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    Darkness: Concealment and Contrast

    Editorial portrait of Rabbi Ahron Lopiansky beside glowing Chanukah oil lamps.

    I. Concealment

    And the earth was empty and without form, with darkness covering the abyss.

    Bereishis 1:2

    The story of Creation begins with a prelude — the enumeration of four states of imperfection that were present in the universe at the moment of Creation: tohu (empty), vohu (without form), choshech (darkness), and tehom (abyss).

    The Maharal (Ner Mitzvah) explains that these four states of imperfection are not incidental deficiencies that merely happened to become manifest at the time of Creation. Rather, they are intrinsic to the process of creation itself. Every created being, explains the Maharal, is by its nature limited and imperfect. Only the Creator is perfect, boundless, and limitless. These four “imperfections,” then, are not limited in time to the dawn of creation, nor to the four states mentioned above. Rather, they constitute the antecedents of every evil and fault in all of its dimensions — personal, national, and historical — that manifest themselves during the entire duration of the created world.

    The Midrash Rabbah demonstrates how these four flaws have made their appearances throughout history, most prominently under the dominion of the four kingdoms that dominated world history — as revealed to Daniel in a dream — leaving their impact upon mankind for generations to come. These are the empires of Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome. Each empire was a national and cultural embodiment of one of these four dimensions of evil: tohu denotes Babylon, described in sefarim as the embodiment of self-deification and egoism; vohu signifies the unrestrained hedonism of Persia; choshech represents the so-called intellectual enlightenment of Greece; and tehom, the seemingly interminable wicked domination of Rome.

    Upon closer examination of the midrash’s pairing together of symbol and nation, we notice a subtle difference between the characterization of Greece as darkness and the dimensions of evil attributed to the other empires. The other evil traits can be considered as resulting from a lack of perfection and godliness, the shortcomings of an incomplete and as yet unformed world; darkness, by contrast, is different. It is a “positive” dimension — an object of creation — purposefully introduced into the universe. Rashi (Pesachim 2a) also makes this point clear. He explains darkness, not as an absence of light, but as a positive force that “darkens” the world, so to speak. Indeed, a pasuk in Yeshayah (45:7) declares God to be “yotzer or u’vorei choshech” (He who forms light and creates darkness). Darkness was indeed created.

    If this distinction between darkness and the other flaws of creation exists on the metaphysical plane, it must also be evident in its human and national manifestation: Greece as compared to the other powers. How does one understand the cultural essence of Greece as a positive yet destructive force? What distinguishes Greece’s trait of wisdom or philosophy from the identifying traits of Rome, Persia, and Babylon?

    Perhaps one can begin by noting how Greece’s national character, i.e., Greek philosophy or wisdom, relates to Israel. While idolatry, hedonism, and imperialism are totally alien to the Jewish national character, wisdom is an attribute shared by the Jewish nation. True, our wisdom, Torah wisdom, is on a plane of its own (as in Devarim 4:6: “For it is your wisdom and understanding in the eyes of the nations”); theirs, by contrast, is a superficial or external wisdom. The common denominator of wisdom, however, is unmistakable. No such common ground is shared by Israel and the other kingdoms in regard to their traits of idolatry, hedonism, or subjugation of others.

    Chazal point out the relationship between Greece and Israel in the pasuk, “God shall endow Yefes with beauty, and he will dwell in the tents of Shem…” (Bereishis 9:27). The beauty of Yefes will find its place in the tents of Shem. In the historical sense, this was realized in the translation of sacred texts into Greek (the Septuagint), the incorporation of elements of the Greek language into the Oral Law, and the use of Greek philosophy by many rishonim (such as the Rambam) to explain and illustrate many concepts of Torah. No such relationship was established with any other empire or culture.

    Yet, despite this seeming affinity, Greece is the only empire that Israel succeeded in fighting and overpowering. Babylon disintegrated on its own. Israel avoided the Persian decree of total annihilation. And our attempt to rid ourselves of Roman domination failed. It was only the rule of Greece that we challenged and were able to vanquish. What, then, is the essence of this Hellenism, so tantalizingly similar in character to Israel, yet so apparently opposed to everything Israel represents? What is the Grecian beauty that can adorn the tents of Israel? What is its sinister darkness, which will be overcome by the light of Mashiach?

    II. Dawn of Darkness

    A day that is neither day nor night.

    Passover Haggadah, based on Zechariah 14:7

    A human being perceives the world around him through his senses, each of which conveys a different type of information. The clearest and most vivid sense is that of sight, for while other senses provide limited data, vision gives one the feeling of total perception and cognizance. Thus, “seeing is believing.” Other senses give the feeling of knowing about the object in question; sight focuses on the object itself.

    It is this concept of light and vision that we must bear in mind when discussing the light and darkness of Creation. Were Creation fully illuminated and were we to actually perceive the Omnipresent and Omniscient Deity, there would be no room for self-perception as independent beings: “כי לא יראני האדם וחי — For man cannot see Me and live” (Shemos 33:20). The only feasible way for humanity to retain a semblance of independent existence, with the possibility of free will and constructive potential, is with the introduction of a veil of darkness, which effectively conceals the Divine radiance.

    What is this “darkness”? Where do we encounter it? It is what is commonly referred to as nature — the laws, concepts, and formulae that dictate and run the universe. Within this framework, the Divine Being is neither visible nor apparent; rather, it is the natural order of events that seems to bring sensibility to our examinations of the universe. Cause and effect replace Divine will.

    Greece plunged headlong into this darkness. It is wisdom, indeed, but a wisdom of the external world, divorced from the essence of Creation and denied of its association with the Divine. Taken as such, the darkness becomes an end unto itself; or worse yet, it is mistaken for light. As it says: “Woe to those who define darkness as light and light as darkness” (Yeshayah 5:20).

    Israel, on the other hand, examines this same darkness and uses it as a means of discovering the very light it is meant to conceal. When one carefully examines a veiled countenance, one can obtain some idea of the existence of a force or substance behind the veil. As the Zohar (parashas Emor) states: Even the person not informed of the secrets of the Divine may discern them by carefully studying the external universe and extrapolating to the internal universe. The complexity of nature, human drives and psychic composition, the patterns of history — these can all lead man to a glimpse of what lies beyond the obvious, to a bit of an inkling as to how hashgachah (Providence) conducts the affairs of the world. Even the Torah, which is the direct word of Hashem, is clothed in the fabric of nature: it discusses topics such as oxen goring one another and marriage and divorce. Yet these mundane concerns express cosmic truths and convey deeper spiritual concepts.

    Darkness, then, serves as a metaphor for the concealment of the Divine in the universe. In addition, several specific incidents recorded in the Torah refer to darkness in its literal sense as masking Divine revelations:

    • At Sinai, the mountain was enveloped in three increasingly dense layers of cloud. In order to receive the luchos, the Tablets of the Law, Moshe was required to step into the “thickest and densest” layer of the three (Shemos 19:9, Rashi).
    • Aaron’s children, Nadav and Avihu, were guilty of gross conduct at Sinai described as, “ויחזו את האלקים ויאכלו וישתו — They gazed at God, and they ate and drank” (Shemos 24:11), meaning they feasted their eyes, so to speak, on the glory of God. Their punishment was death. Aaron was consequently commanded to bring incense into the Holy of Holies before entering that area on Yom Kippur. The incense would burn and form a cloud so clear perception would no longer be possible; rather, “In a cloud will I appear on the Ark” (VaYikra 15:2, Yalkut Shim’oni).
    • When Moshe Rabbeinu was ensconced in the nikras hatzur (the crevice of the rock), God covered the entrance to Moshe’s cave so he would not be blinded by the Divine radiance (Shemos 33:22).

    Darkness represents the mechanism of nature designed to conceal and disguise the Creator, Who is continuously directing and conducting the affairs of the universe. Yet every Jew can utilize this very system as a means of achieving personal growth by gaining a more profound understanding of God. This, then, is the natural progression of learning to detect God within creation. Initially all is seen as impenetrable darkness; only later does the light of day become apparent through this darkness.

    III. Contrast

    The elementary understanding of the concept of darkness is that it is like a cloak, concealing the Divine presence and radiance to allow man free choice and a meaningful existence as an independent being. But the full meaning of this concept is far deeper. Darkness is actually a prime element of sight, as we will demonstrate. It is in this context that we understand the concept of beauty as it expresses itself in Greece. Not only does darkness suggest a dimming of the Divine illumination, it simultaneously makes us aware of the illumination.

    Aside from providing a background for observation, darkness is an integral element of sight, for the eye distinguishes shapes through the medium of contrast. An area that is monoluminous and monochromatic contains no visual information. We are able to see a picture by discerning between lighter and darker areas and different shades of color. Thus, “sight” is the perception of the contrast between light and darkness. Eliminate darkness, and light becomes as meaningless as well!

    The Ramchal, in Da’as Tevunos (sec. 34), uses a similar concept to explain that our understanding of God refers solely to the attribute of unity. Why is this so? Because no other attribute can be understood or defined by negating its opposite. For example, lack of stupidity does not imply intelligence, lack of weakness does not define strength, nor does “not ugly” describe beauty. Achdus (oneness), however, can be defined as “not multi-.” True, we may not perceive God’s unity in its essence, but we can sketch its parameters (for the person who believes in Divine forces) by negating polytheism. Having defined the set “not A,” we have adequately defined “A.”

    This gives us a new insight into the pasuk: “And God saw the light that it was good, and He divided between the light and darkness” (Bereishis 1:4). Since light and observation are good, one needs the distinctive focus and contrast of light from darkness for them to be fully appreciated. A totally gray picture is meaningless. On the other hand, when the lights and darks contrast sharply, we have a picture with high resolution.

    Beauty, too, is the relationship and interplay between two or more elements, but it is far more complex. “Strong,” “smart,” “good” are all definable in terms of one unit. Beauty, on the other hand, represents an interplay between various different elements. When two or more elements are in harmony, symmetry, contrast, or balance, we have the components of beauty.

    The Sefas Emes uses this concept to explain the mishnah, “One hour of repentance and good deeds in this world is more beautiful than all of the World to Come.” (Avos 4:22). He asks: “Is the next world not far more perfect than this world in its highest form?” He answers: “Better, yes. More beautiful, no.” For beauty in this context refers to the contrast between the person’s yeitzer hara (evil inclination) and nisyonos (tests for the purpose of prompting the individual to rise above the evil inclination), on one hand, and his actual raising himself above the challenge through teshuvah and mitzvos on the other. The beauty of this interplay, says the Sefas Emes, is without counterpart in the World to Come, where pure truth reigns and there is no room for doubts and struggles.

    This idea of beauty as interplay and contrast may also explain the gemara, “Poverty becomes Israel as a scarlet strap to a white horse” (Chagigah 9b). Poverty (red) is an obstacle to Israel’s task, but when Israel succeeds in raising itself spiritually (white), in spite of its difficulties, a thing of beauty has been created, as startling as the contrast between red and white.


    The lights of the menorah in the Beis HaMikdash and those of Chanukah are both lit at night. The reason is not utilitarian, for one is not permitted to benefit from the lights of Chanukah nor from those of the Temple. The reason for nighttime kindling, then, is that one perceives the light best at night. It is in this perspective that Israel and Greece relate to each other. When the lines are clearly drawn and the contrast is sharp, not only does Israel appear in its fullest beauty and radiance, but Greece, too, finds its place in adorning the batei midrash shel Shem. However, when the boundaries are unclear and the distinctions blurred; when the havdalah between “sacred and profane, light and dark, Israel and the nations” is unclear; not only does Israel’s light dim, but Greece’s beauty turns a colorless and amorphous gray. Conversely, only when the havdalah light distinguishes between “sacred and profane, light and dark, Israel and the nations” does the beauty of Yefes burst forth in the tents of Shem.

    About Rabbi Ahron Lopiansky

    Rabbi Ahron Lopiansky is the distinguished Rosh HaYeshiva of the Yeshiva of Greater Washington–Tiferes Gedaliah, where for more than three decades he has shaped generations of talmidim through the depth of his Torah, clarity of thought, and devotion to the mesorah of his rebbeim.

    A musmach of the Mir Yeshiva in Yerushalayim, Rav Lopiansky was privileged to learn under the towering guidance of Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz zt”l and Rav Nachum Partzovitz zt”l. He later taught at Aish HaTorah and at the Mir before assuming the leadership of the Yeshiva Gedolah in Washington in 1994.

    Widely regarded as one of the leading contemporary voices in Torah thought and hashkafah, Rav Lopiansky is the author of more than thirty works spanning machshavah, tefillah, and Jewish philosophy. His scholarship has also contributed to Encyclopedia Talmudis, Klal Perspectives, and Dialogue, while his shiurim and addresses have inspired audiences across the United States and around the world.

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    The Superheroes Among Us: The Extraordinary Power of Ordinary Acts

    Illustration of a teacher helping a student gather books as his jacket casts a cape-shaped shadow.

    Chanukah is often viewed as the Yom Tov of superheroes. Against seemingly impossible odds, a small group of courageous individuals rose against a mighty empire, reclaimed the Beis HaMikdash, and restored the light of Torah to Klal Yisrael. The Maccabees have become synonymous with courage, strength, and the extraordinary power of individuals to change the world.

    Yet, when we look at the small, almost insignificant flames dancing in our windows each night of Chanukah, we are left with an interesting question: What exactly makes someone a hero? And perhaps more importantly, do we still have heroes among us today?

    We live in a world that often feels overwhelmed by darkness. The challenges around us can seem far greater than anything we, as individuals, can possibly change. Yet, the message of Chanukah is that even the smallest flame has the power to illuminate the darkness.

    One of the things I enjoy most about Chanukah is taking my children for a walk through the neighborhood, watching the little flames dancing in the windows of the homes around us. There is something remarkable about the simplicity of this mitzvah. We place a small flame in our window, facing the world outside, and somehow that tiny light becomes a source of inspiration and hope.

    Perhaps the beauty lies in the collective power of an entire community of flames. But I wonder if there is an even greater message hidden within each individual light.

    Perhaps heroism is not about extraordinary people accomplishing extraordinary things. Perhaps it is about ordinary people recognizing an opportunity to bring a little light into someone else’s world.

    A Hero in the Beis Medrash

    Recently, I witnessed a simple interaction that left a lasting impression on me.

    One of our talmidim had fractured his wrist and was preparing to leave early in the morning for an appointment with a specialist. Before davening, he was struggling to put on his tefillin. With one arm injured, something he had done independently every morning had suddenly become a challenge.

    Before I could even process what was happening, an adult sitting nearby noticed his difficulty, walked over, and quietly helped him put on his tefillin.

    That was it.

    No dramatic moment. No extraordinary sacrifice. No applause or recognition. Just one person noticing that someone needed help and doing the obvious, decent thing.

    At first glance, hardly an act worthy of an article. Or perhaps, that is precisely why it is.

    We often imagine superheroes as people with capes, extraordinary strength, or remarkable abilities. But perhaps the greatest superheroes are simply those who notice what needs to be done and do it.

    A Leap Across the Years

    This past Pesach, as the war in Israel disrupted travel and left countless passengers stranded, my daughter found herself among those whose flights had been canceled. Through an unexpected series of events, she ended up sharing a Yom Tov meal with a family in Yerushalayim whom she had never met.

    As the meal began, the hosts went around the table asking their guests to introduce themselves. When my daughter shared her name, both the husband and wife looked at each other in surprise.

    “Did your parents used to live in Houston, Texas?”

    What followed was a story that reached back many years, to a time when I taught at a Jewish day school in Houston.

    Both the husband and wife had grown up in nonreligious homes and had been my talmidim when they were in fourth grade. They remembered an incident from those years that I had almost entirely forgotten.

    During lunch one day, a student began choking. As a trained EMT, I immediately recognized the danger and leaped across the tables to reach the child and help him.

    For me, it was simply what needed to be done. I had the training, I recognized the situation, and I acted. Once the emergency had passed, I thought little more about it.

    But for those fourth graders watching the scene unfold, the experience was something entirely different.

    As they described it to my daughter, they had watched a superhero fly across the room, my jacket fluttering behind me like a cape as I leaped over the tables to save their friend.

    It was an image that had remained with them for decades. But even more remarkable was what they shared next.

    They explained that witnessing that moment had changed the way they viewed the world. Seeing their rebbi respond without hesitation to help another person inspired them to think differently about the power of chinuch and the impact a rebbi can have on the life of a talmid. They described that moment as a turning point, one that began their long journey toward dedicating their own lives to chinuch and helping others.

    Today, both are involved in harbatzas Torah in Eretz Yisrael, inspiring and teaching talmidim of their own.

    I was struck by the realization that a moment I had almost entirely forgotten had helped shape the direction of two people’s lives. What I viewed as an ordinary response to a situation had become an extraordinary example of what it means to care for another person.

    The Superheroes Among Us

    The more I reflect on these moments, the more I realize that we are surrounded by superheroes. They are not always the people whose names we recognize or whose accomplishments make headlines. Often, they are the people quietly giving of themselves so that someone else can succeed.

    They are the individuals who dedicate time each week to learning Torah with someone else, the mentors who patiently encourage and guide, the neighbors who recognize a family in need, and the countless volunteers who give their time and energy to acts of chesed. They understand that helping another person is not an interruption to their day, but an opportunity to make that day meaningful.

    Through my involvement with Simcha Without Borders, I have had the privilege of witnessing the remarkable dedication of its volunteer staff. I am continually moved by the young men and women who give so freely of themselves to bring happiness, comfort, and hope to children and families facing extraordinary challenges. What may appear to be a small act of kindness—a conversation, a game, a visit, or simply being present—can be life-altering for a child who desperately needs that light.

    Similarly, in my work as a crisis interventionist with Chai Lifeline, I am privileged to work alongside individuals who are truly real-life action heroes. These are people who step into some of life’s most difficult moments, offering strength, compassion, and support when families need it most. Their dedication, often behind the scenes and without recognition, is an extraordinary example of what it means to be there for another person.

    The same spirit is evident in the remarkable work of Camp Simcha and countless other organizations and individuals who dedicate themselves to bringing light into the lives of others.

    There is something that fills me with tremendous pride when I see these individuals, especially so many young volunteers, choose to give of themselves in this way. They may never fully appreciate the impact of their seemingly ordinary actions. Yet, for the children and families whose lives they touch, these individuals are genuine superheroes.

    The Power of a Single Flame

    Perhaps this is the deeper message of the Chanukah lights.

    The Maccabees did not set out to become superheroes. They recognized that something was wrong, that something precious was at risk, and that someone needed to act. Faced with an overwhelming challenge, they chose to do what they could.

    Most of us will never be called upon to lead a revolution or reclaim the Beis HaMikdash. Our opportunities for heroism are far quieter. They appear in a Beis Medrash when a boy needs help with his tefillin, in a classroom when a talmid needs encouragement, in a hospital room when a child needs a smile, or in the countless ordinary interactions that fill our days.

    And often, we will never know the impact of those moments.

    The small flame in our window does not illuminate the entire street. It does not eliminate all the darkness. It simply shines, offering whatever light it can to the world beyond.

    And perhaps that is enough.

    When we light the Chanukah candles, we are not only illuminating the world outside. We are also bringing light into our own homes. Perhaps the same is true of heroism. Every time we choose to help another person, we strengthen something within ourselves as well.

    This Chanukah, as we watch those small flames dancing in our windows, perhaps we should reflect on the superheroes in our own lives. Who are the ordinary people whose seemingly simple actions have inspired us, supported us, or changed the direction of our lives?

    But perhaps there is an even more important question.

    Who are we superheroes to?

    Whose life have we touched through a simple act of kindness, a moment of encouragement, or something we did without giving it a second thought?

    We may never know the answer. After all, the greatest superheroes rarely recognize themselves as heroes.

    Perhaps that is the message of the small Chanukah flame. We do not need to illuminate the entire world. We simply need to recognize the opportunities before us to bring a little light into someone else’s.

    And we may never fully appreciate just how far that light will travel.

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    The Light of Chinuch: Lessons from Chanukah

    Editorial illustration of an oil lamp shining beside an open book in a classroom.

    How Chanukah Teaches Us the Power of Education and Inspiration

    Chanukah is a time filled with so many powerful lessons. One of the roots of the word Chanukah is Chinuch, which means education. This connection reminds us that education is at the very foundation of who we are as a people, starting from the youngest ages and continuing throughout our lives.

    This week, we had the honor of hosting Rabbi Yehoshua Soudakoff at The Gan. Rabbi Yehoshua is a deaf rabbi who works with the deaf Jewish community around the world. Based in Israel, he travels extensively, bringing Torah and inspiration to communities everywhere. During his visit, we also hosted a special class at Chabad for the deaf community of Greater Washington.

    Rabbi Yehoshua engaged the children in such a meaningful way, teaching them sign language and showing them how to sign “Happy Chanukah.” The children were fascinated and respectful, inspired by his ability to make such a tremendous impact despite the challenges he has faced.

    The story of Chanukah teaches us that even in the face of great obstacles, we have the power to bring light into the world. Just as the Maccabees rededicated the Temple and rekindled the menorah’s light, we too can rededicate ourselves to the values of Chinuch—to learning, teaching, and making an impact. May the lights of Chanukah inspire us to bring even more light into the world, one flame and one lesson at a time. Chag Sameach!

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    Parshas Mikeitz – Shabbos Chanukah

    Chanukah oil flame beside a yellow esrog and green lulav, symbols of Sukkos.

    The Yevanim made a number of decrees against Klal Yisrael, as we say in Al Hanisim – להעבירם מחקי רצונך. Of those are Shabbos, Milah, Rosh Chodesh, and the Meforshim expound on what it was that the Yevanim had against those particular mitzvos. In doing so, they attribute quite a bit of understanding of Jewish Mitzvos and ideals to the Yevanim, and I wondered, how would the Yevanim have known so much about our Torah and Mitzvos?

    But I found a Medrash quoted which answers that question, and indeed it makes sense, because it is something that repeated itself through history as well. The Medrash says:

    והיה שם משומד אחד בליעל תתני בן פחת שמו שהיה יועץ עצות רעות על ישראל ואמר, מצוה אחת יש להם שאם לא יעשו אותה יאבדו מן העולם, וזו הדלקת נר בבית המקדש שנאמר להעלות נר תמיד, וכתוב עליו, תן חלק לשבעה וגם לשמונה, תן חלק לשבעה, שכל מי שיש לו חלק בשבע נרות שהן מאירות תמיד בבית המקדש וגם לשמונה ימי החג אין בריה יכולה להם ועמדו וטמאו כל השמנים שבבית המקדש.

    There was an evil convert, who had become a Misyavni, named Tatni ben Pachas, who was advising the Greeks with evil advice against the Jews. He said, they have one Mitzvah which if they don’t perform it they will be lost from this world, and it is lighting the Menorah in the Beis Hamikdash, as it says… and it says in Koheles, give a portion to seven and to eight, meaning whoever has a part in the seven lights that are always burning in the Beis Hamikdash, and also the eight days of Sukkos, no being can overcome them. Therefore, the Greeks went and defiled all the oils in the Beis Hamikdash.

    This is how the Greeks knew what was important and what it signified – there was an inside source! Throughout history, the Jews were always the worst enemies of the Jews unfortunately. This Misyavni wasn’t giving advice how to overcome the Jews in war, rather he was telling them how to break the spirit of the Jews. If you take away these two mitzvos from the Jews, it will break them and they will lose their will. But this Medrash now added a fascinating point: The Greeks sought to both eradicate the Menorah and the eight days of Sukkos! What is the connection and significance of that decree – and why was this so significant to the Jews?

    The Medrash continues:

    ונעשה נס והדליקו פך קטן שמונה ימים ועמד הקב”ה וקבע להם שמונה ימי חנוכה שלא היה מועד עד עכשיו אמר הקב”ה חשבתם לעקור שבעה הנרות ושמונה ימי החג, הנני מביא …עליכם שמונה ימים ושבעת בני חשמונאי.

    A miracle occurred, and they lit one small jug for eight days, and Hashem established for them the eight days of Chanukah, which weren’t a Yom Tov until that point, Hashem said: You planned on uprooting the seven lights and the eight days of Sukkos, I will bring eight days of Chanukah and the seven sons of Chashmonai.

    The connection between Sukkos and Chanukah

    Again, we see a close connection between Sukkos and Chanukah, so much so, that the eight days of Chanukah were there to spite the Greeks and overcome their plan, they wanted to uproot the eight days of Sukkos, now we have both Sukkos and Chanukah! What is the significance of this?

    The world around us is progressively going crazier and crazier, in their attempt to create the greatest ‘equality’ possible. Stanford University published a list of 1000 words for their “Elimination of Harmful Language Initiative,” which was intended for the IT department. Among their banned words is ‘Mankind,’ because it gives too much dominance to males, ‘American’, because it insinuates that people of South America aren’t ‘Americans,’ and you have to refer to all people as ‘it’!

    Inequality is something that Hashem created in creating the world. The Jewish nation was formulated with Kohanim, Levi’im, and Yisraelim, and when Korach attempted to abolish that it ended in disaster. It is a necessity for the success of the world and society that there be those who are wealthy, are successful, have advantages, because it motivates the world to succeed. Society only moves forward and innovates, reates, and progresses, if there is motivation to do so. The motivation is the success of those who are lucky enough, and work hard enough to achieve it. Even the difference in advantage which has nothing to do with effort, is important to motivate different parts of society to achieve their best, and to succeed within the framework that Hashem has handed to them. Hashem created men and women, with a different task for each in mind. When society tries to abolish these natural categories, such as communism, which tried to abolish wealth, their society failed – people lost all motivation to succeed.

    When Hashem created the world, He intended that there would be one chosen nation, בראשית בשביל ראשית, Hashem created for the sake of the ‘first’ ones, who eventually became Klal Yisrael, but it could have been anyone. But the fact that there was one chosen nation is important and essential to the success of the world, because they provide an example and motivation to become great in spirituality.

    The Yom Tov of Sukkos is all about demonstrating Klal Yisrael’s superiority among the nations. We bring 70 bulls throughout the Yom Tov, and on Shemini Atzeres we bring only one, to demonstrate that Hashem wants to be with us alone. The 70 bulls are brought to benefit the nations, as Chazal say if they would have understood the value – they would have surrounded the Beis Hamikdash with an army to protect it. But nevertheless, it means that the nations only get their השפעה and blessing through the efforts of Klal Yisrael. This is inherent in all that we do during Sukkos, even Lulav and Esrog, as the Medrash says. This angered the Yevanim and made them resent us! This is what they tried to accomplish by wiping out the Yom Tov of Sukkos – so that the Jews would lose their conviction in their own superiority and mission.

    Why eight days of Chanukah?

    The Aruch Hashulchan uses this Medrash as another way to answer the question of the Beis Yosef. The Beis Yosef asks that why would we have 8 days of Chanukah if the miracle was only truly the fact it burnt for an extra 7 days – not 8? The Aruch Hashulchan answers based on this Medrash that Chanukah came to make up for the 8 days of Sukkos which had been prevented through the decrees of the Yevanim, and Hashem demonstrated to them that He approved by performing this miracle – that’s why we have 8 days of Chanukah – exactly as the Medrash says – to correspond to the eight days of Sukkos they tried to eradicate.

    The Menorah as well is עדות לבאי עולם שהשכינה שורה בישראל – it testifies to the uniqueness of Klal Yisrael that Hashem’s presence rests on them alone. This too angered the Yevanim and was why they were trying to wipe this out.

    How do we measure success?

    What is the uniqueness of Klal Yisrael? What example are we setting? The life of a Jew is very different than that of a non-Jew. What we call success is very different! We can have a person who never was able to hold down a job, lives from paycheck to paycheck, has a 20-year-old car that barely runs, a decrepit home – yet we will consider him very successful if he is a Talmid Chacham, learns Torah all the time, is a Yarei Shamayim, davens beautifully! Because we categorize success by the World-to-Come – not this world. We live for the next world, and we measure success by how much a person has succeeded in accomplishing his mission to serve Hashem in life. If a person was zocheh to become a Talmid Chacham – that is the luckiest and most fortunate person, if he has children Talmidei Chachamim – he’s hit the jackpot! This is what a Jew lives for!

    It is this message we are trying to spread in the world – live for ruchniyos, success is Avodas Hashem. I saw a story about Rav Eliezer Ben David, who has founded and created kollelim and yeshivos in Eretz Yisrael and South America and USA, for the Iranian community. As a young bachur he lived in Iran, and learned Hebrew, was even a leader for the youth there, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to learn Torah! He made up his mind to travel to Eretz Yisrael, a very difficult trip – and learn in Yeshivas Ponavezh! His father made him sign away his inheritance in an effort to discourage him, but he wasn’t deterred. He made it to Ponavezh, and met with the Ponavizher Rav. The rav asked him, ‘Do you know Gemarah?’ He said no. ‘Do you know Mishnayos?’ No. What do you know? Hebrew! The rav said, ‘This isn’t the place for you – it is for advanced Gemarah learners. You need to learn quite a bit before you can join our Yeshiva!’ Rav Eliezer’s face fell and he began to cry. At that moment the Ponavizher Rav said, ‘I retract my first statement! You can join the Yeshiva!’ The rav made sure that he found chavrusas willing to teach him from the ground up, and he developed into the tremendous marbitz Torah he is today.

    He was once in an airport in the Midwest, with his wife, when a stranger, not Jewish approached him. ‘Are you both Jewish?’ the man asked. They said, ‘Yes!’ He looked at them with awe, and said, ‘Can I shake your hands? I’ve always wanted to meet a Jew, who stood at Sinai, and are the true children of God!’ Then he asked them, ‘Forgive me for asking a personal question, but when you, a Jew, the nation that so many prophets came from, walk in the street, do you think the same kind of thoughts we do, or is your mind occupied with different things?!’ I don’t know what Rav Eliezer answered but he said, ‘I have never gotten a better mussar schmooze than I got from that non-Jew!’

    This is what a Jew’s life is meant to be!