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Jewish World Review Dec. 18, 2006 / 27 Kislev, 5767 Self-Mastery: The View From Chanukah By Rabbi Lawrence Kelemen
We are all aware that there is a war going on, and I
suspect that many of us sense that this war is not
taking place in a historical vacuum but rather is somehow
part of a much larger war. There is something inside us
that says — this war doesn't just transcend borders, it transcends
eras. We are locked in a battle that not only has military
and political ramifications, but historic, spiritual implications.
The holiday that we are now celebrating is also about a war,
and again this wasn't just a war that took place "once upon a
time.''
This was a war that continues to have a profound impact
on every one of us, and on the entire Jewish people.
On another level, on the individual personal level, we are
also at war with ourselves. You see, war is the metaphor for
the basic condition of human existence. Consider the words of
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto, better known as the Ramchal, in ''The Path of the Just"
THE BODY AND SOUL OF WAR
If G-d himself would not have brought these two incompatible
elements together, there is no way they could have naturally
co-existed. On the one hand, each of us is an animal. In this
way, Darwin was not wrong. The body, with all its physiological
and biological functions is certainly animalistic. Yet, at the same
time that we are animal-like, woven into every fiber of the human
body is its mate, its partner; a separate creature called the
neshoma (a soul). In terms of their basic natures, the body and
the neshoma could not be more different. If ever there was an
odd couple, it is the body and the soul. It is literally a miracle
that the two are able to mesh and form one seamless creature
— the human being.
The neshoma is not a metaphor or a theological concept. It is
a being. There is a neshoma and there is a guf, a body, and they
are two totally separate creatures. Each has its own distinctive
identity. Each has its own personality and way of behaving. The
body and the soul have fundamentally different perspectives
on reality, and relate to reality in profoundly different ways.
The neshoma is altruistic; it has a long-term perspective, values
kindness, wants to pursue goodness, and longs to serve and
to relate to Hashem. The body is self-centered and selfish. Its
perspective only operates in the immediate short term. It wants
Haagen-Dazs, a day spa, and a good nap, and it wants them
now! This is the nature of the body. It just can't relate to all
those other things the soul is so interested in.
There is another difference between the body and soul. The
soul speaks in a whisper. The soul expresses
itself and offers all its good advice — "think of others, be kind
and patient; be a person of character and integrity, be positive''
— in a soft whisper. The neshoma is gentle and the voice of the
neshama is a whisper. The body couldn't whisper to save its
life. The body is a screamer. It speaks in loud, impatient, often
shrill tones. There is simply nothing subtle about the way the
body makes its demands. It's big and tough and has no compunction
about throwing its weight around. It knows what it
wants, and it doesn't care about little things like consequences
or the needs of others. In a way, the body is a lot like a little
child. It sees what it wants, it voices its desires in loud, clear
unmistakable terms, and if it isn't immediately catered to, it
starts to scream.
It is the colliding natures of these two creatures that gives
rise to the inevitable ongoing battle in every human being. This
inner battle is waged between giborim and chalashim; it is a war
that pits the mighty against the weak. The truth is, that it's an
unfair battle. The sensitive soul is no match for that big, bad,
bully the body. It can't overpower the body, and its faint gentle
whisper is always lost in the din of the ferociously loud screams
of the body. If it were not for a miraculous thread woven into
the fabric of the universe, our souls would always be hopelessly
dominated by our bodies. I'll describe the miracle:
About one hundred fifty years ago, Rabbi Yisroel Salanter,
the founder of the mussar (Jewish ethics) movement, discovered a small book
entitled Cheshbon HaNefesh, authored by an unknown rabbi,
Rav Mendel Zevarez. Rabbi Salanter was so taken with the book
that he had it reprinted and encouraged people to study it carefully.
Today, Cheshbon HaNefesh is regarded as an important
work on the topic of personal, ethical and spiritual development.
In essence, it is a guidebook for overcoming and mastering
one's nature. It's about how to uproot harmful, ingrained
habits. It's about self-mastery and what it takes to become a
tzaddik. Cheshbon HaNefesh is written in such clear and accessible
terms that many people find it easier to relate to than
many of the classical mussar works. In this beautiful little book,
Rav Mendel Zevarez reveals that G-d wove into the universe a
mechanism that enables the neshoma to overcome the body;
that allows the weak to vanquish the mighty. The mechanism
works like this:
MAKING THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE
Something got in my way. I tried to live differently, and I failed.
I remember telling myself that this year I was going to get to
minyan on time. And I tried. For seven weeks I tried. But then
this came up and then something else came up and before long,
I was right back where I started. If you are like me, then there
may have been a time when you committed to losing weight.
And we tried. And we are still trying. But it's just not happening.
Those habits are just so difficult to break.
It is now several months since Rosh Hashanah and the reality
is that I haven't kept my Yom Kippur commitments consistently.
There have been more times than I want to admit
when I slipped and fell. If it weren't for the teachings of Rav
Mendel Zevarez I would be totally disheartened. In Cheshbon
HaNefesh, Rav Mendel explains a principle that is like a spiritual
life preserver. It enables us to stay afloat in our battle for
personal growth, even when we are feeling like we are being
overwhelmed by the overpowering strength of old habits.
When you think about it, this is astounding. Rav Mendel says
that there exists a supernatural principle that every effort, even
a seemingly unsuccessful effort, even a failure, creates an existential
spiritual reality. Every effort we make is stored, like
a drop of oil in a jar, and over time these drops begin to add
up. There is a reality in the fabric of the universe that says — it
doesn't matter if you fail as long as you keep trying. Every effort
fills the jar a little more until one day it will explode in a
flash of light and illuminate the darkness.
Rav Mendel Zevarez explains that it is this principle that
makes it possible for the soul, despite its soft gentle nature,
to overcome the mighty body. There would be no hope for the
neshoma if it was not for the fact that our failed attempts actually
create the potential for illuminating breakthroughs. In the
natural order of things, the body would always dominate the
soul, but in the supernatural order of things, as long as the soul
keeps on trying — even when things don't go well — every effort
adds potential power to the spiritual flame that will eventually
overcome the body.
With this in mind, let's turn to the topic of Chanukah.
CHANUKAH QUESTIONS
The holidays are a calendrical system designed
to perfectly assist and direct us in our quest for growth. When
it comes to Chanukah, the question is: precisely what window
of opportunity opens during these eight days and what are we
supposed to do in order to access the light of the holiday? How
do we make Chanukah's light our own personal inner light?
My goal here is to present a very practical approach to accessing
the potential of Chanukah, but in order to do that we
need to first explore some fundamental concepts that are central
to understanding the holiday. Once we understand the essence
of Chanukah, then we can lay out a plan for tapping into
all it has to offer in terms of our own growth and our deepening
of our relationship with Hashem. Let's begin by looking at four
questions:
Question #1
Think about it.
The Assyrian army,
the most powerful force in the world at the time and numbering
some 185,000 soldiers, arrived at the gates of Jerusalem
around 701 BCE. This enormous force was encamped below
Jerusalem and poised to unleash a holocaust. Their intention
was to slaughter every man, woman and child in the city. According
to the Greek historian Herodotus, all 185,000 Assyrian
soldiers died in their sleep the night before the planned assault.
Of course there is a disagreement about exactly how this
happened. Herodotus mentions something about an outbreak
of bubonic plague. The Jewish historians told a different story.
They said something about how an angel of the Lord went
out and smote 185,000 Assyrian soldiers. But whatever it was,
something astounding took place on that night. Nonetheless,
that salvation was never elevated to the status of a holiday.
The
same is true for the events of 135 CE when Bar Kochba led his
revolt, or the survival of the Jews throughout the period of the
Crusades, or the Inquisition — they never became holidays.
And even thinking in more recent terms, when the Soviet
Union fell and millions of Jews were liberated from a regime
that was determined to wipe out Judaism, it never occurred
to anybody that we should make a holiday. Or perhaps there
should be some sort of catch-all holiday marking the ongoing
miracle of Jewish survival despite the relentless efforts of anti-
Semites throughout the ages. Perhaps we should celebrate the
Jewish refusal to succumb to the law of evolution of nations
that grinds all other nations out of existence and that has constantly
put pressure on the Jews, yet has never been successful.
So question number one is, why is the Jewish victory over
the Greeks in 164 BCE the one event that we commemorate?
Question #2
The implication of this question is that there was more
than one event that one might consider to be miraculous , but
only one has satisfied the sages' criteria for a miracle worthy
of a holiday. To that query the Talmud answers: ``Our rabbis
taught that the 25th of Kislev begins the eight days of Chanukah.
On those days eulogies are forbidden. Why? Because
when the Greeks entered into the Holy Temple, they made
impure all of the pure oils that were on reserve to be used
in the menorah.''
The Talmud then goes on to sort of matter
of factly report that when the Hasmonean family triumphed
over the Greeks, they only found one jar of oil that was still
sealed with a seal of the High Priest that was entirely free of
impurity, and that could therefore be used in the menorah.
We are also told that this one jar of oil was only enough to
burn for one night. And then comes the grand conclusion.
``That night there was a miracle and they were able to light
a small vial of oil, and a miracle happened and the candles
burned for eight days.''
What we learn from this is that in the eyes of our sages,
when a little jar of oil burns for seven days longer than expected,
this is an occurrence worthy of the title ``miracle'' but
when a vastly outnumbered band of ill-equipped Jews defeats
the greatest military force in the world, that doesn't rise
to the level of the miraculous.
This could possibly answer our first question, because although
much of Jewish history could be viewed as miraculous,
only Chanukah had the great miracle of the oil. The problem
with this answer is that it begs another question: This is question
number two: Why only in the conflict with Greece was
there a miracle of lights? Why didn't a similar miracle take
place at any other time in Jewish history?
Question #3
Question #4
``In the days of Matisyahu, the son of Yochanon, the High Priest,
the Hasmonean, and his sons — when the wicked Greek kingdom
rose up against Your people Israel to make them forget your Torah
and compel them to stray from the statutes of Your will — You
in Your great mercy rose up for them in the time of their travail.
You took up their grievance, judged their claim, and avenged
their wrong. You delivered the strong into the hands of the weak,
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
wanton into the hands of the diligent students of your Torah. For
Yourself You made a great and holy name in Your world, and for
Your people Israel You worked a great victory and salvation as this
very day. Thereafter, Your children came to the Holy of Holies of
Your abode, cleansed your Temple, purified Your Sanctuary, and
kindled lights in the courtyards of Your holiness, and they established
these eight days of Chanukah to express thanks and praise
to Your great name.''
By the way, this prayer is known as ``Al Hanisim,'' the prayer
``Regarding Miracles.'' So, did anything catch your attention?
Did you notice anything missing? There is not a single word
about oil miraculously burning for eight days, not a word. If
all you had to go by was the siddur, you would think that the
whole holiday of Chanukah revolves around a miraculous
military victory by a small group of ``weak'' Jews defeating
the ``many'' and the ``mighty'' Greeks. So question number
four is: Why, when the Talmud focuses only on the miracle of
the oil, does the prayerbook then go and speak only about the
military victory?
THINKING AGAIN
Here we go.
Issue #1:
The Greeks believed that since a man in battle was more
powerful than a woman that men were somehow worthier than
women. Also, because the strong, human form and survival of
the fittest were core values, when a baby was born with any sort
of a defect, physical or mental, it was left to die of exposure. The
Greeks actually had religious rituals for killing such children.
They would take developmentally disabled babies and smash
them against the rocks or throw them into the sea. In Greece,
athletes were their priests, the gymnasium was the temple, and
the strongest and fittest men were by far the most highly regarded
people in society.
When the Jews resisted the Greeks, this was not just a case of
one tiny nation standing up to a much larger nation. There was
something more fundamental, more profound taking place. The
Jews had an altogether different perspective on nature, and human
nature, than the Greeks. The Jews had a bedrock belief in
the supernatural, in a G-d that transcended nature, not in many
G-ds who "operated" within nature. The Jews drew their values
and their entire value system from the supernatural, while the
Greeks thought that the only thing super in life was the natural.
The Jews viewed the physical body as a part of nature that
needed to be confronted, refined, and elevated. The challenge
of human nature for the Jew was to harness physicality in the
service of a higher ideal, not to be enamored with the body in
and of itself. When the Jews went to war against the Greeks,
this was a battle between a nation defined by the supernatural
against a nation that was the embodiment of nature itself.
It could well be that what was unique about the events of
Chanukah is that never before or since was there a conflict that
more truly represented the Jewish battle in this world-the battle
of the supernatural against the natural.
Now, our next issue.
Issue # 2:
There is a famous story in the Talmud about Rabbi Chanina
ben Dosa. On Friday afternoon, the daughter of Rabbi Chanina
set up her Shabbos (Sabbath) candles and lit them. Then, after they were
lit, she realized that she had inadvertently used vinegar instead
of oil. When her father came home from synagogue she was
very depressed. She was sitting on the couch and her father
walked in and said, what's wrong? ``Papa, I grabbed vinegar
instead of the oil and when the wicks burn down, the lights will
go out.'' Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa said, ``My daughter, He who
makes oil burn, will make vinegar burn.'' The Talmud concludes
by saying that the candles burned throughout the entire Shabbos.
With this story the Talmud is telling us that it is actually
a miracle when oil burns. ``He who makes oil burn will make
vinegar burn.'' If oil burns for no other reason than that is the
Will of G-d, then vinegar, water, or Coca-Cola could burn too,
if that was what G-d wanted.
It turns out that there are two classes of miracles. Class one
miracles are unmistakable. They're very big and very out of the
ordinary. The Hebrew word for this kind of miracle is nes. The
word nes literally means a sign or banner, and that's exactly
what class one miracles are all about. Class one miracles call
out to us and say, ``Hey, folks, good morning, wake up, it's Me,
G-d. You know, the One who created the world in the first place
and who still runs the show.'' Every big nes is a banner that tells
us that just as we know that it is G-d who splits the sea, it's also
G-d who ``makes the oil burn.''
Think about it. Why is it that when I pick up a pen and drop
it, the pen falls? Of course you could say gravity, but that just
begs the question, ``Why does gravity exist at all?'' For that matter,
why does the earth spin? Why do hearts beat? Why are babies
born? The bottom line is, the whole thing is a nes, a miracle.
It is just that when a phenomenon happens again and again
on a regular and predictable basis, we slap a label on that says
``gravity,'' as if we have explained something. And once there is
a label in place, the occurrence will never again catch our attention
or seem very special at all.
The principle is that there are two classes of miracles: class
one are the ``banner'' miracles, the miracles that catch our attention.
Class two are those miracles that are so elegantly woven
into the fabric of nature that we think of them as, well, natural.
Issue #3:
CHANUKAH QUESTIONS:
ANSWERING OUR QUESTIONS
In 164 BCE, the Jews, representing the supernatural will of the
Torah, went to war against the Greeks who represented the deification of nature. Now picture the scene of the supernaturalist
approach to fighting the naturalists. The Greeks were standing
on the highways with AK47's and they were slaughtering Jews
right and left. They had already taken the Old City of Jerusalem.
There was no hope. It was finished. And how did we fight back?
We gave our baby boys a bris milah (circumscion), we kept Shabbos, and we
sanctified the new month. We said, ``You'll see, we will be the
last ones standing,'' and the Greeks must have laughed and
gone right on killing. Keep in mind, this war went on from 322
BCE all the way down to 164 BCE. Nonetheless, the Jews kept
up their pitiful revolt, and kept risking, and giving, their lives
for Judaism and the Greeks probably thought we were crazy.
``Give it up already, pack up, go to New York, what are you doing?
Don't you Jews realize it's over,'' they probably said. ``Your
resistance is futile.'' And the Jews just kept saying to themselves,
``Every mitzvah adds lights to the supernatural flame and even
if we fail today, and fail again tomorrow, there is potential stored
up in all our efforts so that one day all this potential will explode
in a burst of light and disperse the darkness.''
After all, the Talmud says, ``chashecha zu yavan,'' which means,
the essence of Greece is darkness.
The events of Chanukah were accompanied by the miracle
of lights because that was the perfect representation of a battle
between the light — the Jews — and darkness — the Greeks.
The supernatural versus the natural.
Let us turn now to how the sages in the Talmud related to the
miracle of Chanukah. The authors of the Talmud understood
very well what was a miracle and what was not a miracle. They
also understood the deep spiritual principle that if we kept trying,
we couldn't lose. If you keep making one effort after the
next you will eventually see results. They understood that this
reality is a miracle clothed in nature, a class two miracle, not a
big fancy class one miracle. When the Talmud asks, ``What was
the miracle on which Chanukah is based?'' they were talking in
terms of a class two out of the ordinary miracle. This is why they
identify the miracle of the oil and not the military victory. To
them, the military victory was something to be expected, it was
a ``natural'' miracle they knew they could count on. Because
they knew if the Jews just kept resisting, kept fighting, kept
observing their Judaism, eventually the Greeks would be defeated.
Lights burning for eight days — that was unexpected. A
rag-tag Jewish force defeating the mighty Greek war machine
— that they expected.
This brings us to the authors of the siddur. You will recall that
in the Jewish prayer book we find no mention of the miracle of the oil and
only reference to the military victory. To understand this, we
need to point out a fundamental difference between the Talmud
and the siddur. The Talmud is a document that discusses
ancient events. It may be a history book with insights that are
relevant to our lives today, but its frame of reference is historical.
In historical terms, the unique event of oil burning miraculously
for eight days is what caught the Talmud's' attention.
Wars? They happen all the time.
The siddur, on the other hand, has nothing to do with history.
The siddur is about today, literally. It's about this morning,
this afternoon, and this evening. The siddur is about a living,
dynamic, unfolding relationship between every Jew and G-d.
It's a ``real-time'' conversation. It's about the present, not the
past. In the siddur, the only kind of miracle mentioned is the
kind that is ongoing, that is taking place right now. The miracle
mentioned in the siddur is the one that is eternally relevant to
the war between nature and us, and that is the principle that if
we keep fighting we eventually will overcome our nature.
Standing here in Efrat tonight, we all sense that everything
is on the line. And when I say everything, I don't just mean the
Land of Israel and I don't just mean the lives of the Jews of Israel.
If this country goes, then the lives of the Jews throughout
the world are in danger. For whatever reason, G-d has brought
matters to a head. He is asking us now, will you please take
the steps you need to take back control over nature?
In theory,
we Israelis cannot win. There are tens of millions of Arabs in
the armies that are surrounding this little nation. How many
people are there in the Israeli fighting forces? It's absolutely
frightening. Recently, numerous articles have been written depicting
the scenario of a massive Arab invasion. And the predictions
aren't good. How could we win if wave after wave of
Arabs — millions of them — were determined to literally overrun
the country? Yet, deep down, we know the formula for success.
We know that the Jewish people does not reckon with nature.
We know that we can't stop trying even if our efforts seem
to fly in the face of what seems reasonable or rational. Nature
is rational, the Jewish people is not. Is Israel reasonable? Is its
existence natural? Is the return of the Jewish people after two
thousand years rational, or natural. Three hundred years ago,
would anyone in their right mind have thought that the Israel
of today could ever be possible? Is all that has been built and
accomplished here rational?
Back on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur we all made commitments.
Tonight, those days of inspiration seem like so long
ago. Our commitments are beginning to wane. This is the time
when we feel like giving up. By this point in the year, we are
starting to tell ourselves, ``You know what, I was high, and I
made unreasonable commitments. It's just too much for me.''
Yet, just the opposite is true.
I want to tell you that Chanukah is
the ideal time to grab those commitments and run with them.
Chanukah is when we think about the potential stored up in
every effort. Nature is begging us to give up, to be realistic, to
realize that the task of growing in the way we hoped is just way
beyond our ability. The response to this, is Chanukah. Chanukah
says, nature can be vanquished, what seems to be impossible,
isn't, and as Jews, we are supposed to believe in and count
on miracles.
This year, more than in recent years, there is too much at
stake not to go back to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and
renew our commitments and our efforts. This year, those of us
here in Efrat, and Jews everywhere need to know that we can
look at those beautiful Chanukah lights — the lights that remind
us of a great miracle — and tap into the ongoing miracle
of the ability of the Jewish people to rise above nature, extinguish
darkness, and reveal the brilliant supernatural light in
every Jewish soul, and in the soul of all Am Yisrael.
Every weekday JewishWorldReview.com publishes uplifting articles. Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here. Lawrence Kelemen is a professor of education at Neve Yerushalayim College of Jewish Studies for Women in Jerusalem, where he also lectures in modern and medieval philosophy. This essay is based on a lecture delivered in Efrat, Israel.To comment on this article, please click here.
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