By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
Every year, as the nights grow long and the air carries the quiet promise of winter,
Klal Yisroel reenters the world of
Sefer Bereishis—its stories, its struggles, its beauty. With each passing week, we trace the footsteps of Avrohom, Yitzchok, and Yaakov, witnessing how their faith carved out a path of light in a world that was often dark.
It is no coincidence that these
parshiyos escort us directly toward
Chanukah. Yaakov’s battles, Yosef’s dreams, and the faith that pulsated through their journeys become the spiritual prologue to the lights that would one day illuminate the desecrated
Bais Hamikdosh. In their footsteps, the
Chashmonaim found their courage. In their light, the
menorah found its spark.
Echoes of
Chanukah reverberate through the Torah. Hidden within the
pesukim, woven into stories we have known since childhood, lie whispered foreshadowings of
Chashmonaiuvonov, sparks of
Chanukah light flickering long before the
menorah ever burned.
Among the most wondrous revelations of these connections is the bond between Yaakov Avinu and
Chanukah, two stories of light in darkness, of purity amid contamination, of spiritual defiance against overwhelming odds.
In the vastness of the Torah, we find astonishing connections between seemingly unrelated situations. The parallels between Yaakov Avinu and
Chanukah are a prime example.
We are taught that Yaakov Avinu was
niftar on the first day of the
Yom Tov of
Sukkos, and we know that Mitzrayim enacted seventy days of mourning for him. Thus, the mourning period ended on the 25th day of
Kislev, the first day of
Chanukah.
Let us explore the connection between Yaakov Avinu and
Chanukah.
The
posuk (
Bereishis 32:11) states that when Yaakov left the house of Lovon, he thanked Hashem for His blessings. “
Katontimikolhachassodimumikolha’emesasherosisu es avdecha, ki vemakliovarti es haYardeinhazehve’atahoyisilishneimachanos—When I crossed the Yardein River to escape from Eisov, all I had was my stick, and now as I return to Eretz Yisroel, I am large enough to encompass two encampments,” Yaakov said.
What is the significance of Yaakov crossing the Yardein with his stick? The simple explanation is that Elifaz, the son of Eisov, robbed him of all his possessions, leaving him only with his walking stick.
We can examine the depth concealed in these words.
The
posuk (
Bereishis 28:12) states that when Yaakov awoke from his dream, he anointed the stone upon which he had slept with oil and called the place Bais El. But if Elifaz had taken all his possessions, from where did Yaakov obtain oil?
The
PirkeiD’Rebbi Eliezer teaches that Hashem sent that oil down from heaven, and Yaakov used some of it to anoint the stone.
The
Daas ZekeinimMiBaaleiHaTtosafos gives a different explanation, saying that Yaakov hollowed out his stick and filled it with oil, ensuring that he would always have light with which to learn Torah wherever he wandered. He used some of that oil to consecrate the stone.
This answer of the
Daas Zekeinim offers us an understanding of why Yaakov used the words “
ki bemakliovarti es haYardein.” By saying that he crossed the Yardein with his stick, Yaakov was indicating that the only possession he was left with was Torah, because he had the oil, which enabled him to study Torah.
Yaakov spent fourteen years in the
yeshiva of Sheim v’Eiver studying Torah. Then he spent an even longer period in Lovon’s spiritually hostile house. But even there, he testified that he observed the
mitzvos, as he stated, “
ImLovongarti, vetaryagmitzvosshomarti.” Not only did he not emerge impoverished, but he came out richly blessed.
Chanukah was established to commemorate the miracle that occurred when a small flask of oil was found with the seal of the
koheingadol and burned for eight nights instead of one. Before that, for fifty-two years,
Am Yisroel was oppressed by the mighty Hellenists. A small army of
tzaddikim rose up, fought them, and triumphed. They restored Torah study and observance to the nation.
Why, then, does our celebration center more on the miracle of the oil than on the stunning military victory?
Acharonim, notably the
Pnei Yehoshua (
Shabbos 21b) point out that after the war, the oil used for the
menorah did not actually require a special seal due to
tumahhutrab’tzibbur.
Halachically, they were permitted to use oil that had been defiled.
But the
Chashmonaim insisted on purity and searched for pure oil. They yearned to perform the
mitzvah in its most beautiful form.
In response to their striving, Hashem brought about a miracle, guiding the righteous
Chashmonaim to a single pure flask bearing the seal of the
koheingadol and then causing that oil to burn for eight days, long enough to prepare new, pure oil. Heaven met their longing with radiance.
This is why the
mitzvah of
Chanukah uniquely contains levels: basic,
mehadrin, and
mehadrin min hamehadrin.
Chanukah celebrates the yearning of
Am Yisroel to serve Hashem with
hiddur, to elevate
mitzvos, to go beyond the minimum. At the time of the miracle, that dedication shone brightly, and that spirit continues today.
History has no shortage of voices telling Jews, “Why bother? Why strain? Why go beyond the requirement?” Why seek perfect
haddasim? Why exert effort for the finest
Pesachmatzos?
Why recite
Shema so slowly and with careful intention? Why insist on
hiddur when the basic
halacha suffices? Why be like the Briskers or
Chazon Ish-nicks? There is no need for that.
On
Chanukah, we celebrate the joy of
hiddur mitzvah and the strength of ignoring the mockers, scoffers, and apologists. We know that what brings honor in
Shomayim is not always what generates admiration down here, nor is it always a feel-good cause or something that appeals to the masses.
We need never apologize for being
ehrlicheYidden.
Chanukah is a celebration of those who devote themselves to Torah and
avodas Hashem with effort, intensity, and beauty.
The
menorah is an eternal symbol of the Jewish people, for it reminds us of Hashem’s closeness to us and our dedication to Him. It reminds us of the glory of the
Mishkon and
Bais Hamikdosh, and of the transformative miracle as the Jews triumphed over the oppressive
Yevonim.
A businessman once told his son’s
rosh yeshiva that he was removing his son from learning and placing him in the family business. “He’ll never become the
Chazon Ish anyway,” the father said. “Let’s be realistic.”
The
rosh yeshiva smiled. “Why bring him into business? I, too, know your son. And I can assure you, if he goes into business, he will never become anything close to Elon Musk!”
The light of that small, precious flask continues to illuminate the Jewish soul, reminding us that Hashem cherishes those who strive, who yearn, who elevate, and who seek to bring their
avodas Hashem to its fullest beauty.
The lesson of
Chanukah is simple yet profound. Even a small amount of pure oil, guarded, treasured, and protected, can illuminate the entire world. The tiniest spark of spiritual devotion can defeat empires. And the light produced by
hiddur mitzvah continues to glow long after the flames have gone out.
Chanukah invites us to step into that light, to strive, to beautify, to elevate, and to allow our inner DNA, our individual oil, passed down from Yaakov, to shine brightly.
Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach once overheard a man in
shul proudly displaying his beautiful
esrog. As people admired its color, symmetry, and perfection, he eagerly challenged them to guess how much he had paid for such a stunning
cheftzahshel mitzvah.
The guesses rose higher and higher, but none approached the truth. Finally, with a triumphant smile, the man announced that he had paid only twenty-five dollars.
“How did you manage that?” they asked in amazement.
With satisfaction, he explained, “I know that demand is highest before
Yom Kippur. As
Sukkos approaches, vendors worry about being left with unsold merchandise. So I waited until the very last moment, late on
Erev Sukkos, before buying my
daled minim. My strategy worked, and I got this
esrog at a bargain.”
After
davening, Rav Shlomo Zalman sat down with the man and showed him the
Gemara in
MasechesBeitza (16). He read him the
machlokes between Bais Shammai and Bais Hillel. If Shammai saw a nice cut of meat early in the week, he purchased it for
Shabbos, reasoning that he might not find a nicer one. The
Gemara states that Hillel was different—“
middahachereshoysah lo”—as he always had faith that he would find what he needed before
Shabbos.
Why, asked Rav Shlomo Zalman, does
Chazal call this a “
middahacheres, another way”? It would seem that Hillel had traditional
bitachon, which led him to believe that things would work out well and that he would be able to obtain the best foods for
Shabbos.
Rav Shlomo Zalman gently explained that
Chazal are teaching that Hillel didn’t only use this approach when it came to
mitzvos, like honoring
Shabbos. It wasn’t a lackadaisical approach. It was a
middahacheres. It was Hillel’s personal attribute. He always assumed that Hashem would help.
“Someone who lives that way can use the same approach for
mitzvos, too. But if you spent time selecting the right suit for your daughter’s wedding, and you booked the hall early, or you invested time planning the perfect vacation, then apparently you don’t have that
middah. So why, for an
esrog, is it okay to wait for the last minute?”
His point was clear: A person’s real priorities are revealed not by what he claims to value, but by what he puts the most effort into.
Chanukah arrives to reset those priorities. It calls us back to the inner core of Jewish identity, to become
mehadrinYidden, who invest in
mitzvos with heart, care, and dignity.
When the
Chashmonaim searched for oil sealed with the stamp of the
koheingadol, they were making a declaration, telling the people that our priority is to perform each
mitzvah in the way in which it shines most.
This is why the miracle of the
pachshemen is the centerpiece of
Chanukah. The military victory was very impressive. It was an inspiring miracle that freed the Jewish nation from tyrannical rule by an evil nation. But its message for us is secondary to the lesson from the miracle involving the flask of pure, holy oil. The willingness to toil for a
mitzvah, to labor for
taharah, to hold out for
kedusha and spiritual excellence is a legacy that remains from the
Chashmonaim.
And so we return to Yaakov. He crossed the Yardein with nothing but a staff holding oil, symbolizing his dedication to Torah and
mitzvos. He lived with uncompromising fidelity even in Lovon’s home. And because of that loyalty, he was blessed with family, success, and Hashem’s protection.
Similarly,
Chazal established the eight days of
Chanukah to remind us that our greatness does not emanate from military might nor from political triumphs, but from commitment to Torah. In the days of the
Yevonim, the
Misyavnim mocked those who stubbornly clung to
mitzvos. They viewed themselves as sophisticated, modern, and enlightened. The loyal Jews were called primitive, rigid, and old-fashioned.
But the
chachomim wanted that moment in history engraved forever in our consciousness.
More important than outside approval of the world is the steadfast pursuit of
dikdukb’mitzvos and
limudhaTorah.
Chanukah’s light continues to illuminate this.
My grandparents were mocked by the people of their town and by their irreligious relatives, who claimed that by sending their son away from home to learn in
yeshiva, they were dooming him to a life of privation and ensuring that nothing would come of him. He would grow up to be a
shlepper, they said. As it turned out, he was the only boy of his generation from that town who remained religious.
In our day, there is no religious family that doesn’t send their sons to learn in
yeshiva. Torah study is accepted and appreciated by everyone in our world. But many in the big world out there mock those who study Torah, and especially those who dedicate their lives to pursuing Torah study and greatness.
At the same time, there are many outside our community who do not share those values. We would hope that the lighting of the
menorah and the celebration of the
Yom Tov’s miracles would remind those who are removed from Torah of its centrality to our lives and purpose.
Despite all of Yaakov’s challenges, he maintained his lofty
shlichus as the
ish tam yosheivohalim.
Lovon and Eisov surely wondered what good Yaakov was doing for society. They wondered why he didn’t open a
yeshiva, as his father and grandfather did. They questioned why he was so protective of his children, keeping them separated from the world and culture of the day.
We know the questions. We are still getting them. After all, we are Yaakov’s people.
Chanukah provides us with renewed resolve. The
parsha gives us strength to remain loyal to what we learned from Yaakov.
Yaakov set out to build a nation with a
makel in his hand. He had nothing but his faith, Torah, and hidden oil. His son Yosef, in this week’s
parsha, had his dreams, with which he lived when all else was taken from him and he was sold into slavery.
One year, at the annual
Chanukah gathering at Yeshivas Mir Yerushalayim, the
rosh yeshiva, Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, entered. The crowd knew that their
rosh yeshiva was weak from his illness. They were so enthused that they burst out in song. The scene was surreal. The dancing
talmidim shouted themselves hoarse with devotion to the
rosh yeshiva. Rav Nosson Tzvi himself, barely able to speak, exuded such love for the
talmidim.
A question hung over the room: How? How could a man so limited by illness be able to say
shiurim and
shmuessen, give
chizuk and advice, spearhead programs, and raise many millions of dollars to keep the
yeshiva going? How was he constantly building and expanding? How could he inspire such enthusiasm?
Rav Yitzchok Ezrachi took the microphone and answered the question in everyone’s hearts. Looking at the
rosh yeshiva, he quoted a
posuk from the
haftorah read on
ShabbosChanukah. The
novi (
Zechariah 4:6) says, “
Lo bechayil velo bekoach ki imberuchiamar Hashem… Not with strength, nor with might, but with My spirit, Hashem says.”
That is the secret of how we accomplish what we do. That is how we survive in
golus as the screws tighten upon us.
Yaakov had only a
makel. Yosef had nothing except the Torah his father taught him and his faith in Hashem.
They had nothing, and yet Yaakov founded a nation, Yosef ruled over and sustained the world, and the
Chashmonaim beat the most advanced army on earth.
Chanukah is a time to allow our spirits to soar, courageous and proud to give honor to the
mitzvos and the One who commanded us to fulfill them,
lemehadrin min hamehadrin.
The
Yevonim epitomized the seductive power of external beauty and sophisticated culture, and our generation is perhaps living through that influence at its highest resolution. We inhabit a world overflowing with distraction, superficiality, and spiritual dilution. Each one of us today faces tests and challenges. Through our dedication to
limudhaTorah and
kiyumhamitzvos, we can excel despite all the enticements.
We are not asked to fight empires or split seas. We are asked to guard the little flame inside us, the one that remains pure, the one that carries Yaakov’s legacy, Yosef’s resilience, and the
Chashmonaim’s devotion, and the one that will lead us to the coming of
Moshiach speedily in our day.
{Matzav.com}
