S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT VAYIGASH - CHANUKA

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei

            Rav Chayim Soloveitchik famously commented that the miracle of the menorah in the Temple did not entail the “creation” of new oil that sustained the flame.  The miracle affected the quality of the small amount of oil in the menorah, which burned slower than it naturally would.  God did not create new oil to sustain the flames, but rather supernaturally enabled the available oil to sustain the flames for eight days.  Rav Chayim reportedly made this comment to explain how the mitzva of kindling the menorah was fulfilled during those eight days.  The Torah requires using for the kindling of the menorah specifically oil that had been produced from olives (Shemot 27:20), and it thus stands to reason that oil that came into existence through a miraculous act of creation would be disqualified for the mitzva.  We must therefore conclude, Rav Chayim explained, that the flames of the menorah were sustained by ordinary olive oil, which was given supernatural “strength” to burn for eight days.

            The miracle of the oil, when seen from this perspective, is perhaps symbolic of a broader message relevant to Torah life.  We oftentimes see ourselves as merely a “small jug of oil,” people with limited capabilities, with limited potential, who can only “burn” for a “single day” – who can only achieve minimally.  We resign ourselves to mediocrity, feeling content with our modest achievements.  The miracle of the lamps of the menorah perhaps teaches the lesson of maximizing one’s potential to its very fullest, and trying to extend even well beyond.  At times we will find that our “small jug of oil” can achieve far more than it appears capable of.  In our own, individual “Beit Ha-mikdash,” in our religious lives, we are required to make the most of every drop of “oil,” every ounce of potential, and ensure to achieve and excel to the very highest standard possible.

Sunday

            In the Al Ha-nissim paragraph that we add to the amida prayer and birkat ha-mazon during Chanukah, we express our gratitude to the Almighty for facilitating the unlikely victory of the Hasmoneans against the Greeks: “You gave over the mighty in the hands of the feeble, the many in the hands of the few, the impure in the hands of the pure, the evil in the hands of the righteous, and the malicious ones in the hands of those involved in Your Torah.”

            Many writers have noted the lack of parallelism in this passage.  The first two phrases – “the mighty in the hands of the feeble, the many in the hands of the few” – emphasize the unlikelihood of the victory, the enormous disadvantage the Jewish warriors faced in launching this military campaign.  The other three phrases, by contrast, speak of the difference not in numbers or might, but rather in spiritual stature – “the impure in the hands of the pure, the evil in the hands of the righteous, and the malicious ones in the hands of those involved in Your Torah.”  Seemingly, these two groups of contrasting descriptions of the Hasmoneans and the Greeks have little to do with one another.  Are these two groups of phrases indeed distinct from one another, or is it perhaps possible to view all five phrases as somehow relating to the same theme?

            Rav Dov Weinberger, in his Shemen Ha-tov – Mo’adim (p. 181), suggests that the last three descriptions, too, relate to the unlikelihood of the Hasmonean victory.  Militarily, an army bound by the Torah’s laws and system of values faces a significant disadvantage in its struggle against a ruthless, heartless, barbaric foe that has freed himself from any constraints of conscience.  Even disregarding their small numbers and limited supplies, the righteous, pure, Torah-committed warriors seemed to stand little chance against the brutal forces of the Greek Empire.  But God assisted the Hasmonean army and enabled them to defeat the enemy despite their size and weakness – and despite the moral constraints by which they were bound and by which the Greeks were not.

            This insight provides an important lesson that bears relevance beyond the specific context of warfare.  Strict adherence to the Torah’s laws and guidelines can often put a person at a disadvantage in several areas of life.  Most obviously, perhaps, professional success is frequently threatened, or hampered, by the observance of Shabbat and Yom Tov and other religious demands.  The Hasmonean victory should remind us that ultimately, in the grand scheme of things, we are never disadvantaged by our devotion to Torah.  It certainly poses some difficult challenges, and may put certain achievements beyond reach, but ultimately, it is unquestionably to our benefit and in our best interests to remain committed to the Torah’s laws.  We must be prepared to accept the disadvantage, with the faith and confidence that we are never at a loss by faithfully serving our Creator.

Monday

            The Gemara in Masekhet Shabbat (21b) famously delineates the three levels of the obligation of Chanukah candles.  The basic mitzva requires the kindling of a single light each night of Chanukah in front of every home.  The next level, the mehadrin, requires a candle for every member of every household each night, and the highest level – the mehadrin min ha-mehadrin, which has become the universally accepted practice – is lighting an additional candle each night of Chanukah.

            The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 671:2) rules that the mehadrin min ha-mehadrin does not require each member of the household to light.  Rather, one person lights per household, and that person lights an additional candle each night.  This is, indeed, the custom among many Sepharadim today.  The Rama, however, cites the view that the mehadrin min ha-mehadrin standard includes the mehadrin standard, meaning, every member of the household lights candles according to the number of days of Chanukah that have passed.  The Rama adds that this was the prevalent practice among Ashkenazic communities – as it is today, as well.

            Rabbi Akiva Eiger (Responsa – Mahadura Tanina 13) raised an interesting question concerning the Ashkenazic custom that all members of the household light Chanukah candles.  Since the basic obligation is fulfilled through the kindling of a single light for the entire household, how can the rest of the household then light candles with a berakha?  It would appear that once they have fulfilled their basic obligation, then even if they wish to observe the higher mehadrin standard, a berakha should not be recited.  The berakha relates to the actual mitzva, which has already been fulfilled.  How, then, can one recite a berakha over an act which serves only as an enhancement to the mitzva, after he has already fulfilled the mitzva?

            One approach might be to relate this issue to the question of whether a berakha is recited over a religious act performed only by force of minhag (institutionalized custom).  The Rambam, in Hilkhot Chanukah (3:7), famously rules that a berakha should not be recited over the hallel recitation on Rosh Chodesh, which is required only by force of minhag.  Ashkenazic practice, however, does not follow the Rambam’s view, and rather accepts the recitation of a berakha over the hallel recitation on Rosh Chodesh.  Perhaps, then, consistent with this custom, Ashkenazim also recite a berakha over the fulfillment of the mehadrin level of Chanukah candle lighting, even though the basic obligation has already been fulfilled.

            Rabbi Akiva Eiger, however, suggests that since the household members wish to perform the mitzva on the higher level of mehadrin, they intuitively have in mind not to fulfill the obligation through the first person’s lighting.  Therefore, they do not fulfill the mitzva – even on the level of basic obligation – until they personally light candles.

            Rav Ariel Gershon Ternovsky, in his Moadei Hashem (5768), approaches this issue from an entirely different angle.  He raises the classic question as to whether we should view the obligation of Chanukah candles as a chovat gavra – a personal obligation – or a chovat bayit – an obligation on the household.  Do we consider each household member personally obligated to light Chanukah candles, and they fulfill their obligation through the “agency” of the head of the household, who lights on everyone’s behalf?  Or, do we say that from the outset, the mitzva of Chanukah candles applies to the entire household as a unit, such that they bear the obligation collectively, not individually.  One practical difference between the two perspectives is the case of household members who specifically have in mind not to fulfill their obligation through the candles lit by the head of the household (as in Rabbi Akiva Eiger’s discussion).  If we view each individual as personally obligated, then one may, presumably, exclude himself from the lighting of the head of the household and prefer to fulfill the mitzva personally.  However, if the mitzva from the outset applies to the entire household collectively, as a single unit, then it seems likely that there is no purpose to a second lighting, even if one prefers not to be included in the first lighting.  Since he bears an obligation of Chanukah candles only as part of the household, this obligation is fulfilled, like it or not, through the first person’s lighting.

            Rav Ternovsky suggested that this issue lies at the heart of the distinction between the basic obligation of Chanukah candle lighting, and the mehadrin standard.  The basic obligation is defined as a chovat ha-bayit, a mitzva imposed upon the household as a single unit.  The mehadrin standard redefines the mitzva as a chovat gavra – a personal obligation borne by each individual.  This level does not merely add an enhancement to the basic mitzva; it establishes a new, personal obligation upon the individual, which does not exist on the basic, minimal requirement.

            If so, then we can easily answer Rabbi Akiva Eiger’s question.  When a household chooses to observe the mitzva on the level of mehadrin, they each take upon themselves a personal, individual obligation to light the Chanukah candles.  They each individually perform the mitzva, and thus each lighting warrants the recitation of a berakha.  Once they have transformed the obligation from a collective requirement to a personal one, it is clear that each individual fulfills his or her own mitzva, and thus recites a berakha.

Tuesday

            Yesterday, we noted the three different levels of lighting the Chanukah candles, and the debate among the halakhic authorities regarding the relationship between the second and third levels.  The Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 671:2) maintained that as we observe the highest level – adding a candle each night of Chanukah – we do not observe the second level, which requires lighting one candle each night for each member of the household.  According to this view, only one person lights Chanukah candles in each household every night of Chanukah.  The Rama, however, observes the practice in Ashkenazic communities that each member of the household lights a set of Chanukah candles every night.  According to this view, the third level (the mehadrin min ha-mehadrin) incorporates the second level (the mehadrin), and thus every member of the household lights candles according to the number of days that have passed.

            This debate affects the question concerning a married person who travels alone during Chanukah.  The Terumat Ha-deshen (101) was asked whether there is any purpose for a man to light Chanukah candles in his place of lodging if his wife is lighting Chanukah candles in their home.  Seemingly, since his obligation is fulfilled through his wife’s lighting, there is no reason for him to light, and if, for whatever reason, he wishes to light, he certainly should not recite the berakhot, since this lighting is not necessary for fulfilling the mitzva.  The Terumat Ha-deshen, however, rules that one may light Chanukah candles in such a case, and even recite the berakhot.  He explains that since the mehadrin standard requires each member of the household to light Chanukah candles, the traveling husband who wishes to fulfill this standard should light his own candles – with the berakhot – even though his wife lights at home.  This is also the view of the Maharil (teshuvot, 145).

            Of course, this position presumes that the mehadrin standard applies even when fulfilling the standard of mehadrin min ha-mehadrin.  According to the Shulchan Arukh’s view, since we’ve generally accepted the mehadrin min ha-mehadrin standard, we do not observe the mehadrin standard, and only person lights in each household.  If so, then there would certainly be no purpose in a husband’s lighting in his place of lodging if his wife lights at home.  Indeed, in his Beit Yosef (O.C. 677), the Mechaber (author of the Shulchan Arukh) disputes the ruling of the Terumat Ha-deshen.  And, in the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 677:3), he writes that according to one opinion (the Mordekhai), a person who is lodging in a place without any Jews should light Chanukah candles even if his wife lights at home, in order that he will see Chanukah candles.  The clear implication of this ruling is that otherwise, if one stays in a place with Jews and where he would thus be able to see Chanukah candles, he should not light, since his wife lights at home.  This is, indeed, the practice among Sepharadim who abide by the Mechaber’s rulings.  The Rama, however, follows the view of the Terumat Ha-deshen, that one who wishes may light in his place of lodging, even though his wife lights at home.

            The Mishna Berura (677:16) writes that since some authorities dispute the Terumat Ha-deshen’s position, it is best for a person in this situation to light Chanukah candles without the berakhot, and to hear the berakhot recited by somebody else.  Alternatively, he writes, one should try to ensure that he lights before his wife lights at home, so that his lighting will fulfill the mitzva and the berakhot will thus be warranted.

            Interestingly,  Rav Yitzchak Weiss, in his Minchat Yitzchak (7:46), writes that if the husband travels to a different time zone, then he is obligated to light his own Chanukah candles as a strict halakhic obligation (and not merely as a additional measure of stringency).  Since the obligation in his location sets in a different time than his wife’s obligation at home, his mitzva is not fulfilled through her lighting, and he is therefore required to light, with the berakhot, according to all opinions.

David Silverberg

Wednesday

            Among the questions that are commonly raised and discussed with regard to the Chanukah miracle of the oil relates to the halakhic principle of “tum’a hutra be-tzibur.”  This principle establishes that the requirement of tahara (ritual purity) is waived for the sake of the public Temple functions performed on behalf of the entire nation.  Many scholars have noted that, seemingly, if the only available oil in the Beit Ha-mikdash was impure, Halakha would allow using this oil in order not to forfeit the mitzva of the menorah candle lighting, an obligation cast upon all Am Yisrael as a nation.  It would thus appear that the miracle of the oil was halakhically unnecessary, as impure oil was perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.

            The Chiddushei Ha-Rim answered that the rule of “tum’a hutra be-tzibur” does not apply to the chinukh – the formal dedication of the Temple.  After the Hasmonean victory over the Greeks, the Mikdash was formally rededicated, as it had been corrupted and defiled over the course of the Greek occupation.  Ritually pure oil was required not for the mitzva of lighting, but rather for the event of the chanukat ha-Mikdash, the formal rededication of the Temple and its furnishings.

            Rav Aryeh Leib Baron, in his Netzach Yaakov, added that this theory proposed by the Chiddushei Ha-Rim may explain a famous passage in Rashi’s Torah commentary (beginning of Parashat Behaalotekha) concerning the mitzva of the menorah.  Rashi noted that immediately after the Torah’s description of the sacrifices brought on the occasion of the Mishkan’s formal inauguration, we find God’s commands regarding the lighting of the menorah.  To explain the juxtaposition between these two seemingly unrelated subjects, Rashi claims that Aharon felt distraught that his tribe, the tribe of Levi, had not participated with the other tribes in offering special sacrifices in celebration of this event.  God sought to “comfort” Aharon by drawing his attention to the fact that his tribe is given the unique privileged of preparing and kindling the menorah.

            Many questions have been raised against Rashi’s comments, including the point that a non-kohen is allowed to light the candles of the menorah in the Temple.  According to the Rambam (Hilkhot Bi’at Mikdash 9:7), this halakha applies even le-chatekhila; meaning, not only is the lighting of a non-kohen accepted after the fact, but a non-kohen may even be specifically invited to perform the lighting.  How, then, could the mitzva of lighting the menorah serve as a source of “consolation” for Aharon, if it was not exclusive to his tribe?

            Rav Baron noted that according to the theory of the Chiddushei Ha-Rim, the answer becomes clear.  The context of Aharon’s distress was the event of the chanukat ha-Mishkan, the formal dedication of the Mishkan.  As we have seen, the ritual specifications for the Temple’s dedication are stricter than the rules that apply in the Mikdash under normal circumstances.  It is thus possible that although ordinarily a non-kohen may light the menorah, specifically a kohen is required for this role at the Temple’s dedication.  Indeed, God explicitly directs the command of the menorah lighting to the kohanim (Bamidbar 8:2), seemingly indicating that this ritual must be performed by a kohen, and the Ritva (cited by the Kesef Mishneh) points to this verse as proof against the Rambam’s position, as it demonstrates that a kohen must kindle the menorah.  The Rambam would perhaps respond that a kohen is required for the kindling of the menorah at the Temple’s dedication, which, as Rashi mentions, is the context of the command in Parashat Beha’alotekha.  Thus, God “consoled” Aharon by noting his tribe’s unique stature during the dedication of the Mishkan.  Although the tribe of Levi did not bring special sacrifices along with the other tribes, it was nevertheless granted special status, as evidenced by the fact that no member of other tribes were allowed to kindle the menorah during this event.

David Silverberg

Thursday

            Parashat Vayigash opens with Yehuda’s impassioned plea to the Egyptian vizier – whom he does not yet know is actually Yosef – to allow Binyamin, his youngest brother, to return to Canaan.  Yosef had ordered his servant to place his silver goblet in Binyamin’s luggage before the brothers left Egypt to return home, and when the goblet was found in Binyamin’s sack, Yosef demanded that he remain as his slave.  Yehuda, who had personally guaranteed his father that he would bring Binyamin home safely (43:9), petitioned the vizier to allow him to remain as a slave in Binyamin’s stead.  The basis for his plea was Yaakov’s special affection for Binyamin, and the emotional grief he would suffer if Binyamin did not return home.

            One might wonder how Yehuda sought to persuade Yosef to set Binyamin free on this basis.  Criminals are punished for their crimes despite the harm this causes to their loved ones.  Did Yehuda really feel that the pain Yaakov would suffer was a valid legal argument in defense of Binyamin?

            One simple answer, perhaps, is that for this reason Yehuda introduced his plea by saying, “ki khamokha ke-Pharaoh” (“for you are like Pharaoh” – 44:18).  A court of law must sentence criminals based on the crime committed, without regard for the impact on the family, because it is bound to the objective application of legal statutes.  A king, however, has the power and authority to override legalities and issue rulings based on personal biases.  Yehuda therefore told Yosef that as someone with royal authority, he had the power to make exceptions to the legal statutes, and accept Yehuda’s service in place of Binyamin’s, even though Binyamin allegedly committed the crime.

            Additionally, however, it seems that Yehuda’s plea was based upon another factor, as well.  In recalling the events that led to the current situation, Yehuda reminded Yosef of his demand that the brothers bring Binyamin, and his promise, “asima eini alav” (“I shall keep my eyes on him” – 44:21).  Ibn Ezra interprets this phrase as expressing Yosef’s desire to see his brother – meaning, he said, “Bring him so I can see him” – but most commentators understood this promise as referring to care and protection.  When he demanded that Binyamin be brought to Egypt, Yosef also gave his word that he would care for him.

            The Rashbam (see also Chizkuni) explains why Yehuda recalled this promise: “Even if he committed a crime, it is unbecoming for the land’s ruler to violate his word.”  Yehuda essentially told Yosef that Binyamin deserved clemency even from a strictly legal standpoint, since Yosef had promised to take care of him, and this promise remained in force even if Binyamin committed a crime.  By committing himself to care for Binyamin, Yosef accepted responsibility for the young man’s wellbeing regardless of the latter’s conduct.

            On one level or another, all members of Am Yisrael bear responsibility for each other’s wellbeing.  Our joint membership in this special nation requires us to look out for one another and treat each other with love, care and concern.  And this commitment is not automatically suspended when a member acts improperly.  We all make our share of mistakes and at times fail to live up to our obligations as part of God’s beloved nation.  But people’s imperfections do not absolve the others of their responsibilities toward them.  A fellow Jew does not have to boast a perfect record, or even a nearly perfect record, to deserve our love, support, assistance and concern.  Yehuda noted that it would be unbecoming for a person of Yosef’s stature to scorn Binyamin even after his crime, as he would then be in violation of his commitment.  For us, too, as a “kingdom of priests and a sacred nation” (Shemot 19:6), it would be unbecoming to violate our commitment to our fellow Jews, despite their faults and imperfections.

As we read in Parashat Vayigash, Yosef managed to forgive his brothers for their crimes against him, and, in loving fraternal devotion, cared for them and their families during a period of financial hardship.  We must learn from Yosef’s inspiring example and show this same level of unconditional commitment and love for our fellow Jews, despite our differences and despite even legitimate grievances.

Friday

            Likely the most common question that is discussed regarding the story of Yosef and his brothers’ visit to Egypt is what Yosef’s intention was in his seemingly cruel and heartless treatment of his brothers.  Without revealing his identity, Yosef accuses the brothers of spying – even though they had clearly come, like countless others from the nations around Egypt, to purchase food – and demands that they return to Canaan and then come back to Egypt with their youngest brother, Binyamin.  Then, he frames Binyamin by having a servant place his silver goblet in Binyamin’s bag, and decrees that Binyamin should remain as a slave because of his crime.  In Parashat Vayigash, we read of Yehuda’s impassioned plea to Yosef on Binyamin’s behalf, and after Yehuda’s appeal Yosef finally reveals his identity, speaks kindly with his brothers, and offers to support them and their families in Egypt.  What is all this about?

            The Ramban (to 42:9) famously – though somewhat controversially – explained that Yosef’s actions were driven by his commitment to fulfill the dreams he dreamt as a teenager.  As we read in Parashat Vayeshev (37:7), he first dreamt of his brothers bowing before him, and then (37:9) of his parents and brothers bowing.  The Ramban explains that Yosef needed to find a way to have Binyamin brought to Egypt, without Yaakov, so that the first dream would be fulfilled.  Then, he could have his brothers bring Yaakov for the fulfillment of the second dream.  The reason Yosef wanted to keep Binyamin with him, according to the Ramban, is that he feared that the others brothers might resent Binyamin and cause him harm along the way home, just as they had done to Yosef.  But once Yosef saw Yehuda’s efforts to rescue Binyamin, he realized that there was no reason for concern, and he immediately revealed his identity and instructed them to bring Yaakov.

            The Meshekh Chokhma, in his comments to Parashat Vayigash (45:1), suggests a slight variation of this approach.  He claims that Yosef’s intent was to force Yaakov to come to Egypt and bow before him, by holding Binyamin, his beloved son, captive.  In this manner, the second dream would be fulfilled.  However, after Yehuda’s appeal, Yosef felt compelled to reveal his identity and forego on the fulfillment of his dreams.  The Torah relates that Yosef revealed his identity when he “could no longer restrain himself in front of all those standing near him” (45:1).  According to the Meshekh Chokhma, this means that Yosef felt embarrassed in the presence of the Egyptian officials.  They, undoubtedly, viewed Yosef’s treatment of this Canaanite family as peculiar, bizarre, and insensibly ruthless.  Obviously unaware of Yosef’s childhood dreams which he deemed prophetic and thus felt bound to fulfill, they saw Yosef’s conduct as cruel, harsh and irrational, and it was inappropriate for Yosef to present such an image.  He therefore had no choice but to accept Yehuda’s plea, and thus his scheme could not continue as planned.  At that point, he revealed his identity.

            The Meshekh Chokhma’s approach is striking as it underscores the importance of avoiding appearing unethical.  According to the Meshekh Chokhma, Yosef was prepared to subject his brothers and his aged father to unimaginable aggravation and torment for the sake of fulfilling his dreams, but refused to pay the price of giving the appearance of being cruel and ruthless.  Actively bringing about the fulfillment of these prophecies was important enough of a goal to imprison Shimon and then Binyamin, and send the brothers back and forth from Canaan – but it did not justify appearing immoral in front of the Egyptian officials.

            The Meshekh Chokhma here teaches the importance of not only being moral, but also appearing moral, and that sometimes even important endeavors should not be pursued if they require outwardly appearing cruel and insensitive.