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NJOP
Bereshith Newsletter
December 2000
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Chanukah: Whose Life is it Anyway?
by:
Rabbi Mat Hoffman
When
I was first exploring Judaism, I found Rabbinic authority
one of the most difficult concepts to understand. After all,
I reasoned, G-d gave His law to us all. Since I was a pretty
bright fellow, couldn't I understand and interpret it better,
much better, than some old, bearded guy poring over a bunch
of musty books with no contact with reality? Whose life was
it anyway? I was going to make the decisions for myself!
I was hardly alone in these views. Year after year I heard
them expounded by lots of people who should have recognized
that rabbis are, after all, trained to interpret Jewish law.
They spend many more years in study, and constant ongoing
study at that, than doctors or lawyers do. Yet, if we have
a medical issue, we try to find the best trained and most
experienced doctor. If we have a legal problem, we search
for the best lawyer, one who has seen this issue time after
time. (I suppose I should thank G-d for this, since I earn
my living as a very experienced lawyer.) But rabbis? What
do rabbis know? When it comes to Judaism everyone is an expert!
Perhaps that is why we need Chanukah, which is often referred
to as the Yom Tov Shel Torah Sheh'baal Peh, the Holiday of
the Oral Law. It is the quintessential Rabbinic holiday, particularly
because it is not mentioned in a single book of the written
Torah.
We all know, or think we know, why we celebrate Chanukah:
the oil that was supposed to burn for one day burned for eight
days, giving the Jews time to make new, pure oil to burn in
the Temple. Actually, it was pretty miraculous that the Jews
found pure oil at all, since there was no notion that the
High Priest ever sealed and stamped any jug for purity other
than the one they found. But what was the big deal about this
miracle? In fact, the Rabbis tell us in Pirke Avot [Ethics
of the Fathers] 5:5 that there were ten ongoing miracles in
the Temple. (My favorite one -- that no Jew ever complained
to another about a lack of room in Jerusalem. Can you imagine
Jews not complaining? Now, that is a miracle!) So who cares
about this oil? Obviously, we do. But why? The first thing
we need to know is that, under the circumstances, the Jews
were not required to burn pure oil. For a variety of complicated
legal reasons, the requirement was inapplicable at that time.
Why, then, did they care about burning pure oil? Because the
rabbis told them to! Oh boy, I can just hear what the young
Mat Hoffman would have said: "Who do they think are? G-d said
we don't need pure oil. They know it. We know it. But there
they go deciding things for me and my life."
I am sure there were a huge number of Jews just like this
at the time. After all, this was the period of the beginning
of the redaction of the Oral Law and many Jews questioned
the authority of the rabbis. But the rabbis had the perfect
defense: G-d. After all, He confirmed the authority of the
rabbis through the miracle of Chanukah. And our celebration
of this holiday, a holiday contained only in the Oral Law,
confirms our acceptance of Rabbinic authority, because without
the rabbis there would not be a holiday at all.
The importance of Chanukah to Rabbinic law is actually upheld
by what appears to be its lack of independence in the Talmud.
It is interesting to note that only two of our holidays do
not have their own Talmudic tractate: Shavuot and Chanukah.
I suggest that this is because they have similar functions
as holidays. Shavuot commemorates our receiving of the written
law on Mount Sinai. In that sense, the Torah and Talmud are
all about Shavuot - the acceptance of the law - and, therefore,
it does not need its own section. Similarly, Chanukah represents
the whole entire oral law; and, thus, it too does not need
its own section.
The Oral Law, which is Rabbinic authority, is the foundation
stone of Judaism. Through the miracle of the oil of Chanukah,
G-d reminded the people that the understanding of the Written
and Oral law is in the hands of the rabbis. So the next time
we see one of those bearded (or not bearded) experts, we might
remember a few things: First, that expert has been studying
for quite a few years (or decades). Second, that fellow has
seen more people and decided more difficult problems than
most great lawyers or doctors ever will. Third, while finding
your own rabbi is more an art than a science, it really is
necessary. And finally, our rabbis get their authority not
just from their brilliance, not just from their experience,
but also directly from G-d. (And, to answer the young Matt
Hoffman's question, "Whose life is it anyway?" It is not my
life, it is G-d's. He gave it, and some day, hopefully after
at least 120 years, He will take it away.)
This article is dedicated to Rabbi Avraham Kaufman, one of
the earliest rabbis who tried so hard to teach Torah to a
stubborn, young Mat Hoffman.
Rabbi Mathew Hoffman runs the litigation department of
Todtman, Nachamie, Spizz & Johns in NYC, AND is the Rabbi
of the Flame Alternative Service of Westchester. He ran his
first beginners service over 20 years ago, and now his 6 children
and his wife Brachie help run the services. |
A
Work of Fiction About Chanukah:
"Sparks that Stick"
by
Alan Magill
Working
in the big time. Fortune 500. Manhattan Address. Three piece
suits. What could be better?
Holiday party coming up. Everybody in chipper mood.
Christmas decorations going up. There's Santa...and the wreaths...and
the tree.
Check that, many trees.
People gawk and admire.
I wonder.
Where is Chanukah?
Should I wonder such things? This is the big time. I've made
it out of Brooklyn. Fortune 500. Madison Avenue. Three piece
suits. My own desk.
Vice Presidents smile at me. They know me by name. They like
my work. I've made it.
And still I wonder.
Where is Chanukah?
The party and then more parties. Gift giving. Lots of candy
canes, red and white.
The President comes to our floor. He calls me by name. I have
made it big. I'm in with the upper brass. Co-workers compliment
me. I've come along way from my small Flatbush apartment,
sleeping on a cot when I first got to New York. Now I have
a Manhattan address.
I'm also invited to the President's office. He tells me, in
a room filled with Christmas decorations that he likes my
work. Wants to make me a Vice President.
I can't believe my ears. I thank him profusely and he thanks
me. He offers a drink and I take it. He gives me a Christmas
gift and I take it. I shake his hand and walk out. Others
gather around; they had heard the news. They slap me on the
back...tell me how no one has ever risen so far, so fast.
I go back to my desk with a big smile on my face and a happy
feeling inside.
Then I look at the Christmas gift in my hand.
And I look around at all the Christmas trees, all the wreaths,
the candy canes, the red and white and I start rummaging through
my drawers. I start going through the closets. People ask
me what I am looking for, but I'm of no mind to answer. I
ask where the holiday supplies are kept. I go to the closet
and rummage through it. At the very bottom, under yet another
Christmas tree is a flat cardboard rendition of a menorah
complete with eight candles and the big candle in the middle,
I go back to my desk and leave the menorah on it. Then I go
home.
The next day, on the way back to my Madison Avenue address,
a man with a beard and yarmulke asks if I am Jewish. I respond
"Yes. Why?" He answers me with a bag and wishes me a happy
Chanukah.
I am too busy to open the bag. I am late for work. I am a
new Vice President. When I get to my office I see the cardboard
menorah on my desk and think it is a bit silly all I went
through the night before to get it. I get to work. In a matter
of minutes I am interrupted by a surprise Christmas party.
An all day party. Like the other Vice Presidents I have too
much to drink. I happily sing Christmas carols with them.
I have another drink. Someone hands me a Christmas gift. I
look at it, shocked at what I am holding in my hand. I have
nothing to give back.
I abruptly left the party, the first Vice President to do
so. I went back to my desk. I needed to see the flat cardboard
menorah. I wanted to look at it, draw something from it...what,
I did not know.
I thought "how silly," and got up to leave. Picking up my
briefcase I noticed the bag on top of it fall to the ground.
Out of it came a sheet of paper with some Hebrew words on
it. I looked at it closer and saw that it was the prayers
you say before lighting the Chanukah candles.
Another Vice President came over and said, "Come on, the party's
just starting."
Then I saw it. The light. My light. Yellow sticky paper...The
kind you write notes on and attach to people's laptops. Important
messages can't get lost. "Could you stay here for a moment?"
I asked him. "What for?" "You'll see." I
cut out from the yellow sticky paper a little splash of yellow
as large as the flame of the small candle. Then I cut out
another one.
I looked at the paper with the prayers and said the transliterated
version of the blessings. Then I put the yellow sticky paper
on the cardboard menorah on top of the tall candle and the
candle on the far right.
"Thank you," I said to him. "No, thank you," he replied. "What
was that all about?" I looked up and four partygoers had stopped
to watch my "candle lighting." I explained.
The next day when I came to work, the yellow sticky paper
in the shape of a flame had remained where I had left them.
My feelings for Chanukah had also remained.
That night at 4:30 when I went to do this new ritual again,
eight people gathered around. The following night...14. By
the last night of Chanukah, I had 32 people watching, including
the President.
They all seemed very excited about it, and I read something
on the piece of paper with all the blessings on it about "publicizing
the miracle."
The President said in front of the large gathering, "Next
year, we're going to get a real menorah for this office."
I didn't have to wonder any more where Chanukah was.
Or about where I was for that matter.
Alan Magill, a playwright and Director of Programming
at Ateret Avot in Brooklyn, notes that the character in this
story might be using real candles by the next Chanukah given
the progress of his religious interest. He is a graduate of
the Lincoln Square Synagogue Beginners Service. |
Working
in the big time. Fortune 500. Manhattan Address. Three piece
suits. What could be better?
Holiday party coming up. Everybody in chipper mood.
Christmas decorations going up. There's Santa...and the wreaths...and
the tree.
Check that, many trees.
People gawk and admire.
I wonder.
Where is Chanukah?
Should I wonder such things? This is the big time. I've made
it out of Brooklyn. Fortune 500. Madison Avenue. Three piece
suits. My own desk.
Vice Presidents smile at me. They know me by name. They like
my work. I've made it.
And still I wonder.
Where is Chanukah?
The party and then more parties. Gift giving. Lots of candy
canes, red and white.
The President comes to our floor. He calls me by name. I have
made it big. I'm in with the upper brass. Co-workers compliment
me. I've come along way from my small Flatbush apartment,
sleeping on a cot when I first got to New York. Now I have
a Manhattan address.
I'm also invited to the President's office. He tells me, in
a room filled with Christmas decorations that he likes my
work. Wants to make me a Vice President.
I can't believe my ears. I thank him profusely and he thanks
me. He offers a drink and I take it. He gives me a Christmas
gift and I take it. I shake his hand and walk out. Others
gather around; they had heard the news. They slap me on the
back...tell me how no one has ever risen so far, so fast.
I go back to my desk with a big smile on my face and a happy
feeling inside.
Then I look at the Christmas gift in my hand.
And I look around at all the Christmas trees, all the wreaths,
the candy canes, the red and white and I start rummaging through
my drawers. I start going through the closets. People ask
me what I am looking for, but I'm of no mind to answer. I
ask where the holiday supplies are kept. I go to the closet
and rummage through it. At the very bottom, under yet another
Christmas tree is a flat cardboard rendition of a menorah
complete with eight candles and the big candle in the middle,
I go back to my desk and leave the menorah on it. Then I go
home.
The next day, on the way back to my Madison Avenue address,
a man with a beard and yarmulke asks if I am Jewish. I respond
"Yes. Why?" He answers me with a bag and wishes me a happy
Chanukah.
I am too busy to open the bag. I am late for work. I am a
new Vice President. When I get to my office I see the cardboard
menorah on my desk and think it is a bit silly all I went
through the night before to get it. I get to work. In a matter
of minutes I am interrupted by a surprise Christmas party.
An all day party. Like the other Vice Presidents I have too
much to drink. I happily sing Christmas carols with them.
I have another drink. Someone hands me a Christmas gift. I
look at it, shocked at what I am holding in my hand. I have
nothing to give back.
I abruptly left the party, the first Vice President to do
so. I went back to my desk. I needed to see the flat cardboard
menorah. I wanted to look at it, draw something from it...what,
I did not know.
I thought "how silly," and got up to leave. Picking up my
briefcase I noticed the bag on top of it fall to the ground.
Out of it came a sheet of paper with some Hebrew words on
it. I looked at it closer and saw that it was the prayers
you say before lighting the Chanukah candles.
Another Vice President came over and said, "Come on, the party's
just starting."
Then I saw it. The light. My light. Yellow sticky paper...The
kind you write notes on and attach to people's laptops. Important
messages can't get lost. "Could you stay here for a moment?"
I asked him. "What for?" "You'll see." I
cut out from the yellow sticky paper a little splash of yellow
as large as the flame of the small candle. Then I cut out
another one.
I looked at the paper with the prayers and said the transliterated
version of the blessings. Then I put the yellow sticky paper
on the cardboard menorah on top of the tall candle and the
candle on the far right.
"Thank you," I said to him. "No, thank you," he replied. "What
was that all about?" I looked up and four partygoers had stopped
to watch my "candle lighting." I explained.
The next day when I came to work, the yellow sticky paper
in the shape of a flame had remained where I had left them.
My feelings for Chanukah had also remained.
That night at 4:30 when I went to do this new ritual again,
eight people gathered around. The following night...14. By
the last night of Chanukah, I had 32 people watching, including
the President.
They all seemed very excited about it, and I read something
on the piece of paper with all the blessings on it about "publicizing
the miracle."
The President said in front of the large gathering, "Next
year, we're going to get a real menorah for this office."
I didn't have to wonder any more where Chanukah was.
Or about where I was for that matter.
Alan Magill, a playwright and Director of Programming
at Ateret Avot in Brooklyn, notes that the character in this
story might be using real candles by the next Chanukah given
the progress of his religious interest. He is a graduate of
the Lincoln Square Synagogue Beginners Service. |
Lights
in the Darkness'
by
Varda Weinstock
This year, Chanukah begins on the first day of winter, December
21. While winter is a season of darkness, of cold and of often
melancholy mood and temperament, Chanukah is the holiday of
light and joy. Furthermore, Jewish tradition teaches us that
there is significance to the season of every holiday. So what
is the meaning of Chanukah as a winter holiday? In The Phantom
Tollbooth, a children's book written by Norman Juster, a young
man named Milo goes on an extraordinary journey. One of the
places Milo goes is the Doldrums -- a place "where nothing
ever happens and nothing ever changes...People who don't pay
attention often get stuck in the Doldrums." Whenever I read
this scene, I picture a gray winter day, like the days on
which I wake up, look out my window at what seems to be a
constant, low-hanging cloud, and long to return to sleep.
And as the winter progresses, some people sink further and
further into a state of melancholy. Nothing can stop this
downward spiral, except the first signs of spring, when the
days become longer and brighter.
While modern psychology has rushed to inform us that there
is a definitive correlation between winter, light and one's
emotional state, the Jewish sages had long ago documented
this fact in a Midrash (legend) about Adam, the first human
being. When the days first began to get shorter and shorter,
Adam believed the world was coming to an end because of the
increasing darkness. Petrified, he called out to God to save
him, as he was not prepared for the world to end. G-d, wishing
to quell his fears and to help him understand the world on
which he was to live, guided him to discover fire. Adam lit
two candles, which shed light on his dark world. Adam no longer
feared impending doom. To the contrary, he was comforted by
the warm flames that cast away the darkness.
The midrashic story of Adam precedes the story of Chanukah
by thousands of years, but the message is the same. Adam's
fear was similar to the melancholy that many of us feel during
the winter months. He feared that the darkness meant that
the world was over, but God showed him that humanity has the
tools and ability to triumph over the darkness.
Our sages have taught that Adam lit those first flames during
the month of Kislev, the month of Chanukah. Chanukah, the
"Festival of Lights," is characterized by illumination and
joy because we do not allow the darkness to overwhelm us.
Instead, we spend eight days ensconced in light, both physical
and spiritual. The Maccabees, the heroes of the Chanukah story,
are also lights in the darkness. The darkness, in this case,
was the religious oppression suffered under Syrian-Greek rule;
and the light was the victory of the Jews over their oppressors.
After laying siege to Jerusalem, the Syrian-Greeks so thoroughly
desecrated the Temple that even the pure oil needed for the
Temple's Menorah (candelabra) was not available. The Maccabees,
the leaders of the Jewish uprising, searched diligently until
one small flask of oil was discovered and the Menorah could
be lit. Although this oil was only enough for one day, the
flames lasted for eight days, allowing sufficient time for
new oil to be produced. The miracle of the light was a physical
representation of the spiritual triumph.
By lighting the Menorah today, we commemorate the miracle
of the oil. Through our actions, we take steps as individuals
to overcome the darkness. In the Talmud there is a dispute
between the great scholars Hillel and Shammai regarding whether
to begin Chanukah by lighting one candle and then increasing
daily until eight candles are lit, or to light eight candles
and decrease daily until only one light remains. Shammai said
one should begin with eight candles and decrease the number
of lights. By lighting all of the candles at the beginning,
one recognizes the idea that the initial impact must be the
most powerful, and over the next eight days the need for the
candles lessens since the first night's flame has already
broken through the darkness. Hillel, on the other hand, maintains
that one should begin with one light and increase the number
daily, perhaps reasoning that even a single light is sufficient
to drive away the darkness. However, the light is increased
each succeeding day. This increasing light also represents
the idea that as time goes on, we draw increasingly closer
to the Divine.
In practice, we follow the opinion of Hillel. One small flame
is increased in number each day over the ensuing eight days.
The winter days may be short, but we do not allow darkness
and depression to overwhelm and defeat us. On Chanukah we
move forward, increasing the light and joy. Like the initial
Chanukah light, within each Jewish soul there is a spark,
as it says in Proverbs (27:20): "The spark of God is the soul
of man." Just as one small flame can illuminate the darkness,
one person can make a difference. As one flame is added to
another the light increases. In every era there have been
forces who tried to annihilate the Jews, but when the individual
sparks have joined together, our light has successfully prevailed
and defeated the darkness.
Varda Weinstock is a Regional Program Coordinator at the
National Jewish Outreach Program. |
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