We learn about Chanuka first as children. What astounds is how often our understanding of it remains that of children. Of course, we want to make sure the children learn about Chanuka but we should care as much about ourselves as we grow up.
Chazal tried to save us from this erosion in our appreciation. They did that by emphasizing the miracle of the candles instead of the military victory. There are a couple of ways to understand this.
First, we know the candles were an inoculation from understanding it as a mere military victory. Over time, a military victory, even an unlikely one or a miraculous one, blends in with other military victories in history. It was due to tactics. Or to technology. Or to home field advantage. All of these can be factors but the testimony about this victory was that it was very very unlikely.
Nevertheless, one needs the miracle of the candles to signal that it was more than that. Remember, there is context for the candles. The Jews of the time knew about long-lasting oil. Throughout the time of the first Temple, there was a single light of the Menora, referred to as Ner Maaravi (the western candle), which lasted far longer than every other light. It had the same amount of oil as the rest, but it never went out, from day to day. It gave witness, as the Gemora says in Shabbat (22b), that the Shechina, the divine presence, was still there. The miracle did not occur daily during the second Temple, but its return after the restoration of the Temple was seen in the same way: testimony that the divine presence was at work.
But there is another way the oil serves as an antidote to a possible misunderstanding of the military victory. There are those who are wont to see a military victory as a national victory, a victory of the people. Here it is not just tactics, but rather national prowess, to thank for the military victory. Here the major theme of this Chag is about the steadfastness of a few warriors. There is a minor spat in some contemporary circles among those who believe that Chanuka, a so-called “minor” Chag, took on more significance in light of the astounding successes of the Israeli army. They mirror one another.
Again, the Menora’s lights are there to indicate that there is something more than stout peoplehood to thank for this victory. Moreover, such a claim would be the last thing these warriors would have wanted. The Chashmona’im were Kohanim; they were the last people to claim that events like this could be attributed to human agency alone. The word “Kohen” refers to exactitude in carrying out Hashem’s will. It means “koh-nikim,” those who perform “koh,” or exactly “thus.” (The nun at the end means that they do it all of the time, but the word refers to doing things as “Koh Amar Hashem,” as “thus said Hashem.”)
But there is a crucial way that peoplehood does figure into the story. Many know that there is a distinction made between Purim and Chanuka. Purim is an attack on the physical existence of the Jews. The Greeks and the Hellenizing Jews came after not the body of the Jew but his or her mind. It was an attack on Judaism.
This is what we call decrees of spiritual destruction, or G’zeirot HaShmad. The rules of resistance in such a situation are quite different. Normally, a Jew martyrs himself only for the three cardinal sins -- murder, idol worship or illicit relations. Otherwise, one transgresses if offered the choice to transgress or die. But when the attack is on Judaism itself, then any type of transgression, even one relating to a custom, means martyrdom. If the EU attacks Jewish slaughter because it finds it inhumane, we become vegetarians. But if the EU is coming after Judaism itself, then even a custom is enough to martyr oneself.
But what kind of customs? Customs express the Jewish people’s will to connect to Hashem in myriad everyday ways. Why do we eat Gefilte fish? Because it has no bones and therefore avoids the chance of desecrating Shabbat by pulling the bones from the fish. That’s a Jewish custom. So if the Hellenizers are trying to undermine Judaism as a whole, then if they come for Gefilte fish, one martyrs oneself.
This sense of peoplehood as intertwined with a sense of Hashem is the story of Chanuka, and it was the central story of the Second Temple. The generations of the Second Temple were aware that another exile was coming. They were interested in planning for that. The Oral Law was central to that project, but Chanuka was too.
Classically, the Mitzva of lighting candles takes place outside of one’s front door. The Mezzuza on one side and the Menora on the other. We know that the Mezzuza gives us a sense of how one changes when going from the street to the inside of the home. It’s a reminder that a recalibration takes place. But when one leaves the house, what reminder does one need? That is the Menora’s function, a reminder that when one leaves one’s house, even when one leaves for exile again, there must be a sense of Hashem’s presence always. There is no peoplehood without a sense that binds us to Hashem. Otherwise, exile triumphs, G-d forbid. As we leave the home and go into the street, or as we go into exile, into the deepest darkness, there must be testimony that the divine presence has not left us.
