One of the themes of Chanuka is transcending logic — going above and beyond what logic dictates, doing things that “don’t make sense” out of a powerful feeling of love and loyalty.
This theme is also prominent in the story of Yosef and his brothers, which we read at this time of the year. There is an inherent connection between Yosef and Chanuka, which manifests itself in many ways. For one thing, the gematria of the name “Yosef” is equivalent to the gematrias of “Antiochus” and “melech Yavan” — king of the Greeks. Yosef represents the antithesis of the Greeks. Blessed with extraordinary beauty — Yosef is the only man in the Torah who is described as beautiful — he is able to elevate his beauty, as well as all physical possessions he comes across, and use it in the service of kedusha, holiness.(1)
But I’d like to focus on another aspect of Yosef’s story. Throughout the story, we see people do things that are logical, that make sense on the surface, yet never fail to draw a negative emotional response from us. At first, Yaakov presents Yosef with a special garment. Is there anything wrong with that? Well, Yosef was a good boy who listened to his father. As can be seen from the subsequent events, there certainly were aspects of Yosef’s personality that deserved recognition and praise, and Yaakov knew that Yosef was very special. And yet… Who doesn’t feel for Yosef’s brothers, who felt less appreciated and loved than Yosef?
Another aspect of the story is that Yosef would tell his father about everything his brothers were doing wrong. Objectively speaking, he might have had the brothers’ best interests in mind. He could have sincerely believed that by bringing those things to his father’s attention he was helping them become better people. And yet, who doesn’t have an instinctive aversion to “snitching?”
When Yosef told his brothers about his dreams, technically speaking, he didn’t do anything wrong. He felt that the dreams were prophetic and that he had a responsibility to deliver the message. But again, we feel for his brothers, who must have felt hurt and threatened.
When the brothers decide to sell Yosef, their decision is logical and sound. Yosef threatens their future as Jews. It would make the most sense to get rid of him once and for all. Yet we feel a maelstorm of emotions — how can anyone possibly sell their own brother?!
The turning point of the story comes when the brothers finally throw off their logic and heed something much greater — brotherly love, that inherent connection that binds them on a level above and beyond logic. When Binyamin is accused of stealing the goblet and condemned to a life of slavery, logically there is nothing to be said. The evidence is clear. The goblet was found in Binyamin’s sack. Justice calls for a fitting punishment.
And yet, the brothers don’t concede to strict logic. They come to Yosef and ask him to set Binyamin free. On what basis? They don’t have any evidence to prove that Binyamin didn’t commit the crime. They don’t have any logical arguments in favor of mitigating the punishment. All they have is their love for their brother Binyamin, and by extention, their love for Yosef, as they acknowledge at that moment that they had been wrong in selling him — not because their logic had been faulty, but because Yosef had cried out and they did not have pity on him.
That is when, overcome by emotion, Yosef reveals himself to his brothers, and they begin to rebuild their relationship, connected not by logic, but by a much deeper sense of love and loyalty.
Let’s return to the story of Chanuka. The Greeks were the masters of logic. What they spread throughout the world and attempted to bring to the Jews made a lot of sense. And yet… The impeccable logic of the Greeks could not withstand the powerful force of love and loyalty that the Jewish people felt towards their G-d.
Resisting the Greeks made no logical sense. Objectively speaking, taking on their enormous professional army was suicidal. And yet, a small group of faithful Jews discarded logic and went to war. And miraculously, they won.
When the Jews returned to the Beis Hamikdash and couldn’t find any pure oil, logically speaking, they could have used the impure oil to light the menorah. The halacha states clearly that it is permissible under such circumstances. Yet, we instinctively cringe at such a possibility.
And Hashem responded in kind. He performed a miracle that, strictly speaking, wasn’t necessary. But Hashem’s love for the Jewish people is also above and beyond logic. No matter how far we stray, He still loves us unconditionally, and He expressed this love in the beautiful miracle of the oil, which we celebrate to this day.
As we light our Chanuka candles, perhaps we can get in touch with that powerful feeling of unconditional love — for Hashem, no matter what challenges we face in life, and for all of our brothers and sisters, whether literal or those we are related to by virtue of being part of the Jewish people.
Getting along with siblings is not always easy. Logically speaking, we might be absolutely sure that our brother or sister is very wrong — whether religiously, politically, medically, or in any other area. And yet… All of those disagreements become insignificant in the face of brotherly love.
Happy Chanuka!
P.S. Incidentally, my Chanuka trilogy was originally entitled Above Reason, as that is the overarching theme of the novels. My publisher thought that title wasn’t exciting enough, so I named the books Swords and Scrolls
(1) Rabbi Aryeh Pinchas Strickoff. Inside Chanukah. Feldheim, 2012, pages 418-420.
