By Rabbi Pinchos Lipshutz
As Jews around the world prepared to usher in Chanukah, a Yom Tov defined by light, faith, and endurance, the celebration was shattered by violence. At a Chanukah gathering in Sydney, Australia, Jews were targeted and murdered simply for who they were and for what they were celebrating. Fifteen were murdered, and forty were injured, at an event meant to proclaim continuity, hope, and spiritual resilience. A moment meant to illuminate Jewish survival became a reminder of the golus and the hatred we have long endured.
The shock of what happened unsettles Jews everywhere, forcing us to confront a reality we would prefer to believe belongs to the past. Anti-Semitism, which civilized societies repeatedly vow to eradicate, continues to surface with renewed boldness. It does so not only on the fringes, but in public spaces, in broad daylight.
Throughout history, our enemies have targeted us on Yomim Tovim to inflict suffering. Each attack brings shock and searing pain, a stark reminder of ancient hatred. In those moments, we turn to Hashem, praying fervently for the geulah to come.
It is difficult to process such hatred without anger, fear, and confusion. People wonder how this can still be happening. They want to know why Jews, in countries that champion tolerance and pluralism, are still hunted for gathering openly as Jews. It is doubly painful that on Chanukah, when we celebrate the victory of light over darkness during the period of the second Bais Hamikdosh, we are directly confronted by the forces of darkness once again.
The Yevonim did not aim to kill us physically. Their intent was to rob us of our spirituality and our connection to Hashem and His Torah. The Yishmoelim, along with our other enemies of this day, seek to destroy us physically as they globalize the intifada and turn the killing of Jews into a sport.
Chanukah was never meant to be celebrated only in calm or comfortable eras.
Just last week an eerie video clip was released showing gaunt hostages in a tunnel lighting candles, reciting a brocha and singing Maoz Tzur. They was little oxygen and no window to the outside world. Yet even there, those suffering captives demonstrated that the light of the Jewish people is eternal. While lives can be extinguished, the spirit – the neshomah – endures and the light continues to shine.
The Yom Tov, which is a response to darkness, does not deny evil or pretend that the world is safe. It confronts reality honestly and insists that light can be brought into it – that despite the darkness that surrounds us in golus, in our homes, and in our souls, we can introduce light and live by the light of Torah.
To understand how Jews are meant to respond at moments like this, we must look beyond headlines and return to the Torah’s deeper framework for understanding fear, truth, leadership, and moral clarity, a framework that began long before Chanukah with Yosef in Egypt.
Parshas Vayeishev concludes with Yosef imprisoned in Egypt, forgotten and abandoned. Betrayed by his brothers, sold into slavery, and falsely accused, Yosef finds himself stripped of family, freedom, and future. He occupies the lowest rung of society, a foreigner without allies or protection.
Yet, the Torah goes out of its way to show that Yosef is not spiritually diminished. In prison, he notices the distress of Paroh’s imprisoned ministers and asks why they appear troubled. He listens carefully to their dreams and offers interpretations with clarity and honesty. One interpretation foretells restoration, while the other foretells death. Yosef does not soften the truth or manipulate it for emotional comfort. He speaks plainly.
When Yosef asks the restored minister to remember him, the request seems modest and reasonable. Yet, the Torah tells us that Yosef is forgotten for another two years, during which time he clings with faith to Hashem and recognizes that his fate is in Hashem’s hands and that no man can help him.
Parshas Mikeitz opens with Paroh himself gripped by dreams that leave him shaken. Seven healthy cows are devoured by seven emaciated ones. Seven full stalks of grain are swallowed by seven thin, scorched stalks. Egypt’s finest minds are summoned, yet none can offer an explanation that satisfies the king.
The failure of Egypt’s wise men is striking. They were trained professionals, steeped in symbolism, psychology, and political instinct. Their inability to interpret the dreams was not a lack of intelligence. It was a lack of courage. Each interpretation they offered was filtered through self-preservation. None was willing to suggest that catastrophe lay ahead.
Only then does the freed minister remember Yosef.
Brought hastily from prison to palace, Yosef stands before the most powerful ruler in the world. Before speaking a single word of interpretation, he makes a declaration that defines everything that follows: “Bilodai – It is not me. Hashem will answer.”
Yosef explains that the dreams are one message, repeated for emphasis: Seven years of abundance will be followed by seven years of devastating famine. He does not stop there. He advises Paroh to prepare, to store, to plan. He insists that reality must be confronted honestly, not denied.
Paroh immediately recognizes something unique in Yosef. This is not merely wisdom. It is clarity untainted by fear. Yosef is elevated to viceroy, entrusted with the survival of an empire.
Why was Yosef able to see what Egypt’s wise men could not?
Paroh’s advisors lived close to power. Their livelihoods depended on approval. Their status depended on reassurance. They were incapable of imagining a future that made the king uncomfortable. Fear distorted their perception.
Yosef, by contrast, did not stand before Paroh as a courtier seeking favor, but as an ish Elokim, a servant of Hashem. His allegiance was not to authority, popularity, or safety. It was to truth, to Hashem. That allegiance freed him from fear and allowed him to see and relay reality clearly.
This is the deeper meaning of the Torah’s command, “Lo soguru mipnei ish – Do not fear any person.” The Torah does not deny fear as a human emotion. It warns against fear as a governing force. When fear dictates what we are willing to acknowledge or articulate, truth collapses. We do not fear man. We fear Hashem.
Throughout Jewish history, moments of survival and renewal have been driven by individuals who refused to allow fear to distort their vision. Yosef is the prototype for Jewish existence in exile – navigating foreign cultures, wielding influence without surrendering identity, and remaining loyal to Hashem even when surrounded by overwhelming pressure.
The battle commemorated by Chanukah was not primarily a military one. It was a war over Torah, meaning, values, and truth.
The Yevonim did not seek to annihilate the Jewish people. They sought to redefine them. Judaism, they argued, could exist as folklore or culture, but not as a Divine system of obligation. They outlawed Shabbos, bris milah, and Rosh Chodesh – the markers of covenant and sanctity – out of ideology.
The Yevonim celebrated aesthetics, philosophy, athletics, and human intellect. Pursuits severed from holiness and elevated as ultimate values became corrosive. Chazal describe Yovon as choshech, darkness, because darkness is not ignorance. It is the absence of moral clarity.
The greatest danger came not from Greek soldiers, but from Jewish collaborators, the Misyavnim. They spoke the language of progress and enlightenment. They mocked traditional observance as primitive and harmful. Like those who drifted away from Yiddishkeit over past generations, they viewed those who remained loyal to the Torah as backward, a mindset epitomized by “Fiddler on the Roof”-type portrayals. Beyond that, they regarded observant Jews with contempt and derision, assuming that they would simply fade away.
The Yevonim and Misyavnim promised health, acceptance, and sophistication in exchange for abandoning Torah and mitzvos.
Their arguments sound eerily familiar.
The Chashmonaim were not professional soldiers. They were Kohanim, experts in performing the avodah in the Bais Hamikdosh, transmitters and teachers of Torah. Matisyohu Kohein Gadol recognized that continuing the status quo of the prior 52 years would lead to spiritual extinction.
He rose up alone. He did not consult polls or assess public opinion. He did not wait for consensus. He called upon those who believed that Torah mattered more than comfort.
What followed defied every natural law. The weak defeated the strong. The few overcame the many. And when the Bais Hamikdosh was reclaimed, a single undefiled flask of pure oil, sufficient for one lighting of the menorah, was found. The miracle was compounded as it burned for eight days.
The miracle of the oil was the spiritual counterpart to the military victory. When human beings act with mesirus nefesh, with emunah and bitachon, the rules of nature – teva – bend. Physical limitations yield to moral courage.
The attack in Sydney is not an aberration. It is part of a long and painful continuum. Anti-Semitism adapts to its environment, adopting the language and values of each era. Sometimes it cloaks itself in religion, sometimes in nationalism, sometimes in moral outrage or political righteousness.
What remains constant is its obsession with Jews who refuse to disappear.
Anti-Semitism intensifies when societies abandon truth and absolutes. In such moments, Jews – who insist on covenant, obligation, and moral boundaries – become convenient targets. Hatred thrives amidst confusion.
In dark times, we light candles. We do not accept darkness, for we own the light – ki ner mitzvah v’Torah ohr. Every time we perform a mitzvah and every time we learn Torah, we bring light to ourselves and to the world.
Many of us have the minhag to place the Chanukah menorah in a window. While the primary mitzvah is to celebrate the Chanukah miracle with family, we proclaim it to others as well, reminding them of the miracle Hashem performed for us during the times of the Chashmonaim, and of those He performs for us daily, allowing us to survive and thrive despite hatred and darkness. In times of danger, we light inside the home, bringing the light of the Bais Hamikdosh into our homes and elevating our families. We do not succumb to the outside darkness. We do not allow ourselves to be enveloped by it. Rather, we cling to our mesorah, to Torah Shebiksav and Torah Shebaal Peh. We stand resolute in the shadow of the Ohr Haganuz and become enveloped in its holiness.
The Chofetz Chaim taught that before the arrival of Moshiach, there would be individuals who would fight lonely battles. History is not shaped by crowds, but by conviction. They may be few or they may be many, but armed with Torah, emunah, and bitachon, they will be proud and effective.
We see this truth repeated throughout history and even in our own times. Torah has been rebuilt after devastation, communities have been restored after destruction, and individuals have refused to abandon their faith even when the nisyonos were overwhelming.
The strength of Klal Yisroel lies in its yechidim – each person, steadfast in their faith, using their unique gifts to uplift the klal and bring it closer to the geulah. Just as the Chashmonaim rose against overwhelming odds to restore Torah observance, and as Yosef’s unwavering emunah allowed him to save his family and Mitzrayim, we, too, are called to stand firm in the face of darkness and to preserve light.
Chanukah honors those people and their resolve.
The word Chanukah is rooted in the Hebrew word chinuch, meaning “inauguration” or “education.” It is not only a time to commemorate the rededication of the Bais Hamikdosh, but also a time to internalize the lessons of renewal and education.
The Chashmonaim were the teachers and mechanchim of their generation. They motivated and inspired the Jewish people to undertake new beginnings, to renew their commitment to Torah, and to live lives guided by purpose rather than indulgence.
Chanukah demonstrates that no matter how dark the world seems or how strong the forces of evil may appear, there is always the possibility of renewal. Every person has the ability to rise, to inspire, and to influence others in a positive direction.
Hashem has granted each of us unique abilities and strengths. Recognizing this is the first step toward harnessing those strengths and fulfilling our mission. Fresh resolve, renewed focus, and an optimistic outlook can transform the impossible into the possible. This is the essence of Chanukah: the opportunity to rediscover ourselves, to uncover hidden talents, and to illuminate the world with our actions.
The Medrash in Vayeishev illustrates this principle beautifully. At the moment Yosef was sold into slavery, all seemed lost. Yosef mourned, Reuvein mourned, Yaakov mourned, Yehudah sought a wife, and Hashem was preparing for Moshiach.
What appeared to be a moment of despair and darkness was, in reality, the birth of future salvation. Similarly, even when we face trials and moments of grief, we must remember that Hashem’s hand is at work, preparing the seeds of redemption and growth. Our challenges are not the end of the story. They are the continuation of a process that can lead to transformation, revelation, and light.
The lights of Chanukah illuminate not only our surroundings, but also our inner world. They remind us of the hidden strengths and capabilities that exist within each of us. The miracle of the oil teaches that when we act with mesirus nefesh, we can transcend natural limitations. The Chashmonaim’s courage and dedication exemplify this truth. Despite being few in number, their bravery and faith created a miracle that changed the course of Jewish history.
Today, as we light the menorah, we are called upon to emulate their example, facing challenges with faith, hope, and determination, and bringing light into the darkness wherever we go.
The message is clear: Darkness is never absolute. It is only when we recognize our hidden potential and act upon it that the light becomes manifest. Chanukah offers a unique opportunity each year to reconnect with that potential, to reveal our own ohr haganuz, and to inspire those around us. By contemplating the meaning of the lights, we can internalize the lesson that no obstacle is insurmountable when we align our actions with Hashem’s will and draw upon the gifts He has placed within us.
As the menorah burns brightly in our homes this Chanukah, let us carry its light beyond the candles themselves. Each flicker is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, hope endures, courage blossoms, and miracles are possible. Just as the Chashmonaim kindled the flame of Torah and faith against overwhelming odds, so can each of us ignite sparks of goodness, kindness, and determination in our own lives and in the lives of others.
This Chanukah, let us celebrate the miracle that started it all and also the miracles that occur every day: the opportunity to begin anew, to grow, and to inspire. Let us allow the hidden light within each of us to shine forth, illuminating our families, our communities, and the world. For every act of Torah, every mitzvah, every act of chesed, and every word of encouragement is a candle in the darkness, a testament to the enduring strength of Klal Yisroel.
May the lights of Chanukah fill our hearts with taharah and joy, our homes with kedusha and peace, and our souls with renewed emunah and bitachon. May we each emerge from this Yom Tov inspired, empowered, and ready to bring light wherever we go, confident that even in times of challenge, Hashem’s light always shines, guiding us toward hope, a brighter tomorrow, and the geulah sheleimah bemeheirah.
