I received the following email:
Dear Mark,
I am your Menorah. Actually, I see that I am not exactly your only menorah, since you have a few. But I am the large, silver one. I’d like to think I speak for all of us, waiting patiently here on your shelf all year long, looking out over the living room, minding our own business and saying nothing. Now comes our week to shine, and I thought I’d let you know a few of my thoughts.
Wednesday night you are going to lift me off of this display shelf, where I sit and observe your comings and goings all year long, and give me a place of honor in the window of your home. You’ll put one candle in a candle slot the first night, along with the shamash; and each night you will light another candle until all eight candles will be lit a week from Wednesday night. I know how much you enjoy that, Mark, all the menorah candles flickering happily at once. I like it too; it fills me with pride. You might say “it’s the reason I exist.” But I want you to know, I am not just some beautifully crafted hunk of silver sitting around all year collecting wax and dust. No, I exist for a higher purpose, and I thought you might want to know my thoughts on this holiday that you will stretch out over eight nights and days.
You know, Mark, you’re going to start with just one candle Wednesday night, and end eight nights later with all eight candles blazing. But it wasn’t always that way. No, no. Everyone didn’t think about it the same way: adding one candle each night. Two thousand years ago there was another school of thought, from a teacher named Shammai, whose students lit 8 lights the first night, 7 the second night, until they lit just one light on the eighth night. It’s as though Shammai were saying, “We have 8 nights remaining; we have 7 nights remaining; we have 6 nights remaining…,” until the last night. But Hillel viewed it differently. With each light he was counting the miracle. First night, the cruse of oil is burning as they expected. Then the second night, “Whoa, we thought it was going to go out after the first day. What’s going on here?” Then another miracle, a third day, a second miracle. Then a fourth day. And each day, each candle adds to the miracles, until finally the eighth night, and a full week of miracles, and the oil still burns brightly. Each day we feel better and better, our spirit soars, our spirituality grows. Each day we add more and more light. It’s almost like when Moses watched the burning bush, and a miracle happened. Although the presence of God burned in the bush, the bush remained the same, unconsumed. Moses saw the fire of God’s presence contained in a bush. We witness God’s presence with each new miracle, and we add a candle.
I know; I know what you’re thinking. Someone made up that story of the 8 days of miracles. Maybe it didn’t happen at all. So what miracle are we remembering in the candles? Maybe there’s no miracle at all? Well, Mark, that’s why I am telling you this story. That’s why I am so proud: Because the miracle is everyone who lights a menorah. You, and everyone with you, are the miracle!
King Pharaoh of Egypt tried to put God out of the world by killing all the boys when they were born. But he failed, and Moses brought us out of Egypt. King Antiochus of Syria tried to put God out of the world by ending Shabbat and worship and Torah study. But the Maccabees revolted? And why? Because both Pharaoh in Egypt and Antiochus in Syria were saying, “You can’t be you!!!” They were not just denying our right to worship in our own way. They demanded that we be just like them, that we deny who we are. Antiochus and Pharaoh said, “Live a lie. You cannot study Torah. You cannot keep Shabbat. Do not embrace God and do not be real. Just live the way I live and everything will be ok.” But we knew better. We knew everything would not be ok. Many times kings have told us, “Just be like me.” But you know what? Pharaoh, Antiochus, Vespasian, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in Spain, Czar Alexander II in Russia, Stalin in the Soviet Union, Hitler in Germany – they are all dead and gone. But the miracle is: YOU ARE THE CANDLE. YOU ARE LIT AS A SIGN OF GOD’S MIRACLES AND PRESENCE. AND YOU ARE STILL HERE AFTER 3,000 YEARS!”
So, Mark, Rabbi, that’s why I am writing you this letter: because I may be a symbol of the miracle long ago, but you – and everyone celebrating with you tonight – you are the miracle. The Maccabees refused to worship like Syrians; and you, in Overland Park, Kansas, you light your candles and insist on being Jewish. Other religions, even some people in government, may insist that they worship in God’s way; and your way is wrong. But you take me off the shelf; you dust me off; you light candles in every Jewish home all over the country, all over the world, and you recite blessings: Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who did miracles for our ancestors at that time in this season of the year.” This is who we are: we are the people who see God in our lives, the people who have survived to teach “Love you neighbor as yourself,” and “Shema Yisrael,” to the entire world. They tried to kill you; and failing they tried to make laws against you. But you, like God’s seed in the world, blossomed in each new spring. I am your menorah. But you are my light!