The Lights of Channukah: For Us to See, or Others?

Dear Family & Friends, 

Each night after we light the Channukah candles, we sing “Hanerot Hallalu”. We recite that we are not supposed to benefit from the light of the Channukah candles. We may not use the Channukah candles for light or warmth, like we would the light of the Shabbat candles. Rather, we are to “look at them alone”. But why would we only look at them? 

The Talmud in Masechet Shabbat gives us the answer by telling us where we are supposed to light our channukiot and who should be witness to these fleeting flames. The rabbis tell us that the mitzvah of lighting Channukah candles is “for every person and their household”, and that we must light our candles “at the opening of the doorways of our homes, from the outside”, for the public to see. 

The rabbis also tell us that we are to light our candles after the sun sets, from the time when it’s dark enough to see the light we bring into the world until the last person walking around the marketplace leaves (let’s call that after rush hour traffic, in our day). 

That each person must light in their home, and in a time and place where the “public domain” will see the light, too, gives us a hint as to why we are only meant to look at- and not use- the light of our Channukah candles. 

These candles are different, they are special. They are unlike the lights we use to find a sock in the dark or to enjoy a romantic dinner. Just as we say in the “Al Hanisim” prayer that we say each night after lighting, the channukah candles remind us of the miracle of our ancestors’ commitment to Jewish national and religious sovereignty in the face of destruction and persecution by the Greek Hellenists. 

Much of the richness in Jewish life happens in the home. By lighting Channukah candles in our homes, we are reminded of how important our own commitment to Jewish living and learning is to the survival and sustenance of our people. We recognize, though, that we do not live in a silo. The Jewish people are only as strong as our commitment to community, and our community is only as strong as the other communities around us which we strive to be in loving relationship with- both in order to survive, and in order to share each other’s light. We put our channukiot in our doorways and on our windowsills in order to nurture that critical relationship.

After spending the lead up to the winter holiday and first two nights of Channukah in Jerusalem, I became accustomed to seeing advertisements for gorgeous and elaborate sufganyot (jelly-filled donuts) in the windows of my favourite coffee shops, to hearing “Chag Sameach!” (“happy holiday of Hannukah!”) as I passed strangers on the street, and to hearing the classics of “MaOz Tzur” and “Mi Yimalel” on the radio. 

As I touched down in Toronto, the Christmas eve cheer of the air traffic control officers and the Starbucks baristas warmed my heart. I couldn’t help feel, however, extra grateful for and proud of my home 5,000 miles away, where I know that channukiot are freely being lit in the doorways and windowsills of secular and religious homes alike, whose families are gathering around trays of latkes and sufganiyot that they picked out from any street corner of their choosing, and whose kids are singing the songs they have been learning in school for weeks leading up to their “Channukah break”. 

A couple of nights ago, on the first night of Channukah in Jerusalem, I took a break from essay writing to go on a neighborhood run. I’m not much of a runner, but I wanted to see all of the channukiot that would be lit in the windowsills and doorways of the homes of my neighbors. As I listened to Barenaked Ladies’ “Channukah Blessings” and Adam Sandler’s “Channukah Song”, I was overcome with a feeling of love, pride, and gratitude for the Jewish people and for our national home. I felt proud that even the most secular Jews still feel connected to this simultaneously universal and particular opportunity to be in relationship with the Jewish community and the global community by bringing light into the world. 

As I watched the light of my channukiah burn, I felt privileged to be fulfilling the dreams of my ancestors by simply doing something Jewish by lighting the channukiah each night when I get home. In Canada I am blessed with the opportunity to celebrate my Jewish life and identity in joy and freedom. In Jerusalem, I am surrounded by Jewish people from around the world who are doing the same in a place that our ancestors dreamed we would once again call home. With this privilege comes a great responsibility to ensure that other communities can bring their light to the world alongside ours. Living these “small” freedoms by lighting tiny flames that we bring into each other’s lives as the days become shorter and darker are, for me, the ways that God continues to do the miracle of Channukah through us each year.

Wishing you a Chag Orim Sameach, 

Lara