Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts

When the Jews entered the Temple after their victory against foreign dominance and reestablished Jewish control over Israel, they found a small jug of oil. They lit the Menorah with this oil. Miraculously, it burned for eight days. A year later the rabbis established an eight-day celebration to commemorate this miracle.

Before we can take a lesson from this story, let us make a few observations.

• The Jews won a war.
• They went on to clean the temple and found something that they were NOT looking for: a small jog of oil that lasted for eight days.
• They now have two reasons to celebrate:winning the war and the open miracle of the oil.
• A year later, the rabbis establish the anniversary as a holiday. The focal point of the celebration is not on the war, but on the oil.

These observations lead to a  new question. Why is it that the main point of the whole war (to reestablish Jewish control) becomes secondary to the celebration of the holiday, which is to commemorate the miracle of finding the oil?

Let's take the question further. When the Jews entered the Temple to clean up, they were not necessarily even looking for pure oil. According to Jewish law, they could have used contaminated oil. They simply went in to clean up the mess.  Why make such a big deal out of finding the oil?

The answer lies in the question. The fact that they had found something that they were not looking for achieves its own considerable significance. It is why G-d made the miracle happen. It becomes, for all of us, the reason to celebrate.

Let me explain.

Two separate events took place: the victory in war and the miracle of the oil. To commemorate the triumph, the rabbis encourage us to include in our celebration an awareness of this time as "days of joy". However, we should not confuse or merge this celebration with the finding of the oil. According to the rabbis, this is not a cause for celebration. They specifically designate the days of Chanukah as ones of "thanks and recognition" for the miracle that G-d has performed.  
“Days of joy” are a means of celebrating a physical victory.

Days of “thanksgiving and recognition” of G-d’s miracles are meant to awaken within us a desire to connect with G-d. This takes effort and a special kind of awareness on our part.

After a year, the Rabbis saw that the Jewish people had internalized the miracle of the oil. Yes, it was good that they had won the war. But more importantly, they had reconnected to G-d. They had found their "inner oil”. Then and only then was the holiday of Chanukah established.

This teaches us a very significant lesson. What should be important is not whether we win or lose a “war”.  More important is what we do with the “oil” that we find within ourselves, even if we were not looking for it in the first place.

In recent months, my family has lost two “wars” with the deaths of two of our young brothers. For these deaths we mourn --- just as there is reason for celebrating when we win, there is very good reason to mourn when we lose. I know this. However, I also know that we must go on and “kindle” the Chanukah candles in hopes that we may find some “oil” that we are not even looking for. Only if I open my heart and soul to this search will G-d be able to make a miracle for me ... indeed, for all who suffer and mourn.

Embracing the spirit of Chanukah -- opening all doors to G-d's unexpected blessings, with all our heart and all our soul and all our might -- will allow us to “find some oil”. It may be very little that we find. When we suffer, the oil of renewal may indeed seem very sparse. But very little can burn for very long. G-d can, G-d will, make a miracle for us when we least expect it.

Finding this good does not take the place of mourning the loss of any war we fight. It happens because of the mourning. We find the good from what we have lost. That, to me, in this sad time for my family, is the lesson of Chanukah.

 

Have you ever tried teaching your child, or a child you know, how to play ball or ride a bike? Have you ever watched as a child struggles to learn something new? If the child falls in the dirt and starts to cry, how do you react? Do you pick the child up or do you wait and let the child get up on their own?

Usually, our first reaction is to pick up the kid out of the dirt and wipe away their tears. Then we continue to teach them how to hit the ball or ride the bike. A question to consider: Why do we rush to help? Is it the smartest thing to do?

I believe we rush to help because Jews are a giving people. We are a people with a heart. When we see a child crying, our natural instinct is to help.

However, is this always the right thing to do? Maybe sometimes it is wrong for us to rush to the rescue. Perhaps part of our motivation is selfish: We can’t stand the crying. We have to do something. It is about us, not about the child.

Sometimes restraining ourselves and waiting accomplishes something very important. If you wait and let the child get up by themselves, you teach the child how to pick themselves up when the time arrives when you won’t be there for them. Of course, this has to be done with love. For a child, learning how to get up after making a mistake, defeat, or failure is more important than learning how to ride a bike or hit a ball.

This lesson is derived from G-d’s treatment of Abraham. Abraham, the first Jew, is commanded by G-d at the age of ninety-nine to circumcise himself and the rest of his household. When Abraham is recuperating, you would expect G-d to come and visit him right away. However, G-d waits three days before his first visit. Why the wait? 

We know that G-d cares about Abraham and has shown compassion to him. The waiting was not an act of negligence, but an act of love. The reason: If G-d visited right away, Abraham would not have learned important lessons from his circumcision and the subsequent pain. Generally, we do not serve G-d through pain, however, pain can help us grow and bring us to our senses. It can help increase our awareness of the value of being alive. The circumcision and pain enabled Abraham to sense G-d’s presence more than before. Until this point Abraham only saw G-d in the form a vision; now Abraham understood G-d’s revealed presence with greater insight and clarity.

Waiting is sometimes constructive, as G-d helped Abraham by waiting to visit him. Likewise, helping can sometimes be destructive.

Let’s take this lesson into current times. In the current harsh economic climate, you or someone you know may have been demoted, lost their job, or suffered a serious financial setback. When hardship strikes, at first we think to ourselves “poor me, what is going to happen to me.” We may start questioning our self-worth and can easily fall into depression.

The pain and suffering we experience is real. However, if we learn from the story of Abraham, rather than focus on our suffering, we can look at this time in life - this waiting period - as a time for growth. We can develop greater empathy for others who experience setbacks. We can explore new opportunities and untapped potential for growth. We have time to ask ourselves “what can I learn from this experience?” “How can I grow?” “What do I want the next phase of my career to be like?”

This waiting period between your last opportunity and your next opportunity should be a constructive time and not a destructive time. Sometimes G-d gives us His greatest gifts by making us wait.

One of the most enjoyable moments of the week is Friday night dinner in honor of Shabbat. The family sits down together with guests; at the dinner table, words of inspiration, Torah thoughts and more are discussed; Jewish songs and scrumptious food are shared.

So you can imagine how I felt when, on a recent Friday night, my son threw a little “negative chutzpah” my way during our Shabbat meal. Then it turned into more than a little negative chutzpah. In fact, things reached a point to where I had to give him an ultimatum: either he apologize and change his behavior or leave the dining room and go to his bedroom for a time-out. I should have expected his decision – he chose to go to his room. After all, escaping into the solitary confines of a book (reading is one of his favorite activities) is certainly preferable to forcing an apology and sitting, embarrassed and ashamed, at our dinner table! The latter path may have been the right one to take, but “right” paths like that one can seem awfully steep to a ten year-old boy.

Meanwhile, I sat there. “Hold your ground,” I kept telling myself. The louder those words rang in my mind, the more disappointed I felt in my heart. Maybe I should have used a different tactic. Maybe I knew I had lost this battle because, instead of recognizing his bad behavior (which was what I had wanted), he had simply trotted off to the freedom of his room. As the meal went on, without him at my side, I started to miss his presence. The same thought kept digging at my mind: “I really did not want to banish my son from the table, all I was trying to accomplish was to teach him a lesson.” Finally, I climbed the steps to his room. But what would I say to him? If I simply told him to come back to the table, I would be undermining myself and the lesson that I had tried to teach. When I spoke to him, I reviewed the sequence of incidents that had led to his having been sent upstairs. I tried to explain that my requests were an expression of my affection for him, my desire for him to succeed and not to fail. He finally acknowledged that his behavior may have been out of line. A half-hearted apology fought its way out of him. Together, we went back downstairs to the Shabbat table

This whole incident kept me thinking. I sensed that there was a lesson in it, not only for my son, but also for me, and maybe in a way for us all. Then it hit me. Is this what G-d feels like when we, His children, misbehave? Does He too not know what to do when He is trying to get our attention and we simply sidetrack ourselves with our various distractions and entertainments?

It is true that we dwell in a world of exile. G-d may have banished us there, but at the same time He has not forsaken us. He wants us to know that He is in the room there with us. All we need to do is to wake up, recognize our mistakes, and take that first small step back towards togetherness with Him. We don’t even have to say “I’m sorry” with all our heart and soul – that first step is what counts.  

Even if that apology doesn’t pass our lips right way, we also must remember that G-d doesn’t just turn His back on us and leave. G-d waits, lonely for us, maybe hurting for our suffering. He has followed us into exile. He is in that room with us. The moment He sees a glimmer of regret on our part –  sometimes through His probing, sometimes through our own – He seizes the opportunity and helps us rise to the occasion of refining our spirits. Although our recognition of our need to “return” may initially be only half- hearted, it makes no difference to G-d. He invites us back into His universe. He takes our hand and walks us back downstairs to the sweetness of His table.

For every message of exile in the Jewish faith, there is a corresponding message of redemption. “I will deliver My people,” G-d continually promises. All we have to do is to open our eyes, to take that step towards Him, and to trust. Even in our darkest moments of confusion, of misbehaving, G-d is there with us. We may not be able to see him. But He is in our room.      

Waiting.