CHANUKAH 5785, SECTION D, PAGE 23
I never quite realized what miracles entailed.
I suppose I should have. If we are in need of an overt out-of-the-ordinary miracle, it must mean we find ourselves in some kind of a pain that feels terrifying or desperate.
We’ve inherited, celebrate and accent the miracles of Passover, of Purim, of Chanukah.
The price of those miracles remained more ancillary to the relief and celebration of the deliverance.
Last year on Chanukah, following so closely after the trauma of Oct. 7, things were so very raw, and we could barely breathe. Some hostages had just been released, but so many remained captive. And during Chanukah, Israeli soldiers continued to fall and die in battle, their lives a sacrifice in return for our safety to go on living. Last year, Chanukah was tinged with so much sadness that there were nights when those flickering Chanukah flames on the menorah felt more like yizkor candles.
In the “Al Hanisim” prayer that we recite during Chanukah, when we recount “the miracles and wonders wrought for our ancestors, in those days, in our time,” it’s the miracle of the war of the Macabees that is invoked, rather than the miracle of rededication of the Temple when there was enough pure olive oil to kindle the menorah for only one day, but whose flames miraculously burned for eight days.
“Al Hanisim” is about the few who prevailed against the many (Assyrian Greek empire) . . . the mighty who fell into the hands of the weak . . . the wicked who fell into the hands of the righteous.
Miracles.
“Al Hanisim” speaks of the miracle of the war fought by flesh and blood, the miracle of the war brought about by the actions and participation of man, generated by the human effort of the Hasmoneans, ultimately blessed by G-d to bear the fruit of miracles.
But what about the costs of the miracles?
Here we are, unlike last Chanukah, after a breathtaking succession of military miracles possibly unparalleled in modern warfare, that we ourselves have either witnessed or lived through, viscerally experiencing these miracles.
On the cusp of Passover last April, Iran attacked Israel. Then this past Rosh Hashanah eve, another attack by Iran. Miraculously, no one hurt. Not one! Ballistic missile attacks with the capacity to wound or destroy swaths of Israel and thousands of people.The whole attack, over within minutes. The US military, part of the IDF’s greater role. Before Rosh Hashanah, the succession of evil heads of terrorist regimes, taken down, one by one. Evil leaders who had evaded target for decades, one after the other, vanquished by the IDF. Culminating in the fall, in the ingenious beeper attack upon thousands of Hezbollah operatives, crippling this threatening military sworn on Israel’s destruction.
A month later, the architect of the Oct. 7 massacre is dead.
Two weeks ago, a changing of the order in the past half century’s Middle East. Shocking, Assad, gone. This paradigm shift may bring with it a more pragmatic and less violent region.
An unreal streak and momentum of miracles, in our very own time, to celebrate this Chanukah.
Hopefully, by Chanukah there will be more.
But as of now, the fate of the precious hostages remains unchanged, Chanukah will begin on day 446 of the hostages’ harrowing captivity — of innocent humans who were stolen just for being Jewish.
As of this writing, we mourn and grieve 816 precious soldiers who have fallen in this war that has wrought these miracles.
That’s in addition to the 1,200 who were slaughtered on Oct. 7.
We pray for miracles and deliverance, we are grateful for them beyond measure, but miracles are interlaced with excruciating agony.
When you inherit the history of a miracle, it’s different from celebrating a lived miracle you yourself individually, or as a nation, experience.
On the one hand, you experience the lived miracle more deeply, for you literally had skin in the game, and are living the relief. On the other hand, because of that proximity, and because of the pain that brought the need for the miracle, you also experience it more painfully. This kind of landscape simultaneously holds the unbearable cause, the searing cost, and the colossal relief of the wonders and miracles wrought.
A miracle, I am learning, is not a one-note musical of wonder and euphoria. It’s variegated. The pain and potent miracle are intertwined, braided into one domain, inseparable.
Hallel, prayers of praise and gratitude, are integral to the holiday of Chanukah. This year, we are fortunate that we can express these prayers for the past, but also for the present, for the extraordinary historic grace we have been given and blessed to witness firsthand.
But every light has shadow, too, though. And the shadow of this year’s wondrous illumination is perceptible as we still await the return of the hostages and profoundly grieve those precious soldiers and other victims who shall never again return.
It feels like we are are living close to the flames of the candles, of the miracles. For that I am infinitely grateful and humbled.
What will my feeling be this year as I light the Chanukah candles? Time will tell.
I can only hope that as the golden flames fluctuate and flicker quietly into the night, this year when the magic of the lit menorah dances before me and I sing “Maoz Tzur,” particularly the words “az egmor b’shir mizmor, I shall conclude with psalm and song,” this will mark the conclusion of this painful era we are living through.
I hope the miracle this Chanukah will be that we don’t need miracles.
“Az egmor b’shir mizmor — ba-yamim ha-hem, ba-zman ha-zeh.”
In those days, in this time.
Wishing my dear readers a very Happy Chanukah!
© IJN 2024
