December 31, 2024|ל' כסלו ה' אלפים תשפ"ה The Light of Initiative: Embracing Spiritual Responsibility on Chanukah
Print ArticleWhen I meet children in our community before their Bar or Bat Mitzvah, I ask them a number of questions. One of the questions I ask is: "What is your favorite holiday?" For some reason, nobody ever answers, “Yom Kippur,” but one of the most popular answers is, "Chanukah." When they answer, “Chanukah,” I ask them: "Why?" And their answer often is: “The presents!” And I tell them, “I appreciate your honesty.” But, of course, there is another aspect to this holiday, and that is menorah, the Chanukah lights. And I think that when we navigate between the menorah and the presents, we begin to touch on the deeper essence of this holiday.
Have you ever wondered why we recite Hanerot Halalu after lighting the menorah? Isn’t lighting the menorah itself enough? Why do we need to pause and explain what we’re doing? Initially, I thought that Hanerot Halalu might just be an instruction manual on how to use the candles properly because in this declaration we state that the candles are holy so we can’t use them for any mundane purpose. You can imagine after candle lighting, the kids take out their jelly donuts and latkes and all the other oily fattening food which miraculously don’t result in weight gain on Chanukah – a Chanuka miracle! - and they take out their dreidels and they are ready to eat latkes and donuts and play dreidel in front of the candles – and the father says, “No! No eating donuts and latkes and dreidel playing by the light of the menorah. Hanerot Halalu kodesh hem - these candles are holy.” Just to be clear, if there’s another light in the room then we can eat jelly donuts and latkes and play dreidel by the candles – but maybe the purpose of Hanerot halalu is that it is simply an instruction manual. But as I reflected more deeply, I realized that there’s something far more profound about this declaration.
In Nefesh HaRav, Rav Soloveitchik teaches that the declaration of Hanerot Halalu fulfills the mitzvah of Pirsumei Nisa, publicizing the miracle. The three mitzvot that embody Pirsumei Nisa are the four cups of wine on Pesach, the reading of the Megillah on Purim, and the lighting of the Chanukah candles. Each of these mitzvot is accompanied by a story. On Pesach, we recount a long and detailed story of our redemption. On Purim, we read the Megillah, which tells the story of how the Jews were saved in a dramatic turn of events. But Chanukah is different. Our story is summarized in a short paragraph—Hanerot Halalu—because the nature of the Pirsumei Nisa of Chanukah is different.
The rabbis, I believe, intentionally created a progression of Pirsumei Nisa across these holidays. Let’s begin with Pesach. There, we drink wine—not just any wine, but four cups, each representing a different stage in the process of redemption. What does drinking wine do? It brings happiness! We drink to celebrate the miracles of the Exodus—v’hotzaiti, v’hitzalti, v’ga’alti, v’lakachti—and each cup brings us closer to understanding the depth of that redemption. The mitzvah is about appreciating each step, each miracle that led to our freedom.
But here’s the thing. We don’t live in a world of open miracles anymore. Pesach was the time of grand, open miracles that created our nation. Today, we live in a Purim world, where God’s presence is hidden, where miracles are not as overt. On Purim, we fulfill Pirsumei Nisa not by drinking wine, but by reading the Megillah. Through that story, we connect the dots—seeing how everything, even the most hidden details, was orchestrated by God. On Purim, we are taught to search for God in the details of our lives, even when His presence isn’t obvious.
Chanukah, however, presents a much greater challenge. The Pirsumei Nisa of Chanukah isn’t just about drinking wine or reading a story. It’s about the light—the very light that we create. Chanukah isn’t just a celebration of a miracle that happened to us; it’s a story of initiative and divine partnership. The miracle of Chanukah was not simply that God made the oil last, but that the Jewish people acted with courage, took responsibility and lit the menorah with pure oil even though they legitimately could have used subpar, impure oil, and then, in response to their actions, God performed a miracle. Chanukah teaches us that when we take ownership of our spiritual lives, miracles can happen.
The rabbis understood this. Rav Lichtenstein notes that during Chanukah, the Jewish people took a bold step, asserting their leadership and spiritual independence. This was a pivotal moment in Jewish history. The Chanukah story illustrates how our leaders took responsibility, not only in the realm of physical defense but in shaping our spiritual future. At this time our rabbinic leaders created a chefetz shel mitzvah – a specific rabbinic mitzvah called ner Chanukah, and in doing so, they emphasized the authority of rabbinic leadership to create other holidays and other mitzvot. In fact, when the gemara discusses the text of the bracha that we should recite when we perform rabbinic mitzvot, it provides ner Chanukah as the classic example of a rabbinic mitzvah. Additionally, the rabbis made decisions at this time about the sanctity of life versus upholding religious principles. They ruled that, on the one hand, you can violate Shabbat to fight the enemy, but on the other hand, better to die rather than give up our religious principles. And it is no coincidence that Torah she’ba’al peh, rabbinic legislation, exploded after the Chanukah story under the leadership of the perushim, the Pharisees.
Now, let’s return to the menorah and the presents. The presents are a beautiful part of the holiday, adding sweetness and joy to our celebrations. But let’s not forget that the true essence of Chanukah is found in the light—the light that symbolizes our initiative and God’s miraculous response to that initiative. After lighting the menorah, we recite Hanerot Halalu to remind us that the essence of the holiday isn’t about the gifts—it’s about the light, and what that light represents: taking ownership of our spiritual lives.
There’s a beautiful story about the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who once met a young man and asked him, “What do you do?” The young man replied, “I’m a student at university, studying for a master’s degree in education.” “That’s wonderful,” the Rebbe said. “I, too, went to university some years ago.” The young man, somewhat surprised, asked, “What did you study? Theology?” The Rebbe smiled and replied, “No, I studied electrical engineering. But I prefer to turn on the lights in people’s souls.”
The Rebbe’s words are profound. Every person has a soul, a divine spark. Sometimes, that spark dims, and it might seem like the light has gone out. But the truth is, the soul is like a pilot light—it never goes out completely. All it needs is someone to fan the embers with love, to rekindle the flame and help the soul shine brightly once again.
When we light the menorah and recite Hanerot Halalu, we are reminded of the power of taking initiative in our spiritual lives. Just as the Jewish people took ownership of their fate during the Chanukah story, so too can we take responsibility for our spiritual growth.
A relatively recent custom quoted by Rav Yair Bachrach, a 17th century halachic authority in his work Chavot Yair, encourages us to sit in front of the menorah after lighting it and just gaze at the candles for a half hour, reflecting in quiet contemplation. It’s almost as if this custom provides us with a “screen-free” moment, a break from the distractions of the world even before all the recent “screen-free” post-lighting initiatives that have been promoted in the past few years. Imagine if, after the gifts, after lighting the menorah, after singing Maoz Tzur and saying prayers for the hostages, we spent a few moments discussing with our families the importance of taking ownership of our spiritual lives. Some of us might feel disconnected from the place we once were in our spiritual journeys. Perhaps we long for a time when we felt closer to our faith. But the light of the menorah teaches us that when we take responsibility—when we make that initiative—God can perform miracles. Just like He did, in those days, He can do so today, in our time.
I’ve seen so many people transform their lives by simply making that decision. They take responsibility for their spiritual growth: starting to study daf yomi, going to daily minyan, attending shul every Shabbat, davening each and every day, or making a choice that leads to a deep and lasting change. I think about the decision my parents made when I was growing up—where to send me for elementary school. They chose a path that ultimately shaped the spiritual direction of my life and the lives of my brothers. We may not realize it now, but simple decisions that we make now have the power to transform us.
So yes, enjoy the presents, the joy, and the sweetness of the holiday. But let’s also take a moment, as we light the menorah and recite Hanerot Halalu, to remind ourselves of the deeper message. If we take real ownership of our spiritual lives, God can perform miracles for us—just as He did for our ancestors bayamim ha’hem, in those days, He can do for us bazman hazeh, in this time. May the light of the menorah inspire us all to take responsibility for our spiritual journeys, and may we experience miracles in our lives—today, and always.