December 22, 2025|ב' טבת ה' אלפים תשפ"ו When Hallel Gives Way to Hoda'ah: Chanukah After Bondi Beach By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

This Chanukah felt different.

For the first time since the war in Gaza began, it seemed possible to mark the holiday not only with memory and prayer, but with a cautious sense of relief. Every living hostage – and all but one of the deceased – had been returned. The fighting had largely subsided. Across Israel, there was something that had been absent for many months – a collective exhale.

Even as we remain painfully aware that Hamas has not disarmed… even as we know that the story is far from over… there was nonetheless something real to acknowledge. Something to hold onto. Something, even, to celebrate.

That was the emotional landscape with which I entered Chanukah.

And then, this past Sunday evening… during a large Chanukah celebration at Bondi Beach in Sydney… two armed men opened fire on the crowd.

At least fifteen people were murdered… including a ten-year-old child… including community leaders. More than forty others were injured.

So what does that mean for our Chanukah this year?

Is there a little less light?
A little less joy?

I can imagine that many of us are exhausted. Worn down. Worn down by the relentlessness of terrorism, by antisemitism, by grief. And we tell ourselves: we cannot bear to dwell on this any longer. We need Chanukah. We need the celebration – for our sanity.

And yet… for me, it has transformed my Chanukah.

From one of Hallel… to one of Hoda’ah.

The Gemara tells us that after the Jews drove the enemy out of the Mikdash and rededicated it, they established Chanukah as a holiday of Hallel and Hoda’ah. And sometimes, in our lives, we feel Hallel more. Other times, we feel Hoda’ah more.

I came into this holiday expecting Hallel. I thought this Chanukah would be about praise… about joy… about celebrating survival… celebrating victory.

But life – as it so often does –  had other lessons in store.

This Chanukah has become a holiday of Hoda’ah.

A holiday of acknowledgment.
Of reflection.
Of gratitude – not only for the victories… but for the battles themselves.

Each day of Chanukah, we add a special prayer to the Shemoneh Esrei and Birkat HaMazon – Al HaNissim v’al haPurkan—thanking God for miracles, redemption, and salvation.

And yet, one phrase has always struck me. We thank God not only for the teshuot – the salvations – but also for the milchamot – the battles themselves.

Why thank God for battles? Would it not have been better never to have needed them at all?

Rav Soloveitchik wrestles with this question. He even cites a version of the text that reads al ha-teshuot al ha-milchamot – thanking God for the salvations of the battles. After all, how can we thank God for the battles themselves?

The Sfat Emet offers a profound insight.

Hallel is praise for revealed good – blessings we can immediately recognize.
Hoda’ah is deeper.

Hoda’ah means acknowledgment.
Admission.
Recognition of truth that emerges through experience.

Modim anachnu lach she’atah Hashem Elokeinu – we admit, we acknowledge: You are Hashem, our God.

Only after struggle… after danger… after loss… do we truly see what the battles themselves have taught us. What they reveal about our courage… our resilience… our capacity to endure.

This is why the Rambam emphasizes that Hoda’ah on Chanukah is expressed through the lighting of the menorah.

The miracle of the oil – extraordinary as it was – was not the decisive moment. The military victory was.

And yet, the oil becomes the vessel for Hoda’ah.

Why?

Because it represents courage… initiative… commitment.

We could have waited for perfect conditions.
Instead… we acted.

We lit immediately.
We returned to avodat Hashem… even when everything was still fragile.

And that is why we thank God for the battles themselves.

Because Chanukah did more than save us – it taught us how to fight.

It taught us that there are moments when waiting is not an option.
When faith demands action.
When survival requires resolve.

Not only on the battlefield… but in our spiritual lives.

We learned to resist spiritual erasure.
We learned to embrace initiative.
We learned to kindle light… even in the darkest of times.

Chanukah reminds us that the fight is not always physical – it is often spiritual.

Unlike Purim or Pesach, when our enemies sought our physical destruction, the Greeks sought to destroy us spiritually – l’hashkicham Toratecha – to erase our connection to Torah, to erase Jewish life itself.

That is why the menorah carries a different message.

It is a call to spiritual courage.
A reminder that our identity… our values… our faith… are worth defending.

And worth illuminating.

The Gemara in Shabbat (21b) instructs us to light the Chanukah candles until people stop walking in the streets – ad shetichleh regel min hashuk – until there are no more Tarmuda’ei walking.

Who were the Tarmuda’ei?

Rashi explains that they were a non-Jewish group – suggesting that the pirsumei nisa, the publicizing of the miracle, was intended even for those outside the Jewish community.

Rashi is teaching us that the menorah is a light meant to shine outward.

A declaration.
A statement – to Jews and non-Jews alike – that darkness will not prevail.

There is a video of an interview that went viral with a family friend of Rabbi Eli Schlanger, the Chabad rabbi who was murdered in the Bondi Beach attack. Since October 7th, their family had kept a massive menorah lit on their lawn. After the attack, the children begged to turn it off – they were afraid their house would become a target. The mother resisted, but ultimately gave in and turned it off.

The next day, a Christian neighbor’s daughter drove past… saw the darkened menorah… and burst into tears. She cried out, “They’re turning off the menorahs! Evil cannot win!”

The husband later said:

“No matter what happens, the menorah stays on.
We don’t turn off menorahs.
We don’t turn off the lights.
We don’t go down into darkness.
We shine light.

That’s what we do… and that’s all we know.”

That is the lesson of Chanukah this year. It’s pirsumei nisa for the Tarmuda’ei – for the Christian neighbors – we don’t turn off menorahs!

There is Hallel. Seeing the beautiful video of Liri Albag, Naama Levy, Emily Damari, and Agam Berger joyously lighting the menorah together – literally a Chanukah miracle – there is Hallel this year.

But this Chanukah is also a holiday of Hoda’ah.

A holiday of acknowledgment.
A holiday of gratitude for what the battles themselves teach us.
A holiday that gives us a blueprint for continuing the fight.

In our lives.
In our faith.
In the light we bring to the world.

Even when the world feels dark.
Even when the battles feel endless.

The menorah reminds us:

We act.
We shine.
We fight.
And we endure.

And in that enduring… lies our power.

This Chanukah, we do more than remember miracles.
We live them.
We embody them.
We become them.

And in doing so, we prove once again:
Light… courage… and hope… will always triumph over darkness.