Rabbi Dennis

Chanukah. It’s Hebrew for “Dedication,” recalling how the Jewish people, led by Judah the Maccabee, rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem after it had been desecrated by the pagan Greco-Syrians. It is an eight-day holiday commemorating the miracle of the oil used in the rededication, which was expected to last for only a single day, but instead burned on for eight, the complete period needed for consecrating the sanctuary (I Maccabees Chap. 4; Talmud Shabbat 21b).

But…if what Jews celebrate is the miracle, our Sages ask, why don’t we observe the holiday for only seven days? After all, the first day was no surprise, for our ancestors knew the oil would burn that long.

Well, in fact, we celebrate all eight days of Chanukah because we are remembering two miracles, not one. For even as we recall God’s wondrous intervention, we also honor the dedication of those Jews who lit the flame even though they knew they were going to fail. This too is a miracle, a man-made miracle, the miracle of faith. After all, these people knew their oil lamps like we know our cell phones. Then as now, people pretty much knew how long they could expect their power to last. And understanding that, those Jews also understood their effort was futile. Through long experience they knew they were doomed to certain failure, but they did it anyway. The Maccabees did it because their prior struggles in battling against an overwhelming enemy had also shown them that both history and miracles are partly made by people who are willing to forge ahead despite the futility of it all.

This year the spirit of the Maccabees is most evident in the Israelis and Palestinians in Geneva Switzerland, people without real power in either government, who are foolishly, pointlessly, senselessly trying to revive the peace process between Israel and the Palestinian Authority. Certainly they know the score: Madrid, Oslo, Camp David II, the Quartet and the Roadmap. Every effort to yield a lasting peace has failed. Every “process” has burned briefly, only to gutter and sputter out like a spent candle. And yet these faithful few still make one more poor effort to keep alive the sacred fire of peace.

In a famous story told about Rabbi Issachar Eilenberg, he once ordered his students to take brooms and sweep the darkness from his basement. Predictably, they failed. So then he gave them clubs, and told them to beat the darkness aside. This too failed. So finally, he instructed them to kindle a single candle. They did so and, in an instant, the darkness receded. He concluded the exercise by saying “Even a little light has the power to dispel much darkness.”

We have seen countless peace efforts of the past come to naught, but it is equally true that no amount of force seems able to disperse the darkness that covers the Middle East. And though I count myself among those rendered tired and cynical by all that has transpired, still I cheer on those who, immune to the overwhelming power of the darkness around them, continue to try and kindle candles of peace.

Some miracles come from God unbidden, but others seem to require an act of faith to initiate them. Even the littlest light has the potential to drive away much darkness. So at this season of dedication, this time of miracles, let us pray for those who continue to protect and sustain the feeble spark of peace. With God’s help, who knows, but it might yet grow into a sustaining light.

(This essay appeared in the Dallas Morning News)