Much of what we learn about Chanukah in Chassidus emphasizes the same point from various angles; the uniqueness of the Yomtov of Chanukah. Chanukah is unique, both amongst other mitzvos and amongst other Yomim Tovim, in its’ strong association with worldliness and the mundane:–the Chanukah lights are specifically delegated to nighttime–with its’ connotation of darkness and evil, they’re delegated to the left side of the door–symbolic of negativity, and they’re the only mitzvah (or one of 2) who’s placement is specifically outside–reshus horabim–the mundane world. Chassidus explains at length how all of these factors are reflective of the distinctive characteristic of Chanuka; that being a light that originates from higher than hishtalshelus, it has the ability to illuminate the darkness itself, to impact the left side, to transform the very reshus horabim.
But wait a second.
Something doesn’t seem right. If what is so special about the Chanukah lights is reflected specifically in the fact of their being kindled outside, then why aren’t they in fact being kindled outside? Last time I checked, we’re all (except for a few diehards in Yerushalayim) lighting inside!
It seems as if we’re doing away with a crucial aspect of the Mitzvah?
In fact, the question is as much of a question al pi nigleh as well: The takonoh of Chazal was to light the menorah outside, so why isn’t that being done? Why, with regards to Chanukah, do we seem to be universally ignoring one of the basic rules?
The Aruch Hashulchan addresses this issue, and suggests 2 explanations: 1) “In all of our countries the days of Chanukah are days of rain and snow and strong winds and it is very difficult to put the lights outside without a glass covering, and the chachomim did not require such effort (that this would necessitate)”. [Later achronim develop this idea further: It says in the gemoroh that in a time of sakonoh–danger–there is no requirement to put the menorah outside. Now with sakonoh the gemoroh cannot possibly mean danger to life, because that goes without saying, we know that pikuach nefesh pushes away every mitzvah. Therefore, the gemoro–with sakono–must refer to a danger of being caused inconvenience or discomfort, and the difficulties caused by the weather fall under this category].
However, l’anoshim k’erki this answer seems very puzzling (for a few reasons, u meihem): Chanukah was always in Kislev (although it has a connection with Nissan), and Kislev, in most of the parts of the world where Jews resided, is in the winter, and, presumably, was always in the winter. In Yesrushalayim, where both the miracle of Chanukah and the original establishment of the Yom Tov took place, Kislev is a time of very strong winds (as those of you who spent time there I’m sure could attest to).
According to that answer (that it doesn’t have to be outside in cold and windy places), what was the intent of the original takonoh? That if Chanukah ever falls out on Tisha b’Av then they should light outside? Or did they perhaps have in mind that only the Jews in Hawaii and South Africa (and of course Cancun) were included in the decree to light outside?
A 2nd explanation he gives for our being remiss in this aspect of the mitzvah is because in many places we won’t be allowed to do it. But once again this answer has a very limited application. While it was probably true most of the time and places in Europe, in America, for example, no one could stop us (let them just try, we’ll take them to court and throw the books at them). The Aruch Hashulchan was obviously before the time when Nat Lewin took up the legal battle of public menorah’s, but today it doesn’t seem like we can base ourselves on this answer anymore. (Vyesh od l’haarich bozeh harbeh, VAKM).
To try to understand this, I think we have to closer examine the basic idea of the above-mentioned maamorim: The maamorim all describe the contrast between the lights of Chanukah and the lights of the menorah in the Bais hamikdash; the Bais hamikdash was a light of hishtalshelus, that doesn’t have the ability to light up the darkness (or the outside, or the left). Conversely, Chanukah is a light from higher than hishtalshelus, that has the power to light up the night (or the outside or the left).
Now, let’s have that again. The light of the Bais hamikdash doesn’t have the power to illuminate the darkness? What could that mean? True, the menorah in the Bais Hamikdash was kindled in the afternoon, but it burned through the night, as the Possuk says “me’erev ad boker”. Why is it considered less to be illuminating the night–the darkness–than the Chanuka menorah (which, true, is kindled at night, but it doesn’t even remain lit a whole night, merely for a short period of time?
Similarly with regards to the outside; while it’s true that the menorah is placed outside, but can we suggest that the menorah in the Bais Hamikdash doesn’t have the strength to illuminate the “outside”? Everything we learn seem to indicate otherwise. Chazal say that the windows of the Bais hamikdash were “shkufim atumin” (narrow on the inside and widening on the outside), reflecting the fact that mishomorah yoi’zeis etc.,-that the light emanated from to Bais hamikdash to the entire world!
Why does that “count” less as illuminating the outside world than the Chanukah menorah (which it’s true is placed outside)?
To try to understand this let me tell you about a (former) bochur in Yeshiva, who I’ll call Chaim. Chaim is a regular bochur, who struggles with the same things most regular bochurim struggle with.
Mainly he struggles with the up’s and down’s: When there’s a farbrengen, he’s there and he’s a part of it, and he really gets involved. Most farbrengens leave him on a high (not from the booze ch”v, from the inspiration,-a spiritual high). After a farbrengen he’ll decide (not just l’shem mitzvas hachloto, but he really decides and really means it) to change those things that need to be changed, and start living like a genuine chassidisher bochur. And he knows exactly what that means.
But somehow, somewhere, it doesn’t end up happening. Sure, for a while he sticks to his resolution, sometimes it lasts for a few days, and sometimes even a couple of weeks. But then he gets into a situation where he suddenly encounters his old familiar yetzer hora in full force, and his resistance begins to crumble. It could take one challenge or 2 or 3. But each time he falls back to where he was (and becomes very depressed and disillusioned and pessimistic). And once he gets into the rut, it again becomes a vicious cycle, that he feels powerless to free himself of. Until the next farbrengen. Which starts the cycle over again. (Sound familiar, anyone?)
When he’s on a high (after the farbies), he learns, he davens, he learns chitas, Rambam and sichos, and follows all of the rules. When he’s on a low, well, we won’t get into details, let’s just say he has a weakness of being attracted to internet cafés, and spending time in them. Any time the hanholoh would discover the location of one of them, he would uncover another unknown one.
One day he’s spending his time in one of these cafés, and he makes a shocking discovery. In an ongoing investigation that was then taking place into the use of the internet to promote terrorism (against Israel r”l), that particular café was implicated (as a place where, at best, guilty parties frequented). Chaim never stepped foot in there (or in any other café) again. It wasn’t fear at all (although that was a sentiment that would have been very justified). No, Chaim was nauseated. He was filled with such repulsion and disgust by the realization that he was keeping company with (and perhaps supporting) those vile creatures who were intentionally causing death and destruction to his people, that he lost any desire to continue with his pastime. It took him a while to get over the feelings of outrage it evoked in him.
Now, let us analyze the story a bit: Chaim is struggling (as we all are) with the warring impulses of his 2 nefoshos. His nefesh hoelokis is pulling him in one direction, while that grobbe beheima in him, with the same forcefulness, is dragging him in the opposite direction. Chaim, like the rest of us (except those of you who have already reached the status of tzaddikim), is torn by the endless war between his 2 inclinations.
A farbrengen reinforces the nefesh hoelokis. And when the nefesh hoelokis is reinforced, he lets himself be heard. So the nefesh habehamis is temporarily silenced. If the nefesh habehamis tries to come with any funny ideas right after the farbrengen, he’ll be laughed right out of beheima’ville. Because the nefesh hoElokis, at that point, is so convincing, that the arguments of the NHB sound utterly ridiculous. But, as time goes by, the impact of the farbrengen wears off. Now the 2 sides become equal again. In other words, the person is no longer so convinced that he wants to put in every effort to be a chassidisher Yid. At that stage, when the NHB comes with a convincing argument (“Look how geshmak olam hazeh is” “Look how much fun you’ll have” “Look how enjoyable it is”), it sounds reasonable, and the person can falter.
What changed in his last experience (the one in the café), was it was no longer an issue of nefesh hoelokis versus NHB anymore. The repulsion that Chaim felt, upon the realization that he was associating himself with Jew-haters and murderers had to do with his very being, with who he is. It stemmed from that part of him that transcends the difference between the 2 nefashos. Regardless of which one is winning or losing, one thing was abundantly clear:–this is not me!
To put it differently; although the conflict between the 2 nefashos was that one gave him the feeling to do what it takes to be a better Jew, and the other drowned out those feelings, so that he didn’t care whether or not he was a better Jew, when it came to something that insulted his very essence, those feelings were irrelevant.
It comes down to–there can be an inspiration that originates at the nefesh hoelokis, and it impacts the nefesh habehamis. The bigger the inspiration is, the stronger and longer-lasting the impact is. But it always has to begin when the nefesh hoelokis is on some sort of high. When he’s down, he can’t “jump-start” himself. But then, there’s certain “opleigs”, certain convictions that are irrelevant of the feelings or highs of the NHE, they transcend the separation between the two nefashos, and can be attributed to the NHB as much as to the NHE. There’s the Jewish feeling that NHB has on its’ own, that is completely independent of the influence of the NHE.
This, then, is the difference between the Bais Hamikdash and Chanukah. The Bais Hamikdash was a place of light and holiness. It was the place where it was perceived that Elokus B’Pshitus, where it was plain for all to see that ein od milvado, that nothing was important in the world except serving Hashem. And that special aura of the Bais Hamikdash emanated from there and impacted the entire world. Thus, during the time of the Bais Hamikdash, the entire world was different. But it was the force of the G-dliness of the BHMK that was overpowering the worldliness of everywhere else. The “high” of being in the BHMK gave a person the ability to look beyond the surface; to not be attracted by the materialism around but to, rather, turn towards Hashem. The further one was from the BHMK (in time and in place), the weaker this impact could become, and the stronger the hold of olam hazeh on him would be.
Enter: Chanukah. Chanukah is not about holiness or inspiration. It’s not about ignoring the world and focusing on higher planes. Rather, it’s about mesirus nefesh, which means, whether or not I’m inspired, whether or not I’m in the mood, this is just who I am. Azoi un nit andersh. Not because I’m inspired to act like this. Not because I’m trying to be holy or chassidish. But because even in my “lows”, I still am who I am. Because even my nefesh habehamis is a Jew, and when he remembers that, then he acts and reacts accordingly independent of any influence of the NHE.
On Chanukah the menorah is lit at night. It’s placed outside. It’s on the left. Because the idea of Chanukah is revealing that deeper identity where the NHB also identifies itself as a Jew, so the darkness, the outside itself is lit, it’s not a light that was “brought” to it from inside, from daytime.
Briefly, Chanuka is about the revelation of atzmus; the etzem of a person (that manifests itself in mesirus nefesh), that transcends the difference between NHE and NHB (which is why in mesirus nefesh there is no difference between the greatest Jew and the kal shebekalim; it is not something that is performed through the influence of the NHE, it is the NHB itself). The etzem of the Eibishter, that transcends the difference between darkness and light, that allows for the recognition that the world itself is also G-dliness. And therefore Chanuka we light up the darkness itself.
Which explains an interesting phenomenon. You go on mivtzoim and ask a guy if he put on tefillin. More often than not, he’ll ask ‘what are tephillin’. Ask him if he wants to bless the citrus fruit and the branches on Sukkos, and he may look at you a bit strangely. He may say ‘I’m not religious, I don’t do that stuff, I already gave at the office’. But comes Chanuka (in my experience), and more than any other mitzvah, they say to you “Of course I have a menorah, it’s already the 2nd night of Chanukah”. Never mind that he/she doesn’t have a mezuzah, never heard of teffilin (and in some cases is in the middle of setting up an xmas party for the other part of the family..) But when you ask them about the menorah they look at you like you’re a bit addled in the mind. ‘If I have a menorah? Why of course. It’s Chanuka, and I’m Jewish’!
Because that’s the truth. Chanukah is not about religion. Religion is all the spiritual inspiring holy things that you do. But Chanuka is about lighting up the darkness itself. And somehow they sense this. I’m not religious, I don’t practice anything, but it’s Chanuka, and I’m Jewish, so of course I have a Menorah in my house. It’s the Yomtov that speaks to the pintele Yid.
And this explains another point: Chabad shluchim have become embroiled in countless court cases about the legality of placing menorahs in public places, a mitzvah very dear to the Rebbe, but was challenged as being in defiance of separation of church and state. And in most cases we won the legal battles. Didan Notzach! But wait a second. On what grounds did we win the cases (to the best of my knowledge)? By arguing that the menorah is not a religious symbol (and thus not in violation of separation of church and state. But hey, what are we so excited about? Aren’t we winning with an untrue argument? Isn’t the whole idea of placing menorahs part of the general campaign of spreading Yiddishkeit, and that’s the reason we want them there? So what’s the benefit of winning with an inaccurate claim?
But in fact, that is the essence of Chanuka. It’s not religion. It’s got nothing to do with religion. It’s Judaism alright. It’s about the essence of Jews and the essence of Judaism, the l’maale mehishtalshelus. And that transcends religion.
Hemshech Yavo IYH
L’chaim! May we all light up our darkness, within and without, and since Hashem performs all of the mitzvos may He light up all of the darkness, by illuminating the entire universe with the light of Ge’ulah, with the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu TUMYM!!!
ימיחנוכה שמחים ומאירים
Rabbi Akiva Wagner
לזכות 'ר שלום מרדכי הלוי בן, רבקה לגאולה וישועה קרובה, ושלימה וכמו' שהי בפרשת השבוע עם יוסף, הצדיק שברגע' אעלה מבירא עמיקתא לאיגרא, רמא י"ותומו בטוב הנראה והנגלה
