05 Dec CATCHING OUR BREATH

I vividly remember
playing football as a
child and getting hit
(accidentally) in the
solar plexus. Gasping
for air, it felt like I
would never catch my
breath or breathe normally again. I think we all
have had this feeling lately; the horrors of
October 7 knocked the wind out of all of us and
we haven’t really caught our breath since.
Overwhelmed by grief, sadness, worry and
concern, we are now two months into this war
and neither the situation nor we are getting
better anytime soon.
As the hostages have been released, we have
learned of the inhuman, barbaric way they
were treated. One hundred and fifty are still
being kept captive. Our soldiers remain on the
front, fighting for their lives and our lives. The
enormous spike in antisemitism in this country
and around the world is alarming, frightening
and deeply concerning.
When we consider the reality right in front of
us, it is hard not to despair or grow despondent.
Israel is surrounded by enemies who seek her
demise. Jews globally are the target of
increasing antisemitism and disdain. Watching
person after person speak at an Oakland City
Council meeting this week, defending,
excusing, and glorifying Hamas, accusing
Israel of killing its own people, sympathizing
with terrorists, can make you feel hopeless and
make the situation feel beyond repair. How can
we find hope when so much feels hopeless?
How can we long for or bring redemption when
so many seem irredeemable?
For one thing, we can find strength in the
holiday of Chanukah, which couldn’t come at a
better time. Chanukah is defined by our sense
of sight – Haneiros halalu kodesh heim, v’ein
lanu reshus l’hishtameish bahem elah lirosam
bilvad. The candles are sacred; we don’t have
permission to benefit from their light but their
entire purpose is simply to be looked at. We
have a unique Halacha on Chanukah. The
Talmud tells us – and the Shulchan Aruch
records – haroeh mevareich, one who can’t
light for himself or herself but sees the candles
lit by someone else nevertheless makes the
second beracha of she’asah nissim la’avosainu.
When I see someone put on Tefillin, take a
lulav, or blow shofar, I don’t make a beracha.
Only on Chanukah do I make a beracha when
seeing someone else perform the mitzvah.
Why?
The Kedushas Levi, Rav Levi Yitzchak of
Berdichov, tells us that Chanukah is the holiday
of seeing. The different moadim correspond
with our different senses. On Purim our
hearing is heightened as we listen to the
Megillah. On Pesach our sense of taste is
sharpened when we eat matzah and marror. On
Chanukah, he says, we evaluate our sense of
sight, testing how well we see.
The truth is, in a sort of paradoxical way, our

eyes are a liability. We often feel that “seeing
is believing.” If I can perceive and observe it,
it is true. If I can’t, it is not real. Following
this rule, we have dismissed and disregarded
the most precious truths and realities in our
lives. There are ideas, feelings, thoughts and
dreams that are authentic and genuine, despite
the fact that they can’t be seen or observed.
Our Rabbis describe the Greek empire and
Hellenist influence as choshech, darkness. In
expounding on the opening verses of the
creation story, the Midrash Rabbah says
choshech al p’nei sehom – zu galus yavan.
Moreover, our Rabbis taught that darkening
our eyes was the goal of our Greek oppressors
– shehechshichu einehem shel yisroel. They
wanted to make us believe that something is
only true if we can see it. They worshipped the
body, the aesthetic, the visible form. Our
enemies proclaimed that one must look at the
facts and face the reality.
We are only here because throughout our
history, we have refused to see only the surface
and instead we have employed a vision, a
capacity to see beyond, to dream of what could
be. The truth is one can live with their eyes
open, have perfect vision, and still be cloaked
in darkness. On the other hand, it can be pitch
black all around and yet a person can see
absolutely clearly.
During the story of Chanukah, the
Chashmonaim didn’t just see the physical
reality – their few numbers, weak army, and
impossible task. They saw the mighty hand of
Hashem, they saw the obligation to fight, and
they saw Divine protection that would
accompany them. We have been charged as a
people throughout our history to not simply
look at what is in front of us. If we had, we
would have given up long ago. We have faced
impossible odds, we have confronted
impossible challenges. Nevertheless, we have
succeeded in retaining our hope and our
optimism because we chose to have vision
instead of sight, imagination instead of
observation.
What if Moshe looked at the might of the
Egyptian empire and never challenged Pharoah
to let his people go? What if the Macabbees
had only considered the facts and never
revolted against the Greek oppressors? What if
Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai simply observed
the power of Vespasian and never asked for
Yavneh and its sages? What if in 1948 and
1967 the brave men and women of Israel had
conceded the impossible chances of
overcoming the many nations, people, and
resources that sought to obliterate them?
There is a message plastered all over Israel
right now, hanging on billboards, posted on
buses, displayed on bumper stickers. It has
become our motto of this war – ינצח הנצח עם,
the people of eternity will be victorious. We
don’t look at odds, numbers and likelihoods;
we aren’t intimidated or scared by predictions
of pundits or plans of pernicious actors. We are

the people of eternity, we see differently than
others, we believe in what will be, not what is.
Residents of cities from the south who were
first decimated and then displaced have not
given up, given in, they are not abandoning
their posts or moving to a more comfortable or
safer environment. They have vowed to return,
to expand, to build and to further settle. They
are members of the Am HaNetzach, the eternal
people who don’t accept what is but define
what could be, who don’t just see what is on the
surface but who have a vision for lives of virtue
and the triumph of Jewish values.
In her “Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust,”
Professor Yaffa Eliach shared the incredible
story of Chanukah in Bergen-Belsen:
Chanukah came to Bergen-Belsen. It was time
to kindle the Chanukah lights. A jug of oil was
not to be found, no candle was in sight, and a
menorah belonged to the distant past. Instead, a
wooden clog, the shoe of one of the inmates,
became a menorah, strings pulled from a
concentration camp uniform, a wick, and the
black camp shoe polish, pure oil.
Not far from the heaps of bodies, the living
skeletons assembled to participate in the
kindling of the Chanukah lights. The Rabbi of
Bluzhov lit the first light and chanted the first
two blessings in his pleasant voice, and the
festive melody was filled with sorrow and pain.
When he was about to recite the third blessing,
he stopped, turned his head, and looked around
as if he were searching for something.
But immediately, he turned his face back to the
quivering small lights and in a strong,
reassuring, comforting voice, chanted the third
blessing: “Blessed are Thou, O Lord, our God,
King of the Universe, who has kept us alive,
and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach
this season.”
Among the people present at the kindling of the
light was a Mr. Zamietchkowski, one of the
leaders of the Warsaw Bund. He was a clever,
sincere person with a passion for discussing
matters of religion, faith and truth. As soon as
the Rabbi of Bluzhov had finished the
ceremony of kindling the lights, Zamiechkowski
elbowed his way to the Rabbi and said, “Spira,
you are a clever and honest person. I can
understand your need to light Chanukah
candles in these wretched times. I can even
understand the historical note of the second
blessing, “Who wrought miracles for our
Fathers in days of old, at this season.” But the
fact that you recited the third blessing is beyond
me. How could you thank G-d and say “Blessed
art Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the
Universe, who has kept us alive, and hast
preserved us, and enabled us to reach this
season”? How could you say it when hundreds
of dead Jewish bodies are literally lying within
the shadows of the Chanukah lights, when
thousands of living Jewish skeletons are
walking around in camp, and millions more are
being massacred? For this you are thankful to
God? For this you praise the Lord? This you

call “keeping us alive?”
“Zamietchkowski, you are a hundred percent
right,” answered the Rabbi. “When I reached
the third blessing, I also hesitated and asked
myself, what should I do with this blessing? I
turned my head in order to ask the Rabbi of
Zaner and other distinguished Rabbis who
were standing near me if indeed I might recite
the blessing. But just as I was turning my head,
I noticed that behind me a throng was standing,
a large crowd of living Jews, their faces
expressing faith, devotion, and deliberation as
they were listening to the rite of the kindling of
the Chanukah lights.
I said to myself, if God has such a nation that at
times like these, when during the lighting of the
Chanukah lights they see in front of them the
heaps of bodies of their beloved fathers,
brothers, and sons, and death is looking from
every corner, if despite all that, they stand in
throngs and with devotion listening to the
Chanukah blessing “Who performed miracles
for our Fathers in days of old, at this season”;
indeed I was blessed to see such a people with
so much faith and fervor, then I am under a
special obligation to recite the third blessing.”
That night in Bergen-Belsen, Mr.
Zamietchkowski only saw what lay before him,
dead bodies and terrible suffering. The Rebbe
also looked, but he saw another layer of truth
that was equally accurate – that there was a
gathering of people who maintained incredible
faith despite the most horrific circumstances.
If you look on the surface, there is so much to
fear right now. But over the last nearly eight
weeks, if you look a little closer, if you wear
your “Chanukah glasses” you will recognize
that we have merited to view things that our
people have never seen before. Our vision to
be a united people is becoming fulfilled, the
dream of a spiritual awakening is taking place,
the hope for a resurgence of a connection to our
homeland from Jews around the world is
happening.
When Chanukah comes next week, take the
time to not only light the candles but to look
and gaze at them. Use the light to dispel all the
darkness. Allow it to illuminate your life, see
with 20/20 vision, feel at the core of your being
that the ינצח הנצח עם, our people of eternity
will prevail.
May our people experience the miracles and
the wonder of yesteryear today, may we merit
to see the hand of Hashem bayamim ha’heim
bizman ha’zeh.