Chanukah: Let Go

There is a strange Chanukah halakhah that we have been exploring in my high school Gemara class this week -- If your Chanukah candle goes out, even right after you lit it, you are not required to relight it. This is not to say that you can’t relight it or are not encouraged to do so. It’s great to keep the flame going. But you are not required to. You have fulfilled your mitzvah by the mere act of putting light to the candle or oil. That is enough.

This feels deeply significant to me. The miracle of Chanukah that we are commemorating is similar; they found enough oil only to last one day, even though they needed it to last eight. What did they do? They did their part -- only the initial lighting; the result -- the continuance of the flame for all 8 days-- was not their doing or their responsibility.

We are so controlling. We hold on tight to make sure things work out just so, to ensure the proper result. We want things to be perfect, to last just the right amount of time. But the halakhah teaches here to LET GO. Or as someone once said to me -- Let go and let God. Sometimes we hold on so tight, controlling every moment and watching carefully how things turn out, that we don’t allow the flow of God’s rhythm and goodness to enter; we don’t surrender. We hold on for dear life and try to make it all fit.

On Chanukah, we turn away from our this-worldly affairs and enter the world of the miraculous, the supernatural. This light of Chanukah is different from shabbos; on shabbos we are meant to use and enjoy it; it is ordinary light for our ordinary purposes of eating and reading. But on Chanukah we aren’t allowed to use the light; the light is of another order, from another realm; it has sanctity and miraculousness to it; it flickers with wonder, drawing us into another world. This other world only exists if we allow it to, if we make room for it, if we stop holding on so tight and forcing things to go exactly how we want and expect them to, if we make room for surprises, if we make room for the divine.

One other thing -- that same gemara (Shabbat 21a) talks about whether you can use wicks and oils on Chanukah that don’t burn so well. One is not allowed to use these on shabbos, but it turns out that on Chanukah you ARE allowed to use such imperfect materials. Although we mostly try to use the best on Chanukah and there is a minhag to use pure olive oil -- this is again not a requirement. The requirement is just the bare minimum -- some kind of oil and wick or candle, something at all to light with. We are not looking for perfection or even striving here. It is as if we are saying -- don’t think it’s all in your hands. Don’t think that if I do it perfectly --my life, my job, my relationships -- if I do it with the very best oils and I never allow for imperfection and substandard performance, if I hold on super tight and make sure everything is just right -- then, and only then, will it all work out. NO. The message of Chanukah is again one of letting go -- letting go of control, letting go of perfection, of the need to hold on tight and do things just so. You think it only works out because you are making it all work? No. There is a larger much more powerful force at work here.

Sometimes we feel like the world depends on us, that the earth won’t keep turning unless we do things right, that the class won’t learn unless we teach it just so, that our children won’t grow up happily unless we parent perfectly. This type of thinking does not allow room for God, for the flow of goodness that pours down continuously, with or without us. Yes, we need to participate, to take the first step, to light the light. But after that, even if we have done a substandard job, even if we are not perfect and our oil is smoky and impure, even so, the light will shine bright and clear because this is the light of another world. May we know how to let go and allow it into our lives.

Parashat Vayetze: You Matter!

Yaakov dreams of a ladder with angels going up and down on it to heaven, and God standing above, protecting him and caring for him.

What strikes me about this image is how individual it is. Avraham dealt with grand visions of a future people as numerous as the stars. He is av hamon goyim, the father of many nations. Yaakov, though, Yaakov, at least here, is just a little guy trying to survive and find a place for himself in this rough and tumble world. His vision is personal, intimate, exactly what he needs to hear -- that God cares about one little guy and what happens to him.

Yaakov has reason to believe that he doesn’t deserve God’s care. He has not been a very upstanding character, cheating his brother and running away from the anger he caused. We can imagine what he feels -- that he is a castout, a reject, a nothing, that he doesn’t deserve either kindness or protection.

We are sometimes in this place. We are disappointed in ourselves; we are running away from our mistakes; we have messed things up and are trying to escape. And in those moments, we may wonder whether we even deserve this life, whether we may have forfeited our right to God’s love and care, whether it even makes sense for God to care about one little person like us, with all our problems. In the larger scheme of things, it seems to us that we do not really matter. There is a world full of such individuals, many more talented and worthwhile than we are. Really, why should God care? Why should we matter at all to Him? Do we really matter?

There is something in this text that answers a resounding yes to this question of individual mattering: Yes! You, as an individual, do matter! The Torah portrays a world in which God does care about a single person, no matter how messed up. Yaakov does not need to DESERVE this care. He may feel that he should, that he does need to earn it; indeed, he seems a little insecure about it, making a deal -- if You protect me, God, then I will do such and such in return, as if God would only do it for the sake of such a vow. But God doesn’t make such deals. He offers the care for FREE, no strings attached. There is no earning it or deserving it. God is just standing there, breathing life into us, in and out, in and out, like the angels going up and down on the ladder. God is steadfast with Yaakov, and steadfast with us. We feel insecure, but He is always there. We can’t lose Him or become unworthy of this care.

This feels like an essential message, one we can’t hear often enough and one that needs to really sink in for us to live fully, for us to be lifted optimistically and securely into action, as Yaakov was after this encounter (Vayisa Yaakov et raglav). The message is: God is standing above you right now, looking out for you, protecting you, standing by you, sending His angels of love in the form of the exhale and inhale, the in and out and the up and down of the divine breath of life that pulses through you. We have not earned this breath; we do not deserve this life or this love. They are free gifts, and importantly, they are given to each one of us as an individual.

At this moment, God deems it good that you in particular should live and breathe and be taken care of. You in particular, not just general humanity. God is looking down on you -- just you in all your craziness and specialness -- and smiling and sending you life and love and care. Soak it in.