Unlike
most other mitzvot, which can be (and usually are) performed indoors, the laws
governing the kindling of the Chanukah lights stipulate that they be placed
within the doorway or window of the home, so that their luminance should
radiate outward to the street. The night may be dark, the street may be teeming
with alien and commonplace elements, but if there is a Jewish home in the
vicinity, the street will know that it is Chanukah.
It will
also know which night of Chanukah it is. On each of the eight nights of
Chanukah, a different number of flames are kindled, expressing that night’s
particular place in the festival. On the first night of Chanukah, there will be
one flame illuminating the street; on the second night, two flames; and so on.
Actually,
the Talmud records two opinions on how each Chanukah night should identify
itself and cast its unique light upon the world. This was one of the halachic
issues debated by the two great academies of Torah law, the House of Shammai
and the House of Hillel: the sages of Hillel held that the Chanukah lights
should increase in number each night, in the familiar ascending order; the
sages of Shammai were of the opinion that eight flames should be lit on the
first night, seven on the second, and so on in descending number, until the
eighth night of Chanukah, when a single flame should be lit.[[i]]
The
Talmud explains that the sages of Shammai saw the Chanukah lights as
representing the “upcoming days” of the festival—the number of days still
awaiting realization; thus, the number of lights decrease with each passing
night, as another of Chanukah’s days is “expended.” The Hillelian view, on the
other hand, sees the lights as representing Chanukah’s “outgoing days,” so that
the ascending number of flames reflect the accumulation of actualized
milestones in the eight-day quest for light.
In
practice, we follow the opinion of the school of Hillel,
and an ascending number of lights chronicle the progress of the festival. This
is even alluded to in the very name of the festival: the Hebrew word “Chanukah”
forms an acronym of the sentence Chet Neirot V’halachah K’veit Hillel—”Eight
lights, and the law follows the House of Hillel.”[[ii]]
Our
acceptance of Hillel’s perspective on Chanukah is also expressed by the name
traditionally given to the eighth day of Chanukah—the only day of the festival
to be distinguished by a name of its own—“Zot Chanukah.”
The name
“Zot Chanukah” is based on a phrase from that day’s Torah reading, and
literally means “This is Chanukah.” This is in keeping with the Hillelian
vision of Chanukah, in which the final day of Chanukah—the day on which all
eight days of light have been actualized—marks the climax of the festival; only
on the eighth day can we say: “This is Chanukah; now we ‘have’ the entire
Chanukah.” (From the Shammaian perspective, the first day of Chanukah
would be “Zot Chanukah.”)
What is
the basis for these two visions of Chanukah? And why is the view of the House
of Hillel so overwhelmingly embraced, to the extent that it is implicit in the
very name “Chanukah” and in the name given to its culminating day?
The Debate
There are
two basic ways in which one might view something: in light of its potential, or
its actual state. We might say of a certain person: “He has tremendous
potential, but his actual performance is poor.” The same can be said of a
corporation, a relationship, an experience, or anything else. Or we might say:
“There’s potential for disaster here, but it might be contained and prevented
from actualizing.”
Some of
us are potential-oriented, which means that we would admire the person, invest
in the company, stick it out with the relationship and treasure the
experience—depending upon its potential. Some of us are more actual-oriented,
viewing things in terms of their “bottom line”—their actual tactual impact upon
our reality.
This is a
recurring theme in many of the disputes between the schools of Shammai and
Hillel. For example, the sages of Shammai consider the moment of the Exodus to
be the eve of Nissan 15, when the people of Israel
were free to leave Egypt;
the sages of Hillel place the moment at midday of the following day, when the
Jews actually exited Egypt’s
physical borders.[[iii]]
In another debate, the sages of Shammai consider a fish susceptible to ritual
impurity from the moment the fisherman pulls his catch out of the water, since
at this point the fish has been removed from the environment in which it might
possibly live; the sages of Hillel disagree, contending that as long as the
fish is actually alive (though its potential for continued life has been
destroyed), it is immune to contamination, as are all other living plants and
animals.[[iv]]
This is
also the basis of their differing perspectives on Chanukah. The House of
Shammai, which views things in terms of their potential, sees the first day of
Chanukah, with its potential for eight days of light, as the point in which all
eight days are “there”; but after one day has “gone by” and passed from
potential into actuality, we “have” only seven days in their most meaningful
form—the potential form. The sages of Hillel, on the other hand, see the actual
state as the more significant; to them, the eighth day of Chanukah, when all
eight dimensions of the festival have been actualized, is when the festival is
at its fullest and most “real.”
G-d’s Reality
We are
creatures of the actual. We cannot live on potential nourishment, or be
emotionally satisfied by potential relationships; on the whole, we judge people
by their actual conduct, as opposed to their potential to behave a certain way.
Reality, to us, is what is, not what might be.
This is
largely due to the fact that we are physical beings. It is a most telling idiom
of our language that “immaterial” means “insignificant”: if we cannot touch it
or see it, it’s not real to us. Also, because of our finite and limited nature,
we possess potentials that we will never actualize because we haven’t enough
energy, resources or willpower to carry them out, or simply because we won’t
live long enough to do so. So the existence of a potential or possibility for
something is not enough, for how do we know that it will amount to anything?
Indeed, we often tend to view the actual as the measure of potential: if this
much has been actualized, this “proves” that there is potential worthy of
regard.
Envision,
however, a being who is neither physical nor finite; a being not limited by
space, time or any other framework. In such a being, potential does not lack
actualization, for everything is “as good as done.” On the contrary: potential
is the purest and most perfect form of every reality—the essence of the thing,
as it transcends the limitations and imperfections imposed upon it when it
translates into physical actuality.
For G-d,
then, the potential is a higher form of being than the actual. This is why we
say that, for G-d, the creation of the world did not constitute an
“achievement” or even a “change” in His reality. The potential for creation
existed in Him all along, and nothing was “added” by its translation into
actuality. It is only we, the created, who gained anything from the actual
creation of the world.
So when
the sages of Shammai and Hillel debate the question of which is more
significant from the perspective of Torah law, the actual or the potential,
they are addressing the more basic question: Whose Torah is it—ours or G-d’s?
When the Torah enjoins us to commemorate the Exodus, when it legislates the
laws of ritual impurity or commands us to kindle the Chanukah lights, does it
regard these phenomena from the perspective of its divine author, in which the
potential is the ideal state, or from the perspective of its human
constituency, which equates actual with real?
The Torah
Whose
Torah is it, ours or G-d’s? Both Shammai and Hillel would agree that it is
both.
The Torah
is the wisdom and will of G-d. But as we proclaim in the berachah
(benediction) recited each morning over the Torah, G-d has given us His
Torah, for He has delegated to mortal man the authority to interpret it and
apply it. Thus, He did not communicate His will to us in the form of a detailed
manifesto and a codified list of instructions. Instead, He dictated a
relatively short (79,976-word) “Written Torah” (the Five Books of Moses),
together with the “Oral Torah”—a set of guidelines by which the Written Torah
is to be interpreted, decoded, extrapolated, and applied to the myriads of
possibilities conjured up by the human experience.
So while
the entire body of legal, homiletic, philosophical and mystical teaching we
know as “Torah” is implicit within the Written Torah, G-d designated the human
mind and life as the tools that unlock the many layers of meaning and
instruction contained within its every word.
Torah is
thus a partnership of the human and the divine, where a kernel of divine wisdom
germinates in the human mind, gaining depth, breadth and definition, and is
actualized in the physicality of human life. In this partnership, our human
finiteness and subjectivity become an instrument of the divine truth, joining
with it to create the ultimate expression of divine immanence in our world—the
Torah.
Which is
the more dominant element of Torah—divine revelation or human cognition? Which
defines its essence? What is Torah—G-d’s vision of reality, or man’s
endeavor to make his world a home for G-d? At times the Torah indicates the
one; at times, the other. Thus we have the rule that “The words of Torah are
not susceptible to contamination.”[[v]]
A person who is in a state of ritual impurity (tum’ah) is forbidden to
enter the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple); but there is no prohibition for
him to study Torah. Why is he forbidden to enter a holy place but permitted to
think and speak holy words? Because the Torah is not only “holy” (i.e., an
object subservient to G-d and receptive to His presence)—it is divine. It is
G-d’s word, and the divine cannot be compromised by any impurity.
On the
other hand, another law states that “A teacher of Torah who wishes to forgive
an insult to his honor, can forgive it.”[[vi]]
This is in contrast to a king, who if insulted, has no right to forgive the
insult, and no recourse but to punish the one who insulted him. For a king’s
honor is not his personal possession, but something that derives from his role
as the sovereign of his people; one who insults the king insults the nation,
and this is an insult that the king has not the authority to forgive. Yet does
not one who insults a Torah scholar insult the Torah? How does the scholar have
the right to forgive the Torah’s insult? The explanation given is that “the
Torah is his.”[[vii]]
He who studies Torah acquires it as his own; G-d’s wisdom becomes his wisdom.
Whose
Torah is it—ours or G-d’s? Both descriptions are valid; both are part of the
Torah’s own self-perception. In certain laws and circumstances, we find the
divinity of Torah emphasized; in others, its human proprietorship.
Thus, in
a number of laws, the schools of Shammai and Hillel debate which definition of
Torah is the predominant one. The sages of Shammai believe that in these
particular applications of Torah law, the divinity of Torah predominates: the
Torah’s perspective is synonymous with G-d’s perspective, meaning that the
potential of a thing is its primary truth. The Sages of Hillel see these laws
as belonging to the “human” element in Torah, so that Torah’s vision of reality
is the human, actual-based perspective.
The Human Festival
In the
great majority of the disputations between the schools of Shammai and Hillel,
the final halachic ruling follows the opinion of the House of Hillel. Halachah
is the application of Torah to day-to-day life. In this area of Torah, it is
the human element which predominates; here, reality is defined in terms of the
actual and tactual, rather than the potential.
But
nowhere is the supremacy of the Hillelian view more emphasized than in the
debate on Chanukah, where the very name of the festival, and the name given to
its final day, proclaim that “the law follows the House of Hillel.” For
Chanukah is the festival that, more than any other, underscores the human
dynamic in Torah.
As noted
above, the Torah consists of two parts: the divinely dictated words of the
Written Torah, and the Oral Torah, also communicated by G-d, but delegated to
man. In the Oral Torah, G-d provides the guidelines and principles, while man
follows theses guidelines and applies these principles to derive and express
the divine will.
The Oral
Torah has two basic functions: to interpret the Written Torah, and to legislate
the necessary laws, ordinances and customs required to preserve the Torah and
Jewish life through the generations.
Most of
the festivals are explicitly ordained in the Written Torah. This is not to say
that there is no “human element” involved: the Oral Torah is still required to
clarify each festival’s laws and observances. For example, the Written Torah
commands us to dwell in a sukkah and take the Four Kinds on Sukkot, but
the Oral Torah is needed to interpret the oblique biblical allusions that tell
us how a sukkah is to be constructed and which plant species are to be
taken. Yet the festivals themselves were instituted by direct divine
revelation.
There are
two festivals, however, that are rabbinical institutions: Purim and Chanukah.
These belong to the second function of the Oral Torah: to institute laws and
observances that derive not from a verse in the Written Torah, but which arise
out of the historical experience of the people of Israel.
These,
too, are Torah, for they were enacted in accordance with the principles
revealed at Sinai. Before reading the megillah on Purim, or kindling the
Chanukah lights, we say: “Blessed are You, G-d... Who has sanctified us with
His commandments, and commanded us to read the megillah... to kindle the
Chanukah lamp.” G-d is commanding us to observe these mitzvot, for it is
He who granted the leaders of each generation the mandate to institute laws,
ordinances and festivals. Yet in these festivals, it is the human element of
Torah which predominates, while the divine element is more subdued.
Of the
two rabbinical festivals, Chanukah is even more “human” than Purim. Purim was
instituted during the Era of Prophecy, when G-d still communed directly with
the greatest individuals of the generation. The story of Purim was written down
and incorporated within the Holy Scriptures that are appended to the Written
Torah. Thus, while Purim is technically an “Oral Torah” festival, it is closely
related to the Written Torah.
Chanukah,
however, occurred several hundred years later, when prophecy had ceased and the
canon of the twenty-four books of the Tanach (Bible) had been closed. It thus
belongs wholly to the Oral Torah—to the predominantly human element of the
partnership. So Chanukah is the environment in which the Hillelian perspective
on Torah—Torah as it relates to our tactual experience of the world we live
in—reigns supreme.
[ii] Avudraham, Seder
Hadlakat Ner Chanukah.
[iii] The question of the
precise moment of the Exodus has certain halachic repercussions, such as
the procedure for reciting hallel on the seder night. See Talmud,
Pesachim 116b; Jerusalem Talmud, Pesachim 10:5; Rashi on Deuteronomy 16:1.
[iv] Talmud, Uktzin 3:8;
Bartenura’s commentary, ibid. For more examples of Shammai-Hillel debates that
hinge on the question of potential vs. actual, see Beit HaOtzar 1:27 and 2:2;
Le’or HaHalachah, LeShitot Beit Shammai U’Veit Hillel; Sefer HaSichot
5748, vol. II, pp. 645-668.
[v] Talmud, Berachot 22a.
[vi] Ibid., Kiddushin 32a.
[vii] Ibid.
Based on the Lubavitsche Rebbe’s
talks on Chanukah 5740 (1979) and Tevet 4, 5733 (December 9, 1972). Likkutei Sichot, vol.
XXV, pp. 243-251 (see the essay “Debating Truths” in Beyond the Letter of
the Law [VHH 1995], pp. 269-285).
