The Drippings of My Menorah

Do you clean your menorah each night after the flames have finished burning? Goodness knows I don’t, and each night it gets a little trickier to light the menorah. There’s old wax stuck in the hole, even after you use a random household item to try and scrape it out, and the cheap Chanukah candles break when you push them in. Or if you’re using oil (in our house we have both), then the cups from the first few nights are always grimy and slippery from previous splashes. So in our house, where we light quite a few menorahs, by the time we get to the eighth night of Chanukah, we have a pile of broken candles that never made it, lumps of broken off wax drippings (many imprinted with fingerprints) and a few discarded, slimy wicks from the oil menorah. And if you have one of those candle menorahs where the shamash, the lighting candle, is elevated in the middle of the row, every time you try to place the shamash in its proper spot, you bump into the candle next to it, resulting in additional spillage!

The mess of the Chanukah candles may seem  like a silly issue to discuss, but just the other day I was thinking that this issue may serve as an interesting metaphor for Jewish growth. When a person first becomes excited about Judaism, it is like setting up the menorah. There is great anticipation about participating in the new mitzvot, and the first acts of Jewish observance that one does on one’s own can be  compared to the first night of Chanukah. The menorah is in pristine condition and the candles fit in easily (unless, of course, it wasn’t cleaned after last year).

Time passes, however, and for many people who have moved toward greater Jewish observance, living a more involved Jewish life often results in the loss of some of the original sparkle of being new. It gets harder. Unexpected obstacles arise: bosses who have “emergencies” just before Shabbat or relatives who don’t understand the implication of “kosher style.”

More challenging than the unexpected obstacles, however, are the slimy drippings of apathy and routine. Mitzvot that were once exciting start to feel like common acts. There is a constant struggle to grasp again the beautiful inspiration that so energized those original first steps.

The Talmud records a disagreement between two of the great academies of Talmudic study: the Academy of Shammai and the Academy of Hillel. The first believed that eight lights should be lit on the first night of Chanukah, and one less on each night that follows. Hillel’s students, on the other hand, said that on the first night one candle is lit, adding one each night until eight candles are lit on the last night (Talmud Shabbat 21b).

One explanation cited in the Talmud for their different opinions was that the Academy of Shammai was comparing the candles to the decreasing number of bulls brought on the holiday of Sukkot. The Academy of Hillel, on the other hand, was underscoring the idea that matters of sanctity should always be increased rather than decreased” (ibid.).

It was decided that the practice of Chanukah should be observed according to the opinion of the Academy of Hillel. Each night we increase the light until the eighth glorious night when all eight candles burn in its full glory.

Following the path of traditional Jewish life can have its challenges. But the greater the effort that we invest, the brighter the light that we shine. The mitzvah of Chanukah is intended to proclaim to the world our faith in God’s constant and active role in our lives. This is what we do when we tell that boss that we cannot work late on Friday or explain that the term kosher of “kosher rye” refers to a style and not that the bread is actually kosher.

Jewish life is a spiral of cycles. There are the daily cycles of prayer, the weekly cycles of Shabbat, and the yearly cycle of holidays. Each requires preparation. If I, as a working mother of five, don’t pick away at the “wax drippings” of chaos that dominate my home every morning, then I won’t have time for the daily morning prayers. If I don’t prevent “slippery spots” from entering my schedule, then I have to work harder to prepare for Shabbat, and if I don’t prepare in advance, then I cannot make the most of the beauty that inhabits each of the Jewish holidays.

If I were to continue my metaphor of the crowded menorah, then perhaps I would say that not only do I shine brighter the more effort I invest, but I would also connect to the shamash.  For everything that I do, my role is now that of being a continual helper. How I treat my own menorah -- my own spiritual development -- is reflected in the lights that surround me, the neshamot (souls) of my children.

This year, as the lights of Chanukah increase and we each stand by our menorahs trying to remove the drippings from the night before, think not of the struggle against the wax, but rather of the incredible brilliance and rays of  holiness of your beautiful Jewish soul.

Facing Manhood

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).


5777 - This is the year my son will “become a man,” as popular Bar Mitzvah messages assert. In just over seven months, my bachor will become Bar Mitzvah and for the last several months this fact has become a constant little niggle, that type of thing one says one isn’t going to think about but nevertheless finds oneself constantly discussing. Halls for the kiddush, caterers, how to balance the different things he needs...

As I sat thinking about the Dvar Torah I wanted to write, the Bar Mitzvah once again popped into my head. This time, however, my thoughts were not focused on the “to do” but rather on the personal significance. Every year when I get “the call” (ok, the email, but it’s so much more dramatic sounding the other way) about the Elul group, I become suddenly more aware of the growth I need to do, of the growing I haven’t done... of my status as a baneinu. I’m not bad, but I’m not particularly good, either.

Twenty some odd years ago, I started keeping mitzvot. The first several years were all about acquiring knowledge and adding observance. They were hard because had to bend myself, but they were easy because there was so much new to do...and so much encouragement!

When I got married, I expected many things from myself, but life, work, children, running...running...running (B.H.) kept me very busy. Slowly, learning and growing drifted away. Even davening. Last year, I believe, I wrote about davening and how much I increased my davening as I expected my fifth child. One of the other reasons I made an active effort to increase my davening was that I wanted my children, my girls in particular, to see me daven, to know that it wasn’t just Tatty who did so.

This year, about two months ago, I found a whatsapp group of women in my neighborhood (mostly). The group is about emunah and growth but, to be honest, I really joined it to try and build a stronger social connection within Montreal. I found much more. I am in awe of the spiritual drive of these ladies, just as I am in awe of the dedication of the ladies of this Elul list -particularly, of course, Caryn and Ruthie, who have been doing this longer than a bar mizvah.  Last week this group spoke of the idea that a tzadik cannot stand in the same place as a Baal Teshuva, which led to a discussion of how doing teshuva provides each person witha chance to not only start anew, but to really start to be new. As the conversation got deeper, I was struck by the thought that I didn’t really deserve the title of Baal Teshuva anymore. Sure, became observant on my own, but last year I actually passed the mark of being shomer Shabbat longer than not being shomer Shabbat...and what growth had I been doing?

Today (ok, tomorrow) is first day of Elul. The King is in the Field! Now is the time, the best time, for me to seize the day and start myself anew. This Elul, I want to use the energy of the month to call out from my heart: “Hashem, help me grow! Hashem, open my soul! Hashem, help me feel that passion I felt when I first started this journey. And Hashem, help me show that love and passion for Torah to my children!”

The ladies with whom I have been learning are incredible, spiritual and connected on an emotional level. If you know me, you know that is not so much how I am wired. But I learn from them, as I learn from each woman on the Elul list each year, how to be a little more. And from each of these things I am inspired by the necessity to open up, to call out and communicate to Hashem in the same way I have a “heart to heart” with a good friend, and then more so.

Once upon a time, I used to seek out deep texts and challenge myself to create innovative and admirable divrei Torah. I wanted to do that again...So here is a very brief thought, and not that wow. I have been looking into Mishlei a bit, an excellent source of quotes on which to build Jewish Treats, and I was struck by several verses in Chapter 16:

16:3 Commit your works to the Lord, and your thoughts shall be established.
16:7 When a man's ways please the LORD, he makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.
16:9 A man's heart devises his way: but the Lord directs his steps.

If I have the right intention in any of my endeavors – I try to exercise knowing that I am acting on a mitzvah of taking care of my body, if I focus on cooking Shabbas not as a chore (yes, sorry, week after week) but for the mitzvah - then God will help me in those actions. And I believe this means, for me at least, that I will gain a level of serenity from doing them. This connects to the next verse quoted, but my biggest enemies are in my head. From the yetzer harah to low self esteem, I am easily brought into a negative headspace. When I have given my thoughts and actions a God-focused perspective, however, I find more peace. Last, but not least, of course is a verse that makes me think of “man plans, God laughs,” but it is not nearly so flippant. This is the essence of free will. I get to make decisions, but God is still maneuvering all the pieces on the board to either help or hinder my wishes from coming true.

I don’t know if that made sense to anyone, and in truth I am adding that paragraph just before sending it (when I should be cooking). Mostly now, I write to inspire only myself, and, if by chance you can relate to what I have set down, I hope I give you chizuk as well. I often find that reading of other people with similar thoughts, feelings, experiences can give me strength to grow and move forward.
In seven plus months, my son will have to take responsibility for his own mitzvot. During the hectic months to come, I hope to work on myself as well, so that when he becomes something more, I too can be something more and reclaim the legitimacy of the label B.T.

Thank you all for the inspiration.