Adapted from Rabbi Elimelech of Lizensk
There are two kinds of “righteous” people: one who is truly righteous and one who just dresses like a righteous person in a fur coat. Each of them faces the winter in a different way. One will go out and collect wood for the fire; the other will wrap himself in his fur coat. The one who collects wood lights a fire and invites others to join him. He not only warms himself, but others as well. The one who makes himself cozy in his own heavy coat is secure, but those around him will freeze. The genuinely righteous person is the one who shares his warmth with others.
רְאֵה מַה כְּתִיב: כִּי נֵר מִצְוָה, מָה הַנֵּר הַזֶּה כְּשֶׁהוּא דּוֹלֵק אֲפִלּוּ אֶלֶף אֲלָפִים קָרוֹינִין וְסֶבָּקִין מַדְלִיקִין הֵימֶנּוּ אוֹר בִּמְקוֹמוֹ, כָּךְ כָּל מִי שֶׁיִּתֵּן לְמִצְוָה, אֵינוֹ מְחַסֵּר אֶת נְכָסָיו, לְכָךְ נֶאֱמַר: כִּי נֵר מִצְוָה וְתוֹרָה אוֹר.
“Why does Proverbs say: ‘For the mitzvah is a light’? Because just as a light is not diminished when a flame is kindled from it, so he who does a mitzvah is not thereby diminished in his possessions”
תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: מִצְוַת חֲנוּכָּה, נֵר אִישׁ וּבֵיתוֹ. וְהַמְהַדְּרִין, נֵר לְכׇל אֶחָד וְאֶחָד. וְהַמְהַדְּרִין מִן הַמְהַדְּרִין, בֵּית שַׁמַּאי אוֹמְרִים: יוֹם רִאשׁוֹן מַדְלִיק שְׁמֹנָה, מִכָּאן וְאֵילָךְ פּוֹחֵת וְהוֹלֵךְ. וּבֵית הִלֵּל אוֹמְרִים: יוֹם רִאשׁוֹן מַדְלִיק אַחַת, מִכָּאן וְאֵילָךְ מוֹסִיף וְהוֹלֵךְ. אָמַר עוּלָּא: פְּלִיגִי בַּהּ תְּרֵי אָמוֹרָאֵי בְּמַעְרְבָא, רַבִּי יוֹסֵי בַּר אָבִין וְרַבִּי יוֹסֵי בַּר זְבִידָא. חַד אָמַר טַעְמָא דְּבֵית שַׁמַּאי כְּנֶגֶד יָמִים הַנִּכְנָסִין, וְטַעְמָא דְּבֵית הִלֵּל כְּנֶגֶד יָמִים הַיּוֹצְאִין. וְחַד אָמַר טַעְמָא דְּבֵית שַׁמַּאי כְּנֶגֶד פָּרֵי הַחַג, וְטַעְמָא דְּבֵית הִלֵּל דְּמַעֲלִין בַּקֹּדֶשׁ וְאֵין מוֹרִידִין. אָמַר רַבָּה בַּר בַּר חָנָה אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן: שְׁנֵי זְקֵנִים הָיוּ בְּצַיְדָּן. אֶחָד עָשָׂה כְּבֵית שַׁמַּאי וְאֶחָד עָשָׂה כְּדִבְרֵי בֵּית הִלֵּל. זֶה נוֹתֵן טַעַם לִדְבָרָיו כְּנֶגֶד פָּרֵי הַחַג, וְזֶה נוֹתֵן טַעַם לִדְבָרָיו דְּמַעֲלִין בַּקֹּדֶשׁ וְאֵין מוֹרִידִין.
Beit Shammai say: On the first day one kindles eight lights and, from there on, gradually decreases the number of lights until, on the last day of Hanukkah, he kindles one light. And Beit Hillel say: On the first day one kindles one light, and from there on, gradually increases the number of lights until, on the last day, he kindles eight lights. The reason for Beit Hillel’s opinion is that the number of lights is based on the principle: We increase in holiness, we do not decrease.
Rabbi David Hartman, Trusting in a New Beginning in A Different Light
In considering the miracle of the cruse of oil, our Rabbis asked why the holiday of Hanukkah was celebrated for eight days rather than for seven days. Since there was, by all accounts, sufficient oil for one day, only seven of the eight days of burning may be designated as miraculous days. Though several ingenious explanations were offered, what strikes me as being the miraculous feature of the initial day was the community's willingness to light the lamp in spite of the fact that its anticipated period of burning was short-lived. The miracle of the first day was expressed in the community's willingness to light a small cruse of oil without reasonable assurance that their efforts would be sufficient to complete the rededication of the Temple. Hanukkah celebrates the miracle expressed by those who lit the lamp and not only the miracle of the lamp's continued burning for eight days.
Rabbi Sarah Krinsky
It seems to me that there are two types of nice things. There is the type of resource that even as you are enjoying it, it is diminishing - the tasty meal, the great movie, the restorative vacation (remember those?). As the experience unfolds, it also disappears. Then there is the other type - the type of nice thing that, by its very nature, grows, spreads and multiples. Hanukkah introduces us to a group of people who were living in such darkness, who were so stuck in the narrowness of their moment, that they could only be open to that first type. Everything, even the oil, felt to them like a zero sum game - the amount of oil, here, is discrete and limited, such that as it is enjoyed, it is also used up.
The miracle of Hanukkah was not that the oil lasted longer than it should have. The miracle was moving from an experience of a resource as finite - a pot of oil - to something infinite and infinitely expansive - light. Because that’s the difference between oil and light. While a mere two sides of the same wick, they operate fundamentally differently. A pool of oil, when used, shrinks and shrinks. Fire, left unchecked, grows and grows. Hanukkah is about the miracle that exists in the journey from one to another - about moving from the transactional pleasure of oil into the enduring miracle of light. It is tempting - in the darkness, in the cold - to cling to those sources of temporary warmth, to the vessels of oil.
How, instead, can we lift up the light? The pieces of our lives that exist not inside of us, but between us, growing and growing. Love, which begets more love. Hope, which inspires more hope. Comfort offered to another that refracts back onto the self. A pursuit of justice that lifts all boats. Oil to light. Now to always. Me to us. Blessed was this miracle in the time of our ancestors. So too may it be bazman hazeh - in our time - and into the future.
Rabbi Sharon Brous
The dreidel has become the ubiquitous symbol of Hanukkah, but I find it strangely telling that its practice turns Hanukkah into yet another Jewish holiday that forces us to consider that life is, in some ways, a game of chance. Gimmel - you're a star - you win it all! Heh - half the pot, not bad. Nun? Nada. You're trapped and stagnant, a spectator to the vicissitudes of other people's lives. But at least you're no shin - losing everything, in an instant and without warning. And while it takes a dexterous hand to spin like my nephew Joey, in dreidel there is zero correlation between spin acumen and outcome. Kind of like life, sometimes.
In a time of such widespread uncertainty and destabilization, the dreidel is compelling us to consider, even amidst our celebration: what sustains you when the shin hits the fan? The answer brought by Hanukkah is light, sweets and song. And the constant reminder not to give up - that every shin might be followed by a gimmel.
Leonard Cohen
There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.