The simple and the secret light of Hanukah

The Pardes of Hanukah

1. Pshat-MCA
FACT SHEET
Date: Kislev 25-
Name: Hanukkah=Rededication
The Story:
In the 4th Century, BCE Alexander the Great conquered the entire Middle East. After his death the empire was split and factions fought over Israel. The winner was The Selucid empire which was centered in what is now Syria. In 167 BCE Antiochus (who called himself Epiphanes = God has made manifest) forced all of the peoples under his rule to Hellenize. He outlawed Jewish practice such as the celebration of Shabbat and the ritual of Brit Milah (circumcision). He tried to replace Jewish worship with the worship of Greek gods including the sacrifice of non-Kosher animals, most notorious, pigs.

When the Greeks came to Modi'in and set up an altar, an old priest named Mattathias attacked and killed a Jew who was about to make a sacrifice at the altar. There followed a protracted Guerilla war against the Greeks, led by Mattathias and his five sons. Mattathias passed on the leadership of the rebellion to his eldest son, Judah, who was called "HaMaccabee" (the Hammer).

The Maccabees defeated the Greeks and liberated Jerusalem.
They began the long hard task of cleaning the Temple. They found that they had only one small cruse of oil with which to light the Menorah. But that cruse lasted for eight days (until they could produce enough ritually pure oil).

The Facts:
The literature of Hanukah is found in collections of Apocrypha literature known as the 1st and 2nd Books of the Maccabees, in the works of Josephus and in the Talmud. There is no mention of the story of the oil in any of the Apocrypha literature about the holiday.

The reason given in the works of the Apocrypha for the 8 days of the holiday is because Hanukah was modeled after Sukkot, which the Maccabees could not celebrate during their war with the Greeks.

In Josephus' work on Hanukah, he does not mention the miracle of the oil, though he does call the holiday, the festival of lights.
The Mishnah does not mention Hanukah at all.

The Gemara, the later Rabbinic material that was added to the Mishnah and together called Talmud, mentions the miracle of the oil in relationship to Hanukah (Shabbat 21b).

Hanukah was 1st celebrated as a reminder of the Hasmonean victory over the Greeks and for the rededication of the Temple
Later, due to Rabbinic influence, the miracle of the oil came to "outshine" the military victory of the priestly family and its supporters.

Traditions:
Lighting the Hanukiah (Hanukah Menorah)
The Hanukiah is placed in a spot where it can be seen by passersby such as outside the house and in front of a window. Halacha has it that it should be placed on the left side of the door (as you are entering) across from the Mezuzah, on the outside of the door. The only exception is when there is a fear of persecution. Then the Hanukiah can be placed out of sight of the passerby.

Procedure for lighting:
Candles (or oil lamps) are placed in the Hanukiah from right to left and lit from left to right.
Two blessings are repeated each night (the Shehehiyanu on the 1st night).

People get together for parties.

One of the Dreidle games is played. The dreidle is a four sided top with the letters NUN, GIMEL, HAY, and SHIN. The letters stand for the words NES GADOL HAYAH SHAM, which means "A great miracle happened there". In Israel the Dreidle (called Sivvon) has the letter Peh instead of Shin and means "NES GADOL HAYAH SHAM" which means a great miracle happened HERE". There are many betting games that can be played with the Dreidle.

Some people try to bring together people who have had arguments for a meal of reconciliation.

In the United States (and other places where there has been a strong Christian influence) gifts are given on each night of Hanukah.


2. REMEZ


Hanukah, the holiday that celebrates regularity.
Or
How do you Jew?

When we look at the traditional rationale of a holiday it does not always fit the historical events that created that holiday. Yet they may compliment each other and bring the Sod, the mystery of the holiday to light (pun intended).

Historically it is the celebration of a war fought for religious freedom. We did not revolt when the Seleucids, the Assyrian Greeks conquered us and demanded tribute. We did not revolt when they instituted Hellenistic customs in our land. We rebelled only when they forbade our way of worship, our belief system, our spiritual path and demanded that we accept theirs.

Historically, the holiday commemorates the struggle for religious rights. That, in itself, is unique in that time period and even in our own. But historically, our festival of lights does not celebrate, is not even aware of the story of the miracle of the lights.

In the books of Maccabees, we do not see any reference to the miracle of lights. In the books of Josephus, we do not read of the miracle of lights. The first time that the miracle of the single cruse of oil that lasts for 8 days is mentioned, is in the Talmud. It was composed at least 200 years after the historical holiday.

The Talmud in Shabbos 21b states: "When the Yevanim entered the Sanctuary of the Holy Temple, they defiled all of the oil there and rendered it ritually impure. When the House of the Chashmonaim strengthened and was then victorious over the Yevanim, they searched and found only one flask of oil that had the seal of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) in tact, enough to last one day. A miracle occurred and they were able to light with it for eight days. The next year they established and made these days into a holiday, for saying songs of praise and thanks."

That is the earliest reference to the miracle. And that is the Remez, the hint to the hidden Light of Hanukah.

Our historical holiday of Hanukah (the word means dedication) refers to our need to be involved Jews. As Reb Zalman might put it, we demanded the right to be allowed to Jew. We fought for our right to Jew on a regular basis in our regular sacred space in our regular way. The Remez question might bubble up: How do you Jew?

3. DRASH

The story of the miracle of the oil that we teach to our children and in which we sometimes forget to find meaning in our own lives, teaches the same point from a beautifully symbolic place.

The Maharal (Ner Mitzvah) discusses the tradition of the miracle of Chanukah. In it he takes from the statement of the Talmud that Chanukah was established in commemoration of the miracle of the oil. The Menorah in the Temple was supposed to be lit every day, and thus this consistency was threatened by the lack of pure oil. A miracle occurred, and the one-day supply of oil lasted eight days.

The Temple Menorah was lit daily. Everyday it was relit and kept lit all day. Indeed Ner Tamid does not need to be translated as we were taught it, “ the eternal light”. It could just as easily be translated as “the regular light”, “the consistent light.” The miracle was needed to keep us consistent. The miracle allowed us to continue our Jewish practice. The miracle kept a little light focused on our spirit path.

The Lamp that our people lit in the Holy Temple every day was the 7-branched Menorah. Today we find a remnant of it in every Synagogue in the world. We call it the Ner Tamid. That term, usually translated as “eternal Light” really means the regular light or the light of consistency. The sacred Menorah of the Temple is the oldest of all Jewish symbols. The Menorah was lit daily and with the sacred oil. It is the symbol of Shabbat, a symbol of creation and the symbol of the Jewish people. A depiction of it can be found on the Arch of Titus in Rome.

The Hanukiah that we light every year was made by simply adding another branch to the Menorah. In a sense, it was adding a little light to our history and our spiritual dimension. Therefore the Hanukiah is a symbol of our desire for spiritual consistency. We are all inconsistent beings. But we strive for consistency within our inconsistency. That is the lesson of the Hanukiah.

As our days are reaching their shortest and the darkness seems to be growing in the world around us, that children’s tale of the miracle of consistency looms large, to light our way through the darkness. We live in a pretty remarkable place. Our religious right is not overtly challenged by the ‘religious right’. Yet the challenges are still out in the world and in our hearts. The story of a war fought for the right to Jew fills us with pride but it also challenges us to practice. The tiny story of the tiny cruse of oil lights up our challenge to discover ways to Jew more often, to Jew more intensely, to Jew with more consistency.

And when we recognize and accept the challenge to Jew, this holiday serves to light up our lives.


When our ancestors added the extra branch, the total number of lights equaled 9 not 8. So one was raised and called the Shamash. Shamash means efficient, minister, attendant, in other words helper. And it also is the word for sun.

In Breashit (Genesis) it says that G created the sun to help us with Mo’adim, the holydays and to delineate the Shanah, the year. Mo’adim also means sacred meeting times with G and Shanah also has another meaning; it means to grow, to change through learning.

The Hanukiah sheds light on the sacred meeting time with G that we call Hanukah. In this interpretation, Hanukah reminds us to create for ourselves sacred meeting times on a regular basis with G and within ourselves. By so doing we create the Shanah of sacred changes that we must make ‘consistently’ (tamid) in our lives. That is one of the reasons why we are not to use the Hanukiah for any mundane purpose. It is there to give light and joy, not to be used to find the car keys.


4. SOD

I challenge us that when we light the Hanukah candles this year, let us take a moment to think of it as a Mo’ed, a sacred meeting time for us to set aside in hopes of making the changes that we want to make, seeking the growth that we want to attempt to build into our lives.

I bless us all that we can seek the consistency in our spiritual growth, in our constant learning and in the changes that make our lives whole.

The Menorah and the Hanukiah

The Menorah and the Hanukiah

They sat side by side, almost twins. But their emotions were as dissimilar as their shape was similar.
“I am so excited!” chortled the Hanukiah. “It is almost that time of year. Soon the house will be filled with the smell of Latkes and the warmth of my favorite holiday.”
“I wonder what that could be!?!?” grumbled the Menorah, standing tarnished and forlorn by her younger sacred symbol.
“Why are you upset, you sound jealous?” replied the Hanukiah with a hurt tone of voice.
“What if I am,” the Menorah responded angrily.
“Why are you jealous? Hanukah comes but once a year. Ok, so I get lit for 8 days in a row!” (He positively shivered with delight). “But you are the most important symbol of the Jewish people. For one night every single week, you are brought out and lit! Songs are sung and prayers are said wonderful food is eaten. I envy you!!!!”
“But that is just it, I am not brought out once a week, or once a month or even once a year. I am forgotten, a meaningless relic, a useless ornament in the breakfront.”
The Hanukiah felt bad. “I…I didn’t know,” he said quietly.
“Well I am not putting up with this neglect, this abuse. I am leaving!!!” And with that the Menorah pushed with one of her 7 branches against the glass of the breakfront.
Don’t do that,” cried the Hanukiah, “the glass will...” and with that there was a crash and a thud as the Menorah broke the glass and fell to the floor. “I told you,” called the Hanukiah.
“Well, I don’t care, I am leaving!” cried the Menorah, tears running down her branches, as she brushed herself off and began to make her way through the living room towards the front door.
“Where are you going?” Cried the Hanukiah.
“Home!” Shouted the Menorah and then again, more quietly, “Home!”
“And where is home?” called out the Hanukiah.
For a moment, there was no response, then the faint sound of brass against brass as the Menorah strived and succeeded with a grunt to open the door. Then as the door swung wide, the Hanukiah heard the answer. “I am headed to Israel. That is where all of this started and that is where I intend to find out where I come from and why I have been so forgotten.
For years The Menorah struggled in its travel. It found its way onto buses and trains, into the trunks of cars until finally it found its way into the suitcase of an Orthodox Jew on his way to Israel. When the Menorah arrived, it climbed out of the suitcase and waddled its way onto a bus heading for the Negev, the desert of wandering. It felt as if it was drawn by an irresistible force to the ancient desert dwelling of our ancestors. Somewhere near Ein Gedi, that ancient oasis in the desert, it threw itself from the bus and struggled through the passes and wadis until, exhausted, it collapsed against a strange looking plant, a sweet smelling plant, a sage plant.
As it rested, dully gleaming in the sun, the plant called to it. “Welcome home my child.”
The menorah was shocked. “How can a plant speak it wondered aloud.”
“In the same way that a Menorah can waddle,” the plant laughed, “Ask the author. Clearly, you are here for a reason. You have returned to your source.”
“Yes, I have come to Eretz Yisrael, my source, where it all began. Maybe I will learn why I am so forgotten, so useless?”
“Yes yes, Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, but more importantly, you have returned to me. For I am your source, you were patterned after me. Thousands of years ago, when the people called, Ivrim, Bnai Yisrael, Yehudim, created your ancestor, the Menorah in the Holy Temple, they designed it, and therefore you, to look like me. I am the plant Moriah. Do you know what my name means?”
“No, I don’t.” exclaimed the Menorah in wonder, beginning to examine this strange plant more closely.
“It means the teaching of G. You were meant to remind all Jews of their relationship to G, the source of all, the source of life, the source of holiness, the source of wholeness. You were meant to be a pointer to the great lessons of life. Shabbat, which you also represent, is a time to reflect on life, and love and oneness, indeed all the great gifts that humans take for granted. You were created remind them to seek the light in their life.”
The Menorah laughed bitterly. “Yet I am forgotten. The Hanukiah is shined and used and the children sing songs and play games around it and I am left in the cupboard, forgotten and alone.”
“But don’t you know that the Hanukiah is your spiritual child. It was created to look like you, to remind, as you remind.”
“But that is just it, the Hanukiah reminds the children and their parents of the glory and the power and the spirit that was long ago. But I do nothing, I am nothing, I am only a relic.” And the Menorah wept, droplets of oil rolling down its branches, as it was held by the Moriah in the wilderness of loss.
Meanwhile, there was one in the Menorah’s former home who did notice that the Menorah was missing. Her name was Rinah Tal. She was the youngest daughter of the family who had purchased and then ignored the Menorah for so long. She was 12 and there was excitement in the house as everyone was preparing for their trip to Israel. This was to be her Bat Mitzvah present. Her family was going to travel to Israel and celebrate her Bat Mitzvah at the Dead Sea, near an ancient oasis called the well of the goats, Ein Gedi.
Rinah had always liked the Menorah, been somehow drawn to it, touched by it. She enjoyed looking at it in the breakfront and wondered why it was never used. She had read the stories of the Temple of long ago and the Menorah, the Ner Tamid, that seven branched candelabra that had been lit daily there.
The day finally came, the family had traveled by taxi and bus and plane and private car to the beautiful resort at the Dead Sea. She had done her Bat Mitzvah by the waters of Ein Gedi and everyone had been proud of her and awed by the stark beauty of the place. She had been showered with praise and gifts, yet for her, something was missing. The day after her Bat Mitzvah, she snuck out of the hotel early and caught a bus, by herself up to Ein Gedi, the sight of “her day”. She wandered in and out of the groves that grew along the water. She felt elated and yet…
Then she saw it. Tangled in a sweet smelling plant hidden from view was… a menorah. No, not a menorah, THE MENORAH, it was the one she had loved, the one she had longed for, the one she had missed. She tried to pull it free and as she did some of the plant came away with it. She was ecstatic. She was so happy she wanted to sing and dance. But then she felt a powerful sadness, loneliness. She felt, almost heard the feeling coming from the plant wrapped Menorah, the need to be used, to be lit, to be a symbol once again of the ancient ways that were as new as the new day dawning. She said out loud, not at all embarrassed to be addressing the plant encrusted Menorah:
“My beloved Menorah, you are my Bat Mitzvah gift, my heritage gift, my sacred connection. I will light you every Shabbat as a reminder that I am Bat Mitzvah; I am part of the sacred history and spirit of my people. You are a symbol of my connection to G and to my people and to my soul,” She shouted in joy.
She ran back to the bus and took it to the hotel where her parents were up and worried about her. When she showed them the Menorah they were in shock. They tried to explain away its presence, not willing to accept that this was a place of signs and wonders. But Rinah Tal would have none of it. She insisted that this was her Menorah from back home. She insisted that from that time on it would be lit every Shabbat, SHE WOULD LIGHT IT EVERY SHABBAT. She quietly muttered; “This is my Bat Mitzvah present, this is the meaning of my trip to Israel, this is who I am.” And her soul glowed, filled with the light of an inner Menorah, a Ner Tamid that would never be extinguished. And she insisted that the sprigs of the plant that had attached itself to the Menorah NOT be removed, ever.
Standing in the breakfront, next to the Hanukiah, the Menorah shined with an inner gleam of pride and awareness. Candle droppings covered it as a Talit of Rainbow colors. It was home and it was fulfilled.

The Great Hanukiah and Christmas Tree debate

A strange and wondrous debate was about to begin. The room was filling quickly. The Om of the Hindu faith, the Khanda of the Sikhs, the wheel of the Buddha, Bahai’s nine pointed star, Yin&Yangs of various styles, all vying for good seats. The room was lit by colorful, kwanza candles and Crescent moons hugging stars. The Mateh, that first staff, carved from the Tree of Life itself was to be the moderator.

A hush came over the crowd of symbols as they prepared for this great and unusual debate. It was unusual because of those watching, the symbols of all the different religions. It was unusual because of the participants, the Hanukiah, symbol of the Jewish holiday of Hanukah/dedication and the Tree that had become the symbol of holy birth that was Christmas. The debate was unusual because there was not to be a winner or loser, hardly a debate at all. It was more of a coming out, a sharing of differences; a symposium would be a better word, maybe a colloquium. There was some tension in the room, after all these symbols were of divergent beliefs, beliefs that the two-leggeds sometimes used to create destruction, death and darkness rather than the love, light and life.

The ground rules were based on the old ways of wisdom called PaRDeS, the Orchard. The word was an acronym for Pshat, Remez, Drash and Sod. Pshat is the simple meaning that is never so simple. It is the transparent meaning, the context of things. Remez reveals the pointer hints, the key/clues to deeper understanding. Drash enlightens, reflecting that deeper, more personal understanding. And the Sod, well the Sod peers into the mystery of it all.

In came the two symbols as a hush hovered over the hall. The Tree came in jangling all of her beauteous ornaments carrying the aroma of evergreen. The Hanukiah glided in illuminating each movement with the radiance of her blue and white candles topped with dazzling light.

The two symbols faced each other with good humor complimenting the beauty of their forms. The Mateh sailed to the center of the room in a sinuous manner reminding everyone that this Mateh had once transformed itself into a snake to persuade a recalcitrant Pharaoh of the power of freedom.

And so the symposium began. The Tree was the first to enter the debate in the realm of Pshat. It spoke of its beauty, not with conceit but rather with a deep understanding of the two-leggeds who looked to it for comfort and joy. “The ritual of my existence is touching if a little contradictory,” it chuckled. “I am cut young from the forest of my birth and transported inside a home. And though my life is short it is filled with warmth and meaning. Under my branches lie gift-wrapped dreams. Within my branches are nestled the ornaments of memory, memories of Christmas past. Families decorate me, coming together in joy and laughter and love. By my side is a table laden with cookies and milk for sainted reverie.” The Tree seemed to grow a little straighter, a little taller as it finished its musings.

The Hanukiah complimented the Tree on its erudition and aroma. Then it sang a little song.
“On this night let us light
One little Hanukah candle
It says fight for the right,
One little Hanukah candle.”

It smiled. “Every year as the days grow short and the nights long, I am brought out of the breakfront where I rest for a whole year. With anticipation, I am cleaned and polished. Music fills the air as children watch and choose and count the candles that will fill my cups. Then on the first night of Hanukah, blessings are brought to bear, songs are sung and I am lit. Each night my lights grow brighter. Finally on the eighth night, my cups runneth over and wax flows freely down my stem. The Shamash, lights up my life as my light warms the hearts of the children and parents. Due to our close relationship,” the Hanukiah bows stiffly (how else would a Hanukiah bow) to the Tree, “gifts are piled high around me. Children play games sing songs, and open their gifts in the glow of my light.”

The Mateh now turned the colloquium to the next level within the Orchard, Remez. This time the Hanukiah began. “Hear the hints of my meaning. Blessings are said around me. The first is the blessing of commitment and connection. Families intone a blessing of connection to the light of dedication. It is quickly followed by the message of miracles. It is a blessing of memory. ‘…for what happened at this time in those days!’ Do the hints not cry out the call of commitment? Indeed what is the Mitzvah?” The Hanukiah translated for the audience. “Mitzvah is sacred connection and often refers to acts and paths of the two leggeds who find meaning and motives in motifs such as me. The Mitzvah of Hanukah is to light me up and to put me in a place where I can be seen by all to give joy to all who gaze upon me.” The Hanukiah twinkled. “Yes, Remez abound around my light.”

The Mateh turned to the Christmas Tree. “You have shared the beautiful light of your Remez,’ exclaimed the tree. “Though no verbal blessings surround me, there are blessings inherent in the acts of love and meaning around my status in the home. I am large and my aroma fills the home. There are symbols that hang on my every branch. They epitomize the hope that I represent. Angels that adorn my limbs create castles in the sky, dreams of a better place that dance in the imagination of all who gaze upon me. The songs that are sung are songs of faith and charity. The mood that I enhance is that of beauty and peace. Families join in joy and memory and hope around my trunk. Remez abound in my branches filled with meaning.”

There was poignant silence as the symbols viewed and felt the gentleness of the two totems testifying to the faith of the two-leggeds who sought meaning through them.

The Mateh now moved the discourse to the realm of Drash. The Christmas Tree began by showing the tinsel that hung gaily from its branches. “Just as the two leggeds dangle these strings from my limbs, I am the string around their fingers, memory made manifest of the reason for the season,” it chuckled. “When they look upon me they see the birthday that I represent, the birthday of hope. For those who follow the path of the Cross, I point to that prelude to the path, the humble birth of saving grace. I represent the savior summoned into this sphere of existence. My beauty is an allusion to the spiritual beauty and betterment for all. Those who would follow the path of the Cross are committed to rectifying this realm, repairing wrongs, halting hate and bringing love before they pass to a higher realm.” The emblems, symbols and signs were touched by this tender transport of hope. Each drifted into its own reverie for a moment, until the Mateh brought them back with a rap on the floor.

“And now I will ask the Hanukiah to share its light on the season.” Moved by its spirit sister, the tree, the Mateh, oil weeping gently from its cups, came forward.

“That was quite eloquent; I am moved by your words, as beautiful as your ornaments. By comparison, I am small and plain. For when my candles are not lit I am almost unnoticeable. My power lies in light. My meaning lies in light, for I am light, the lamp of dedication. There is nothing fancy and flamboyant about dedication. And yet when dedication is lit in the lives of the two leggeds miracles may come to pass. When people roll up their sleeves and stand together, dedicated to shedding light on a world darkened with hate and bigotry, my light shines brightly.

The story of a war of liberation is an old one that we each can tell,” the Hanukiah seemed to be directing its light on all the symbols as they nodded or revolved or floated in agreement. But the story of the miracle of a lasting dedication is a marvel. I am the child of the Menorah the ancient eternal light of hope. The holiday that I enlighten and that enlightens me is the holiday of dedication. Those who follow the path of the Menorah, those tribal two-leggeds called the Jews are dedicated to the light. How many times do they talk of freedom for all people, with the refrain; ‘for you were slaves…’ Not only were they slaves in Egypt, but in Babylonia and Persia and Greece and Rome each slavery different and yet oppressive in its darkness.

And I stand for the dedication to fight against slavery and injustice, against intolerance and antipathy, ignorance and apathy. And yet my story does not climax with a victory of arms. It climaxes in brooms and brushes in cleaning and cleansing. My story climaxes in the miracle of a small lasting light. So my sister tree, I too speak of hope and faith, not in a savior come, but in salvation culled. When the tribal two-leggeds of the Menorah speak of Mashiah, they do not speak of the summoned one, nor the saving one, but the anointed one. Mashiah is the one anointed with the same oil that fills my cups that lights my wicks. The Mashiah will be the one who lights the fire of rededication to the values of life and love, of faith and fellowship, of caring and compassion, of justice and freedom. These are the old ways, dimly dreamt but of meaningful memory. That is the meaning found in the Menorah and of which my candles are but small symbols.”

“Not small,” whispered the Tree sap-filled tears forming, “not small at all, sister symbol knight exemplar.” The two symbols, emblems of two faiths stood together in the silence of the room as the Mateh made ready for the final level of discourse, the Sod, the very mystery of meaning. It looked at the two holiday tokens and they seemed to smile as did all the tokens and emblems and representations and signs and symbols that filled the hall. For they all knew that the Sod mystery is not to be investigated it is to be felt and realized. The two symbols in symposium stood in poignant pause, radiating the power of silence. And as the signs and symbols of differing faiths made their way out of the hall to return to their respective resting places they all made contact, touching each other as the discourse had touched them. Not the words alone touched these badges of different faiths, but that they could join and share differences in love and good fellowship. For this day was not about tolerance and acceptance. It was more powerful than that. It was about sharing differences, growing and learning in divergent oneness. As they moved out of the hall in silence, the Mateh wondered; “is this not the Sod of symbols. Is this not the lesson to be learned by the two-leggeds? For the two-leggeds to survive and thrive they will have to learn from us. The Sod, the mystery is so simple. Differences are not to be tolerated they are to be congratulated. They are to be exalted as teachers. For each symbol has a lesson worth learning. Each difference has wisdom to divulge. And the world awaits the Sod, the great mystery of liberty for all the two-leggeds and for peace on all the earth.

The meaning of the month of Kislev

The Month of Kislev
(References include Sefer Yetzirah, Torah, Talmud and the teachings of our Rabbis and my own interpretations.)


Kislev is the ninth of the twelve months of the Jewish calendar.

Kislev is the month of Hanukah, called the festival of lights.

The name Kislev derives from the Hebrew word for "security" and "trust." Both are found in the month of Kislev. Kislev is the Yin and Yang, the Netzah and Hod of doing and being. Hanukah reflects the active, in the war of liberation led by the Hashmonaim (Maacabees). This small group of guerilla warriors stood up to the mightiest nation of the time, Greece. They did not fight for independence; they did not fight to avoid the tribute demanded by the Greeks. They fought for religious freedom. Unlike the terrorists who struck in Mumbai, who fight to inflict their perverted views on others, the Hashmonaim fought only for the right to worship in our own way.

But Kislev is also a month of rest. It is the month in which the days are shortest and the nights are longest and there is a sense of sleep. In much of the USA the earth rests under a blanket of snow. Good rest reflects an intrinsic trust, trust in HaShem. Our morning blessings begin with the words “Thanks (G) for returning my soul!” We wake with a gentle acknowledgement of the trust that allows us to drift into soulful rest.


The letter which symbolizes this month is the sameh. The name Sameh means "to support." When we sleep we feel G’s support. As the pillow supports our head, our faith in G supports our soul. Support requires trust, the essence of the month of Kislev. As it is written in Thilim, Psalms: "G supports (someh) all the fallen and raises the bent over;" "Even when he falls he will not be allowed to fall to the ground, for G will support (yismoh) his hand." It is also related to the word for the ordination of a Rabbi (Smihah).

The shape of the sameh is a circle, which represents the all-encompassing omnipresence of G. The circle is sanctity without end. Our Tzitzit and Tallit have four fringy corners. They symbolize the edges of sanctity. Our tradition suggests that even G wears a Tallit and we cling to the Tzitzit, we cling to the edges of sanctity. The circle is sanctity without corners, without end. The all of the circle represents the all of G. And yet the Sameh is not a perfect circle. There is a tiny tail that stands to the side. Even in G’s completeness, there is room for us to cling to G’s Tzitzit. This is our trust, our security, our ability to cling to faith in the most trying of times.


The astrological sign or Mazal is the "keshet" (Sagittarius--bow). The bow has its double meaning, its own Yin and Yang, Netzah and Hod. On the one hand it is the bow of war, the bow of the fight for freedom characterized by the Maccabees. On the other hand the word Keshet (bow) refers to the rainbow, the first and most visible sign of peace and promise.

We can make a further connection with the Bow. The ‘art of the bow’ is ascribed to the tribe of Benjamin which is attached to the month of Kislev. The Hashmonaem were of the tribe of Levi, the tribe without land holdings. They were the keepers of the Temple; they were the keepers of ritual. Rituals from their time resonate through our modern services. The Temple in which they served was located in Jerusalem which is located within the borders of the tribe of Benjamin, the bowman.

The two bows (semi-circles), the bow of war and the bow of peace unite together to form the complete circle of the sameh of sanctity, the Sameh of Kislev.

The tribe ascribed to Kislev is Benjamin. As mentioned above, Benjamin is the tribe most gifted with the "art" of the bow. In the land given to Benjamin is the Temple in Jerusalem. The blessing of Moses to Benjamin in the end of Torah: "To Benjamin he said: the beloved of G-d, He shall dwell in trust over him, He hovers over him all the day, and between his shoulders He rests" (Deuteronomy 33:12). Here we see that Benjamin symbolizes both trust and rest, the sense of the month of Kislev.


The sense attributed to Kislev is sleep (sheina). Kislev is the month in which the shortest days and longest nights occur. It is not unreasonable therefore that the sense attributed would be sleep. The sense of sleep is the tranquility and restfulness that comes with the security that comes from faith. It is written in the blessings at the end of Leviticus (26:5-6): "And you shall dwell securely in your land. And I shall give peace in the land, and you shall lie down without fear...." This is the dream and hope that we carry even in the darkest of months, the darkest of times.

According to Kyudo, the ancient Japanese art of Zen Archery, the very talent to connect archer, bow, arrow, flight and target depends upon a most tranquil inner spirit. A tranquil spirit is one that releases inner tumult and turmoil before releasing the arrow. The sense of sleep entails the ability to release stress, and the best release of stress is trust and faith.

When one releases the tensions of the material world in trust, good dreams follow. Good dreams at night reflect good thoughts throughout the day, especially the optimistic attitude and consciousness, reflected in the maxim found in Hassidut and in so many like minded, hope filled, faith paths: "Think good, it will be good."

The body part that is related to Kislev is the belly (keiva). Keiva means "belly" in a general sense. It refers to that region of the body, similar to the Japanese Hara or center, where the power of Ki is found. In Kabbalah, this reflects the Yesod. For some the Yesod refers to male genitals or the womb. I find more meaning in the idea that this is our center and centering tool. Again when we find our center, we find rest.

The word keiva derives from kav, which means "measure." A tranquil belly is one who knows its proper measure. By centering, by finding our ‘measure’ we find an inner peace, the tranquility and security of connectedness.

In the Torah portions read during the month of Kislev, we find most of the dreams mentioned in the entire Torah. Throughout the five books of the Torah, we find ten explicit dreams and all in the Book of Genesis. The first dream is that of Avimelech, King of Gerar and it appears in the Torah portion of Vayeira, read in the month of Heshvan. The other nine dreams appear in the Torah portions of Vayeitzei, Vayeishev, and Mikeitz, all read during the month of Kislev. This might be a power point for us. Maybe during the month of Kislev we might journal our dream journeys and reflect upon them, shed some light as it were.

Each month is also assigned a gemstone. That is the stone from the Hoshen Mishpat the breastplate of the Kohanim that included one gemstone for each of the twelve tribes. Kislev’s stone is the amethyst (ahlama in Hebrew). The Radak sees the word Halam or dream as the root of Ahlama. This month is about secure rest, peaceful dreams and deep insight.


Mental and Physical Health are a part of rest and security and so are attached to the month of Kislev. Turn the Hebrew root halam and it becomes hahlama, or general "health" (meaning both mental and physical) as well as "recovery". In thanking God after being sick and recovering, King Hizkiyahu prays (Isaiah 38:16), "restore me (from the root halam) and make me live." Some compare the dream to sweat. In each case there is a process of recovery. The dream brings from the unconscious to the conscious. Sweat brings from inside the body to the outside. Each can be viewed as a part of the process of recovery. The physical sweat signals the beginning of recovery from an illness. The spiritual dream signals something deep inside that needs to be recovered, revealed and, perhaps healed.

The holiday found in Kislev is Hanukah, the festival of lights. May this Hanukah bring healing to our spirit, good dreams of hope to our souls and deeds that will bring rest and security to a troubled world.

Mumbai, Kislev and Hanukah

Kislev is a dark month. The days get shorter the nights longer. In Israel it is cold and wet. And yet Kislev is the month of hope. Within Kislev, at the end of Kislev, falls the holiday unique not only in Judaism but in history. We call it the festival of light. Some think that is because of the Hanukiah the 8 branch Menorah with the bright little Shamash in the middle. But the Hanukiah came later. No the light that is Hanukah has to do with an ideal, the ideal of religious liberty. When the Greeks conquered Israel there was no fight. When they imposed taxes, we did not complain. When they brought their culture to our shores some embraced it. After all who could complain of hot tubs? The Greek games interested some of our people as did the clothing and language and the philosophy shared. Some objected to the price of admission, the libation offering to the Greek gods. Some shook their heads at the proliferation of idols of Greek gods and statues of naked men. But that did not cause the war against the Greeks. We went to war when they entered our Temple, when they sacrificed pigs on our alters to their gods. We went to war when our religious liberty was outlawed. Hanukah celebrates the only war in history fought only for religious liberty. We were not fighting for independence or against Greek culture. We fought for freedom to worship our G in our way without interference.

This year, at the beginning of Kislev they came again to defile our place of worship, this time in Mumbai India. Reports say that there were 9 or 10 places targeted for death and destruction. Only one was a religious institution, the Habad house. In that house were rooms for weary visitors, kosher food for guests, a shul for worship and a couple, 29 and 28 who ran the house and opened its doors to anyone in need of sustenance, physical or spiritual. When, in Mumbai, terror broke out, terror broke into the Habad house targeting Jews. Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg, 29, and his 28 year old wife Rivka were slaughtered. Their son, Moshe whose birthday came but a day later, was rescued by Sandra Samuel, an Indian nanny who worked there for years. She found him crying beside his parents' bodies, his pants drenched in blood. Some 2000 years after the Greeks defiled our Temple with blood; terrorists came again and defiled our Temple with blood.

Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky, chair of education arm of the Habad movement which includes the shlichim such as Reb Gabby Holtzberg and Rebbetzin Rivka Holtzberg (A’H) gave the Jewish response to the darkness of terror and repression, a response as old as Hanukah itself. He said: “We call upon all Jewish women and girls to brighten the profound darkness the world is witnessing and usher in Shabbat by lighting the Shabbat candles.” When the darkness of Kislev comes, when the darkness of terror, of religious hatred and intolerance threaten our world, we do not curse the night nor do we hide from the fight. We light the lights of freedom and tolerance of hope and holiness.

I know not what your personal custom is. But you might consider adding the lighting of Shabbos lights as a tribute to the people, not just the Jews, but all of the, over 180, slaughtered in the name of religious intolerance. When the darkness falls we must light.

This is the season of Hanukah the festival of lights. Each year we light our candles sing our songs and give our gifts. This year let us reflect the light of the Hanukiah on the events of this month; events from ages ago, events from days ago. Let this Hanukah be a time of renewal and rebirth, a time of hope and a time of light. And let every Shabbat be a small reminder of the great challenge that we face, to light our lives, to lighten the burden of fear and hatred and enlighten a world torn by violence and intolerance.