A Final Chanukah Post: Only Light Can Do It

The late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said the following:

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

The terrible news we heard of the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut arrived on the east coast shortly before Shabbat was to begin. On Shabbos Chanukah you must light your menorah before sunset and this time of year that happens early in New York! Suddenly faced with such painful news, many asked, how can we light the Chanukah and Shabbos candles in joy when so many others are in pain? When, whether close or far, we are in pain? The Hebrew phrase b'simchah refers loosely to the idea of acting in joy. We are supposed to go into Shabbos b'simchah, to remember the miracles of Chanukah b'simchah, to fulfill all of G-d's commandments b'simchah. Many of us struggled as the sun went down on Friday night to act, let alone feel joyful.

In a remarkably appropriate time, I recently received as a gift a copy of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks' To Heal a Fractured World. After I moved somewhat numbly through the motions of preparing a few last things  for Shabbat, lighting my menorah, then lighting the Shabbos candles and praying, I sat down on Friday night with the book I'd waited (impatiently) to open all week. R' Sacks begins his brilliant work by talking about the ethics of responsibility. And in an impeccably worded statement in his opening chapter he explains:

"There is a Hebrew word, a key term of the Bible, for which there is no precise English translation: simchah, usually translated as 'joy.' What it really means is the happiness we share, or better still, the happiness we make by sharing."

In that moment, it occurred to me that every mitzvah I've taken on is a means to connect and share. To connect and share with G-d and with my own G-dliness. To connect and share with my ancestors and roots. To connect and share with my past inasmuch as I do with my future. It is imperative to connect and share with my fellow Jew and also my fellow man on a broader, more holistic spectrum. That is not just the basis of why I keep Shabbos and do so b'simchah, but it is the basis of how I live my daily life. For inherent in our ability to share in human pain as, in our own way, we all did on Friday afternoon is also our unique ability to share in human joy. That is the beauty of the human race and that is my responsibility not just as a Jew, but as a person.

I thought this evening, as Shabbos ended and as I lit my menorah for the final time this year of Dr. King's words. It's time to let a little light into this room--and then a little more. And it's time to let a lot of that light out of this room and into the world at large--a fractured world that glistens in radiant beauty like shards of glass. A world that already has enough pain, enough hurt, enough darkness. All it really needs is a little light and a whole lot of love. I also reflected on the natural sense of wistfulness that accompanies the final night of Chanukah when, almost paradoxically, the menorah lights shine at their brightest. Today, the fight is no longer a physical battle against a ruthless other, but a silent war we wage within ourselves. It is the inner voice that too frequently tells us we are not strong enough, not pure enough, not many or mighty or righteous enough. The battle is lost when we begin to believe that voice that speaks too loudly, too harshly, too hastily. The war is won when we come not only to feel, but also to reveal and BE a light unto this darkness. We are surrounded by miracles every day. We are not just here to experience and take in the light--we are here to emanate it from within and outshine the darkness. Only then can we and can this very broken world begin to heal.

Chanukah 5773