December 23, 2024|כ"ב כסלו ה' אלפים תשפ"ה Chanuka and the Global Stage: A Light for All to See By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

This year, we find ourselves in a unique position: the first night of Chanuka falls out on December 25th. As I reflected on this, I found myself thinking about how much time I spend before Chanuka learning all the halachot of the holiday—where to place the menorah, when to light it, and so on. And then, I wondered: do Christians also have a similar kind of preparation for their holiday? For example, where do they place their tree? Is it better by the window, or should it be in the center of the room? In other words, what is the "halacha" for publicizing the tree on December 25th? Is the goal to make it visible to passersby, or is it more for the people in the house? If it’s for the people in the house, you might put the tree in the center of the room. But if it’s for the people outside, then you’d place it by the window. And then I was thinking, well, if the tree is a halacha for the people who walk in the streets, is it only for Christians to see or is it even for Muslims, Jews and atheists to see? And then I realized that some of my Yeshiva high school students are visiting me this Shabbat, so I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to talk about the halachot of Christmas trees at this time.

But the truth is, as Jews, we go through a similar analysis with the menorah. We try to light the menorah in a place where it will be visible to others—often by the window, or outside—so that people in the streets can see it. But the real question is: who are we trying to reach? Are we trying to publicize the miracle for frum Jews, for non-frum Jews, or for non-Jews altogether? Who is the intended audience for this publicizing of the miracle?

Interestingly, there are halachic ramifications to this question. Rav Yitzchak Zylberstein, in his work Chashukei Chemed, was asked the following question. Someone had the option to light his menorah by a window on one of two sides of his house. On one side, many cars drive by, but most of the people driving are non-observant. On the other side, fewer people walk by, but they are generally observant. Rav Zylberstein suggests that it is better to light on the side where observant people will see the menorah. This might be a preference, but it raises an interesting question: is there value in having even non-Jews see the menorah? Is there value in publicizing the miracle to the broader world or is it only for Jews?

When we think about mitzvot that are performed for the purpose of pirsumei nisa—publicizing a miracle—we often think of three: the menorah on Chanuka, the megillah on Purim, and the four cups of wine on Seder night. In all of these mitzvot, there is an element of pirsumei nisa, of making the miracle known. But there’s something important to note: the miracles of Purim and Pesach are definitely not publicized for the non-Jews. We don’t take the megillah out into the streets, accompanied by costumes and groggers, to read it aloud for non-Jews to hear. If you think that the non-Jews currently find our rituals strange, imagine how they would react to that. Similarly, we drink the four cups of wine during the Seder for pirsumei nisa—but it’s for our own families and fellow Jews. We don’t go out to the streets and strat guzzling down four cups of wine so that non-Jews know that I can hold down four cups of 5% Moscato D’Asti. So, when it comes to Purim and Pesach, the pirsumei nisa is directed inward—toward Jews. But maybe Chanuka is different.

Maybe the difference lies in how we understand the Tarmuda’ei. The Gemara in Shabbat 21b discusses lighting the Chanuka candles until people stop walking in the streets. It specifically says, עד דכליא ריגלא דתרמודאי—until there are no more Tarmuda’ei walking in the street. Who are the Tarmuda’ei? Rashi explains that they were a non-Jewish group who collected wood after most people had left the street, suggesting that the publicizing of the miracle was intended for the non-Jews. However, the Rif offers a different interpretation, stating that tarmuda is a type of wood, and the Tarmuda’ei were Jewish people collecting wood, in which case the publicizing would be for Jews. So which is it? Are we publicizing the miracle for Jews or even for non-Jews?

If we assume that the purpose of pirsumei nisa for Chanuka is primarily for the Jewish people, then what is the message we are conveying? Rav Moshe Sternbuch explains that the core message of publicizing the miracle is to showcase God's Divine presence in the world and to instill in ourselves an awareness of hashgacha pratit—the belief that God is actively involved in our lives just as He was active in our lives during the miracle of Chanuka. That’s a powerful message—one that we, as Jews, send not just through the lighting of the menorah but through living full Jewish lives, day in and day out.

But what about the non-Jews? When we light the Chanuka candles, what statement are we making to the broader world? Is it a statement of defiance? "You tried to destroy us, but we are here to stay!" Or is there something deeper at work?

Rav Soloveitchik pointed out that Chanuka is different from Purim and Pesach. On Purim and Pesach, our enemies sought our physical destruction, and we don’t need to make any grand public statements to show our commitment to survival. It is intuitive. The message of the megillah on Purim and the four cups of wine on Pesach is primarily for us—reminding us that, no matter what, we must have faith in God, because He will see us through even the greatest challenges. But Chanuka was different. The Greeks weren’t interested in destroying the Jewish people physically; they sought to destroy us spiritually, to erase our connection to our heritage and our Torah. Therefore, the message of Chanuka is not only for the Jewish people. It’s also for the non-Jews.

Rav Shimon Sofer, the grandson of the Chatam Sofer, wrote that the publicizing of the Chanuka miracle among non-Jews is not an act of defiance, but rather an opportunity to share our story. We want to show them who we are, what we stand for, and how our faith in God has sustained us throughout history. As the pasuk in Yeshayahu says, והתגדלתי והתקדשתי ונועדתי לעיני גוים רבים וידעו כי אני ה׳—"I will be magnified and sanctified in the eyes of many nations, and they will know that I am Hashem." Chanuka is the time when we can share this message with the world.

Chanuka is the time when we become an or lagoyim—a light to the nations. It’s the time when we remind our non-Jewish neighbors that, yes, while they may have family celebrations on December 25th and Thanksgiving, we have Shabbat every week. We understand the value of family and tradition. It’s a time when we tell our non-Jewish neighbors that we have a solution to the addiction of technology – it’s called Shabbat. It’s the time when we can tell them about our unique approach to mental health in general, family life, and community—a lifestyle that’s rooted in Torah and is thousands of years old. It’s a time when we can tell our non-Jewish neighbors how thousands of us across the world are part of an Aramaic book club and we just finished another book called “Bava Batra” last week. One of my friends, Rabbi Ira Ebbin, who is a rabbi in Merrick, was at Lincoln Square Synagogue a few Shabbatot ago at a conference with Jews and Christians. They all came to shul for Shabbat morning davening, both Jews and Christians. One of the Christians knew that Rabbi Ebbin was a shul rabbi, so he asked what his congregation does what Rabbi Ebbin is away. So Rabbi Ebbin told him that he prepared a sermon and someone else reads it in the synagogue. By the way, don’t get any ideas. I’m not doing that. In any case, the Christian asked Rabbi Ebbin what he preached on and Rabbi Ebbin said, Jacob’s ladder. And the Christian said, “Wow! That’s amazing! The Rabbi here also preached about Jacob’s ladder! What are the odds of that?” Of course, this Christian did not know that we are part of a global Jewish community that studies the same texts every week, year in and year out, called Parshat Hashavua, the weekly Torah portion, and finds new meaning and relevance for them every day.

Chanuka is not just about Jewish defiance. It’s about Jewish pride. It’s about pride in our survival, in our history, in the Torah that has guided us for thousands of years, and in the deep wisdom it offers us today. It’s a pride that we want to share with our children, our families, and the Jewish community. But it’s also a pride that we want to share with the world. Because the light of Chanuka is not just for us. It’s a light that can illuminate the world, showing everyone that, despite the darkness, we are still here, we are still strong, and we are still committed to our mission—to be a light to the nations.