In the famous poem, Maoz Tzur, that we sing on Chanukah, the Paytan writes: יְוָּנִים נִקְבְצוּ עָּלַי אֲזַי בִימֵי חַשְמַנִּים, “The Greeks were gathered against me in the days of the Chashmonaim”; וּפָּרְ צוּּ חוֹמוֹת מִגְדָּלַי וְטִמְאוּ כָּל הַשְמָּנִים, “they broke down the walls of my towers, and defiled all the oils”, וּמִנּוֹתַר קַנְקַנִּים נַעֲשָּה נֵס לַשוֹשַנִּים, “but from one of the last remaining flasks a miracle was wrought for my beloved, the roses”, בְנֵי בִינָּה יְמֵי שְמוֹנָּה קָּבְעוּ שִיר וּרְ נָּנִים, “and their men of understanding appointed these eight days for song and praises”. To describe the nature of the Chashmonaim, the Paytan used the שוֹשַנִּים, which refers to their beloved status in the eyes of Hashem, but literally translates to “roses”. Why was this specific word chosen; why not אהוביםּ, “my beloved’, or חָּבִיבים “my dear”?
Of course, what comes to mind when we hear the word שוֹשַנִּים is the Pasuk in Shir Hashirim (2:2), in the ultimate description of the love between HaKadosh Baruch Hu and Klal Yisroel. The Pasuk says כְשֽׁוֹשַנָּּה ּ בֵֵּ֣ין הַחוֹחִִ֔ים כֵֵּ֥ן רַעְיָּתִִ֖י בֵֵּ֥יןּ הַבָּנֽׁוֹת, “Like a rose among thorns, so is my darling among the women”. Rashi explains that Hashem was praising the Jewish people by saying that thorns prick those who touch them, yet the rose still constantly retains its beauty and its redness. “So is my beloved among the daughters” - the non-Jews entice her, Bnei Yisrael, to pursue them, to stray, as they do, after other gods, but she, the Jewish people, remains steadfast in her faith.
Beyond the usual love that one may have for another person, there’s a special kind of love reserved for those who are “roses amongst the thorns”; those who maintain their faithfulness to you despite the difficult circumstances that challenge them to do otherwise. When you see that another person is willing to sacrifice beyond what could normally be expected of them, and that they are willing to do it specifically for your sake, that in of itself creates a new, more profound form of love that had never existed before. In essence, as Rashi said, although we wouldn’t initially want the rose to be surrounded by those prickly thorns in the first place, when we see that the rose maintains its beauty despite those thorns, the rose becomes that much more beautiful in our eyes than it ever would have been.
And the era of the Chashmonaim has no more fitting description than that of a rose amongst thorns. During the times of the second Beis Hamikdash, when Greek culture began to permeate amongst the Jewish people, many Jews found themselves lost to the enticing, enlightened philosophy of the Greeks. Jews had completely abandoned the Jewish way of life, long before they ever physically engaged in battle with the Chashmonaim. The Kohen Gadol, Yochanan, was removed from office, and was instead replaced with a Jewish apostate who pledged his allegiance to Antiochus and his reign.
The battles the Chashmonaim waged were almost comical in nature: Tens of thousands of Syrian Greeks, riding horses and battle elephants, with a mere thirteen men to stand up against them. Yet, the Chashmonaim prevailed. As we say in Al Hanissim, “You delivered the mighty into the hands of the week, the many into the hands of the few, the impure into the hands of the pure, the wicked into the hands of the righteous, and the degenerates into the hands of those who cling to your Torah”, all after years of fighting.
However, even their victory was a humble one. After the miracle of Chanukah itself, Matisyahu and his sons still waged battle against the Greeks, which, according to some historians, lasted another thirteen years. Even the famous Menorah with which they lit the oil that miraculously lasted for eight days was in fact not the real Menorah; it was actually a cheap replacement to the golden one that had been stolen by the Greeks and would only be later returned.
Even as the Jews rested on that fateful 25th of Kislev, the Beis Hamikdash was still in shambles. It had been vandalized, littered with statues of pagan gods, and any remnants of Taharah, purity, lay in front of them in broken bottles and tainted flasks. At that point in history, no one could expect a miracle. The age of the Nevi’im was long gone. The last miracle that had taken place for the Jewish people was for Mordechai and Esther, centuries earlier. G-d had hidden Himself from the Jews a long time ago, and to expect Him to appear now was simply wishful thinking.
Honestly, if most of us had been in that situation, we wouldn't have even bothered to look for that one jug of pure oil. But there’s a special love for those who are roses amongst thorns. For those who have the ability to look at their unique challenges in the eye and say, “This will not break me. This will be the reason that I become great.” When this happens, people achieve supernatural results. Thousands of soldiers fall into the hands of a couple of guerrilla warriors. A small jug of oil can last for eight days. The Gemara (Sukkah 52a) says כׇּל הַגָּדוֹל מֵחֲבֵירוֹ — יִצְרוֹ גָּדוֹל הֵימֶנּוּ “whoever is greater than his friend, his Yeitzer Hara is also greater.”
The challenges one faces are a sign of his greatness; the only reason he would have been given these challenges in the first place is that because he had the innate strength to overcome them. Others who are weaker than him would inevitably fail in the face of such a formidable opponent, and it would be unfair to test them in this manner.
Rav Elimelech Biderman told the following story: There was a point in time in Europe when Jews were prohibited from learning Torah. Of course, they continued to do so secretly in the darkness of the night. The problem was, at night they could not see the pages of their Seforim without a source of light, and if the non-Jews would see light in their windows late at night, they would grow suspicious and eventually discover their secret.
So, the Jews came up with a solution. They bought black material to cover the inside of all their windows, so from the outside it appeared pitch black, as if all the lights had been turned out for the night, while they would be learning by the light of their lamps. However, they soon discovered an issue with their plan. If the lantern was too bright, the light would pass through the cheap, thin black cloth in the window, and it would still be visible from the outside.
As a result, those with these brighter lamps bought thicker cloth. From then on, when they would buy the special black cloth from the Jewish tailor, it became common for the tailor to simply ask them, “What kind of cloth do you need? How bright are your lamps?”
