceremony with the little bit of oil they had, and, miraculously, it burned for eight days.
This is the short version - the very short version - of the story of Hanukkah. The year was 164 BCE, the country Judea. The guerilla fighters were the Maccabees, a Jewish family and their friends who opposed the decree of Emperor Antiochus Epiphanes forbidding all practice of the Jewish religion.
The long version is much, much more complicated, as you may remember if you were here when I talked about it last year. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go through that whole megillah again.
This year, I want to talk about the legend: the miracle of the oil and the light that lasted for eight days. Although there’s no written record of this story until about 700 years after the Maccabee rebellion took place, its re-enactment has become the central symbol of the Hanukkah celebration. And that’s not surprising. There’s something about the flame of a candle or lamp that speaks to everyone, in every culture. It’s such a basic metaphor, in fact, that usually we don’t even bother to unpack it. When we hear a line like “You are the light of the world,” or “It’s better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness,” we know what it means.
But, just for fun, I've made a list of things that a flame can symbolize:
--Higher knowledge or truth
--Teaching, learning, reason, the intellect
--Hope or prayer (as when candles are lit in prayer in a Catholic church)
--Cleansing, purification, or martyrdom
--Life in general or an individual life (as when Shakespeare says "out, out brief candle," or we speak of “burning the candle at both ends”)
--oneness or unity (as in the lighting of the Unity Candle in some Christian weddings, when two lights become one)
--the inner light; the goodness within each of us; the soul
--the holy spirit, the divine
--Passion
--Miracles
--goodness itself
We can see all these things and more in any candle; in the words we use right here every week for the extinguishing of our chalice, we speak of the light of truth, the warmth of community, and the fire of commitment.
The Hanukkah candles, too, encompass all these meanings. But if Hanukkah is a holiday about “the inalienable right to be different,” as one scholar has put it, there must be specifically Jewish meaning to the lights of Hanukkah, as well. [1]
One clue to the meaning of the Hanukkah lights is the fact that Hanukkah is traditionally celebrated in the home, rather than in the synagogue - even though the events it commemorates took place in the Temple in Jerusalem. The rabbis teach that each household must light at least one menorah -- one for each person in the house is even better -- and place it each night in the window or doorway of the house -- to “publicize the miracles of Hanukkah.” [2]
But the effect is also to publicize the Judaism of the house’s occupants. This can be a dangerous act for Jews, and in fact there’s a specific exemption saying that in times of danger, it’s permissible to keep the menorah inside. Still, it’s preferable to set it out where everyone can see it. The menorah makes a very public statement that the Greek attempt to extinguish the light of Judaism was a failure. As the writer Noam Zion puts it, “The Rabbinic Hanukkah which is celebrated in the home focuses on the power of family values to stave off the outside influences of the street... and ultimately to transform the public space by the light that shines from within the house. This is a faith that begins, like the winter solstice, in darkness but has the power to generate unexpected illumination for the whole world.” [2, again]
A more mystical view of the eight lights of the Hanukkah menorah has been expressed by the controversial rabbi Marc Gafni. He proposes that “each light captures in its glow a particular understanding of the spiritual path that we all must walk in our quest for higher ways of being in the world.” Thus, the first illumination represents the “soul print,” the hidden light within each human being. The second is the “path of receiving,” the ability to know and accept another person’s light. The third candle represents “the path of shadows,” the dark places in ourselves. And so on, until the eighth and final illumination, “the path of Eros,” which teaches that “the seat of Eros[, or sexual love,] and the seat of holiness are one.” I did say Gafni was controversial. [3]
Perhaps my own favorite way of looking at the Hanukkah candles is the one mentioned in the story Zigazak, the idea that, like all flames, they represent the sparks of holiness in all things. [4] This idea, central to Jewish mysticism, comes from Rabbi Isaac Luria, the great teacher of Kabbalah who lived in the 16th century.
Rabbi Luria taught that before the world began, God was everywhere. God had to compress Himself to make space for the universe to be created. Then He created ten clay jars to pour His light into. But some of the jars weren’t strong enough to contain the intensity of the divine light, and they shattered into fragments. That destruction is the reason why pain and evil exist in the world. But it also caused tiny sparks of the divine light to be embedded into everything in creation.
Those sparks stay hidden, though, unless humans work to free them. The work of freeing the divine sparks and repairing the world is called tikkun olam. And although Kabbalistic teaching is incredibly complicated, tikkun olam is basically a very simple task, if not an easy one: People restore harmony to the world by performing mitzvot, good deeds. It’s a mitzvah, for example, to give to charity or to be kind and helpful to others. And it’s a mitzvah to light the Hanukkah candles. [5]
In Lurianic thought, only good acts performed by Jews lead to the repair of the divine creation. But as a Unitarian Universalist, I tend to universalize, and I find this metaphor irresistibly powerful. To me, the idea that all beings contain sparks of holiness is a far more beautiful way of framing the UU principle of the inherent worth and dignity of every person. It’s also quite useful. When I have to deal with someone I find difficult, I just remind myself that those sparks are hidden in there somewhere.
The story is a powerful reminder, too, that it’s up to us to free those sparks. Like the devils in “Zigazak,” we can hide the divine within us and choose to be nasty troublemakers if we want to -- although we’ll probably do something good along the way anyhow, either by accident or because someone like the badass Rabbi of Brisk tricks us into it.
Here’s another story that I like: A rabbi once said to his teacher, “What shall I do? As long as I am studying Torah and commentaries, I feel myself encompassed by holy light. However as soon as I halt my studies, I feel chilled and surrounded by darkness. Can I ever make this light my own?”
His teacher answered, “Whenever you are not occupied with Torah, then occupy yourself with a mitzvah, then the light will not fail you.” He explained, “The light you feel surrounding you as you study is a light borrowed from the souls of great scholars. However, a light derived from your performance of a mitzvah is your own light and it will never fail you.” [6]
I’ll close with a quote from another writer on Hanukkah, Michael Strassfeld. He writes:
“By lighting the menorah, we ignite the flame in our souls, the spark that cannot be extinguished, that will burn not for eight days but for eternity. We place the menorah in our windows to be visible to those passing by, just as our inner light must shine against the darkness of evil and indifference and must kindle the spirits of our fellow humans. The menorah reminds us of the miracle that no matter how dark life may be, there remains a source of light deep inside us. The light in our souls reflects and refracts the light from the One who is all brightness. This light can accompany us on our way and illumine the darkest path.” [7]
Notes
[1] Theodore Herzl Gaster in A Different Light: The Hanukkah Book of Celebration by Noam Zion & Barbara Spectre, p. 230
[2] Noam Zion & Barbara Spectre, A Different Light: The Big Book of Hanukkah, pp. 166-167
[3] Marc Gafni, aka Mordechai Gafni, in Zion & Spectre, "Celebration," pp. 213-220. Gafni is controversial for more than just his ideas: if you search his name online you'll find a raging dispute over whether he has a history of sexually harassing his female employees or he's just made some "mistakes."
[4] Zigazak: A Magical Hanukkah Night by Eric A. Kimmel. This story was read aloud to the congregation before the sermon. Kimmel is a wonderful author of dozens of books that are theoretically for children but can be enjoyed by everyone. He also wrote Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, possibly the best Hanukkah book ever.
[5] Based on a number of Internet sources; see especially the New World Encyclopedia on Isaac Luria and this sermon by Rabbi Jeffrey Summit, posted on the Tufts University Hillel Web site.
[6] Zion & Spectre, "Big Book," p. 197
[7] Michael Strassfeld, The Jewish Holidays: A Guide and Commentary, p. 167
Hanukkah: A Different Light
A long time ago in a tiny country far away, a small band of guerilla fighters defeated the armies of a powerful emperor. They recaptured their holy city, took back the temple which their conquerors had defiled, and rededicated it to their God.
The rededication ceremony required the burning of pure, consecrated olive oil in a special lamp. But only one small container of the oil - enough to burn for one day - could be found. It would take eight days to make more. The people decided to go ahead and start the rededication ceremony with the little bit of oil they had, and, miraculously, it burned for eight days.
This is the short version - the very short version - of the story of Hanukkah. The year was 164 BCE, the country Judea. The guerilla fighters were the Maccabees, a Jewish family and their friends who opposed the decree of Emperor Antiochus Epiphanes forbidding all practice of the Jewish religion.
The long version is much, much more complicated, as you may remember if you were here when I talked about it last year. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go through that whole megillah again.
This year, I want to talk about the legend: the miracle of the oil and the light that lasted for eight days. Although there’s no written record of this story until about 700 years after the Maccabee rebellion took place, its re-enactment has become the central symbol of the Hanukkah celebration. And that’s not surprising. There’s something about the flame of a candle or lamp that speaks to everyone, in every culture. It’s such a basic metaphor, in fact, that usually we don’t even bother to unpack it. When we hear a line like “You are the light of the world,” or “It’s better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness,” we know what it means.
But, just for fun, I've made a list of things that a flame can symbolize:
--Higher knowledge or truth
--Teaching, learning, reason, the intellect
--Hope or prayer (as when candles are lit in prayer in a Catholic church)
--Cleansing, purification, or martyrdom
--Life in general or an individual life (as when Shakespeare says "out, out brief candle," or we speak of “burning the candle at both ends”)
--oneness or unity (as in the lighting of the Unity Candle in some Christian weddings, when two lights become one)
--the inner light; the goodness within each of us; the soul
--the holy spirit, the divine
--Passion
--Miracles
--goodness itself
We can see all these things and more in any candle; in the words we use right here every week for the extinguishing of our chalice, we speak of the light of truth, the warmth of community, and the fire of commitment.
The Hanukkah candles, too, encompass all these meanings. But if Hanukkah is a holiday about “the inalienable right to be different,” as one scholar has put it, there must be specifically Jewish meaning to the lights of Hanukkah, as well. [1]
One clue to the meaning of the Hanukkah lights is the fact that Hanukkah is traditionally celebrated in the home, rather than in the synagogue - even though the events it commemorates took place in the Temple in Jerusalem. The rabbis teach that each household must light at least one menorah -- one for each person in the house is even better -- and place it each night in the window or doorway of the house -- to “publicize the miracles of Hanukkah.” [2]
But the effect is also to publicize the Judaism of the house’s occupants. This can be a dangerous act for Jews, and in fact there’s a specific exemption saying that in times of danger, it’s permissible to keep the menorah inside. Still, it’s preferable to set it out where everyone can see it. The menorah makes a very public statement that the Greek attempt to extinguish the light of Judaism was a failure. As the writer Noam Zion puts it, “The Rabbinic Hanukkah which is celebrated in the home focuses on the power of family values to stave off the outside influences of the street... and ultimately to transform the public space by the light that shines from within the house. This is a faith that begins, like the winter solstice, in darkness but has the power to generate unexpected illumination for the whole world.” [2, again]
A more mystical view of the eight lights of the Hanukkah menorah has been expressed by the controversial rabbi Marc Gafni. He proposes that “each light captures in its glow a particular understanding of the spiritual path that we all must walk in our quest for higher ways of being in the world.” Thus, the first illumination represents the “soul print,” the hidden light within each human being. The second is the “path of receiving,” the ability to know and accept another person’s light. The third candle represents “the path of shadows,” the dark places in ourselves. And so on, until the eighth and final illumination, “the path of Eros,” which teaches that “the seat of Eros[, or sexual love,] and the seat of holiness are one.” I did say Gafni was controversial. [3]
Perhaps my own favorite way of looking at the Hanukkah candles is the one mentioned in the story Zigazak, the idea that, like all flames, they represent the sparks of holiness in all things. [4] This idea, central to Jewish mysticism, comes from Rabbi Isaac Luria, the great teacher of Kabbalah who lived in the 16th century.
Rabbi Luria taught that before the world began, God was everywhere. God had to compress Himself to make space for the universe to be created. Then He created ten clay jars to pour His light into. But some of the jars weren’t strong enough to contain the intensity of the divine light, and they shattered into fragments. That destruction is the reason why pain and evil exist in the world. But it also caused tiny sparks of the divine light to be embedded into everything in creation.
Those sparks stay hidden, though, unless humans work to free them. The work of freeing the divine sparks and repairing the world is called tikkun olam. And although Kabbalistic teaching is incredibly complicated, tikkun olam is basically a very simple task, if not an easy one: People restore harmony to the world by performing mitzvot, good deeds. It’s a mitzvah, for example, to give to charity or to be kind and helpful to others. And it’s a mitzvah to light the Hanukkah candles. [5]
In Lurianic thought, only good acts performed by Jews lead to the repair of the divine creation. But as a Unitarian Universalist, I tend to universalize, and I find this metaphor irresistibly powerful. To me, the idea that all beings contain sparks of holiness is a far more beautiful way of framing the UU principle of the inherent worth and dignity of every person. It’s also quite useful. When I have to deal with someone I find difficult, I just remind myself that those sparks are hidden in there somewhere.
The story is a powerful reminder, too, that it’s up to us to free those sparks. Like the devils in “Zigazak,” we can hide the divine within us and choose to be nasty troublemakers if we want to -- although we’ll probably do something good along the way anyhow, either by accident or because someone like the badass Rabbi of Brisk tricks us into it.
Here’s another story that I like: A rabbi once said to his teacher, “What shall I do? As long as I am studying Torah and commentaries, I feel myself encompassed by holy light. However as soon as I halt my studies, I feel chilled and surrounded by darkness. Can I ever make this light my own?”
His teacher answered, “Whenever you are not occupied with Torah, then occupy yourself with a mitzvah, then the light will not fail you.” He explained, “The light you feel surrounding you as you study is a light borrowed from the souls of great scholars. However, a light derived from your performance of a mitzvah is your own light and it will never fail you.” [6]
I’ll close with a quote from another writer on Hanukkah, Michael Strassfeld. He writes:
“By lighting the menorah, we ignite the flame in our souls, the spark that cannot be extinguished, that will burn not for eight days but for eternity. We place the menorah in our windows to be visible to those passing by, just as our inner light must shine against the darkness of evil and indifference and must kindle the spirits of our fellow humans. The menorah reminds us of the miracle that no matter how dark life may be, there remains a source of light deep inside us. The light in our souls reflects and refracts the light from the One who is all brightness. This light can accompany us on our way and illumine the darkest path.” [7]
Notes
[1] Theodore Herzl Gaster in A Different Light: The Hanukkah Book of Celebration by Noam Zion & Barbara Spectre, p. 230
[2] Noam Zion & Barbara Spectre, A Different Light: The Big Book of Hanukkah, pp. 166-167
[3] Marc Gafni, aka Mordechai Gafni, in Zion & Spectre, "Celebration," pp. 213-220. Gafni is controversial for more than just his ideas: if you search his name online you'll find a raging dispute over whether he has a history of sexually harassing his female employees or he's just made some "mistakes."
[4] Zigazak: A Magical Hanukkah Night by Eric A. Kimmel. This story was read aloud to the congregation before the sermon. Kimmel is a wonderful author of dozens of books that are theoretically for children but can be enjoyed by everyone. He also wrote Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, possibly the best Hanukkah book ever.
[5] Based on a number of Internet sources; see especially the New World Encyclopedia on Isaac Luria and this sermon by Rabbi Jeffrey Summit, posted on the Tufts University Hillel Web site.
[6] Zion & Spectre, "Big Book," p. 197
[7] Michael Strassfeld, The Jewish Holidays: A Guide and Commentary, p. 167