Two Themes of the Hanukkah Story
(D’var Torah delivered by Rabbi Sacks on December 15, 2023)
Hanukkah offers the idea of miracles–their possibilities, their actualization, and basking in them. On Hanukkah, we focus on two miracles. One is the nes mil-chamah, the miraculous victory of the few over the many, and the weak over the strong, as our ancestors under the Maccabees during the second century BCE repulsed the Syrian-Greeks and re-established our independence. The other is the nes shemen, the miracle of the oil, which legend relates burned in the Temple for eight days although the supply was sufficient for only one day.
The nes milchamah represents the success of the military and political enterprise of the Maccabees, while the nes shemen, the miracle of the oil, symbolizes the victory of the spirit in general and the resilience of the Jewish spirit. Which of these is emphasized is usually an index to the speaker’s world view. So, for example, secular Zionism spoke almost exclusively of the nes milchamah, the military victory, because it was interested in establishing Jewish autonomy. The Talmud, however, upon asking “Mai Chanukah?–What is Hanukkah?” answered with the nes shemen, the story of the miracle of the oil.[1]
Yet both of these miracles seem central to our understanding and our reality. Unlike classical Christianity, we never relegated religion to a realm apart from life. We never assented to the bifurcation between that which belongs to G!d and that which belongs to Caesar. Religion was a crucial part of the war against the Syrian-Greeks, as King Antiochus IV outlawed the practice of Shabbat, circumcision, and Torah study. And, unlike the purely nationalistic interpretation of Hanukkah, we proclaim with the prophet Zechariah in the haftarah chosen for Hanukkah, lo v’chayil v’lo v’cho-ach ki im b’ruchi “Not by power, and not by might, but by My spirit,”[2] declares the Holy One of Blessing. In fact, the Maccabean war was, to a large extent, not a revolution against alien invaders as much as a civil war over the boundary of acculturation. At what point does integrating ourselves into the larger socio-cultural landscape become full assimilation, the point at which we’ve lost our actual bearings and self-identity as Jews?
So, we might think of Hanukkah as symbolizing a victory through military means for psychological and spiritual ends. Thus both themes are found in the Joseph story we are reading in the Torah.
In last week’s portion, Joseph had two dreams. In the first he saw himself and his brothers binding their sheaves in the field, and the sheaves of the brothers bowed down to his sheaf. This is clearly a materialistic dream. Joseph wants to take over the food industry and corner the grain market. Yet the second dream is a more spiritual and a more cosmic one: It is a dream of the sun and the stars and the attainment of reaching spiritual heights.
Even more interesting are the reactions that these dreams evoked. When Joseph told of his personal dream, his brothers va-yosifu od s’no oto, they hated him even more. When he told his dream of spiritual growth, his brothers vay-kan’u bo, they were envious. The material dream evokes sin’ah, hatred; the spiritual dream arouses kin’ah, jealousy. People and communities are often hated for their ambitions, their nes milchamah, while people and communities may be envied for their spiritual pursuits, their nes shemen.
The establishment of the State of Israel was understood by us as fulfillment of a nes milchamah, our ambition to be in our own land and to structure our lives as a polity. The War of Independence of 1948-1949 enabled this. The result was hatred. The surrounding Arab states had already rejected the Partition Plan, which would have realized a two-state solution, and the armies of six of those states attacked Israel the very day she became a nation state.
The nes milchamah, once somewhat achieved, requires constant attention, in large part because its realization was accompanied by sin’ah, hatred. The State of Israel has always received public disdain from most Arab Muslim leaders since she was founded. In the Six-Day War, no one complained about the war until it became apparent that Israel was actually winning it handily. Only then did the United Nations care about a ceasefire.
And this past October 7 and 8, people expressed a routine denunciation of Hamas attacks without insisting that their rocket fire stop. And the United Nations only cared about a ceasefire when it became apparent that Israel would follow through on its need to live without well-armed and well-organized terrorists living on its border.
But this hatred was not new. Throughout the ages, our areas of endeavor were sorely circumscribed. We received no farms for our sheaves in the Pale of Settlement or anywhere else. But when we overcame these limitations, we were hated.
We were pushed into money lending but were detested when we became bankers.
Only a very few of our young people were allowed into universities, and then hated when they succeeded in becoming scientists, doctors, and cultured people.
We were confined to squalid ghettos and expected to crush our dignity, but received fury when we landed on our feet with our head held high, when, in the words of Joseph’s dream, v’hinei kamah alumati v’gam nitzava, “our sheaf stood upright, unbent, unsubmissive.”[3]
Yes, we were detested at our lowest point and detested more when we stood up.
But it is not enough to recognize antisemitism, and it is not enough to respond to sin’ah, hatred or to hope for and work towards a nes milchamah, a momentary, ephemeral victory in the immediacy of the horror. Sure, Israel needs to defend itself. Sure, Israel needs to render Hamas inoperative. Sure, security at Jewish institutions needs assurance.
Yet it is time to deserve kin’ah. What is kin’ah? The word relates to the Arabic root kanaa, meaning “to turn red,” as with a dye.[4] In other words, it means “to blush, to be embarrassed.” The Hebrew kin’ah is thus a rather complex phenomenon; one of its components is the feeling of embarrassment, of self-criticism, which results in an awareness of one’s shortcomings as one measures oneself against the object of one’s kin’ah and which, therefore, may hopefully lead one to transcend one’s self and feel inspired to greater personal heights.
To inspire such creative kin’ah in others is, in essence, a moral task and an educational function. All of us must rise in our bearing as Jews, as moral agents, as G!d’s ambassadors in this world. Let the rest of the world see the best of us, and let them, in kin’ah, join in a conversation about establishing a more moral world. This is the hope of the talmudic statement, kin’at sof’rim tar-beh hoch-mah, that envy–in this creative sense–among scholars increases wisdom in the world.[5]
Just as Joseph first had a sin’ah-inspiring material dream and only afterwards rose to his kin’ah-provoking spiritual vision, so, too, the miracles of Hanukkah are sequential: first there was the nes milchamah, and then later came the nes shemen. This is reflected in the Al Ha-Nissim prayer, which we recite all of Hanukkah in our central prayer, the Amidah, and in the Birkat HaMazon, the grace after meals.
We thank G!d G!d for the miracle of our victory, for having given over gibborim b’yad chalashim, rabim b’yad me’a-tim, “the strong into the hands of the weak, and the many into the hands of the few,” and only afterwards, ba’u banecha li-d’vir beitecha, “Your children came into Your holy home,” cleansed the Temple, purified the sanctuary, and kindled the lights, shining a light on their dedication, the meaning of the word Hanukkah.
Right now, many of us are justifiably focused on nes milchamah, overcoming Hamas, and manifestations of antisemitism globally, especially here in the United States. Yet we must, at the same time, dedicate our spiritual energy to the nes shemen, the miracle of the oil, the goal of being the shamash that lights the candles, that we shine our own spiritual resilience and touch the hearts of our neighbors, friends, and coworkers,
Then the battle becomes one of outdoing one another in kindness, outmaneuvering one another in the enactment of justice, and outshining one another in the promotion of peace. Thus the ultimate hope of Hanukkah is the motto “Not by power, and not by might, but by My spirit.” Then people will not terrorize others or abuse power, but live together in a world where G!d’s spirit–our inner sweetness unleashed–prevails in a world of equity and equanimity.
The story of Hanukkah, then, does not just celebrate a historic event. Rather, Hanukkah is an ongoing story and an ongoing quest, a story we tell not just to children and grandchildren, but one that we write everyday for generations to come.
Yes, we light the Hanukkah candles, but we are also to become Hanukkah candles. And, when we do, we will be able to fully bask in the miracles of Hanukkah that we ourselves will have participated in.
Shabbat shalom!
[1] BT Shabbat 21b.
[2] Zechariah 4:6.
[3] Genesis 37:7.
[4] See Brown, Francis, with Samuel R. Driver and Charles A. Briggs. The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, p. 888. Reprint from the 1906 edition originally published by Houghton, Mifflin and Company. This work is known as “the B-D-B.”
[5] BT Baba Batra 21a.