Finding Lights in the Darkness

December 18, 2009
by Rabbi Geoffrey A. Mitelman

Editor’s note: December, for many among us, is a time for contemplation. The very hustle and bustle of the holidays can throw open a window of opportunity for quiet deliberation that stays shuttered tight in the daily grind the rest of the year. 

We offer here the thoughts of Assistant Rabbi Geoffrey A. Mitelman of Temple Beth El on the seventh night of Chanukah. 

There’s a little quirk of the calendar that comes up in the middle of Chanukah. It just so happens that the night we light the seventh candle is also the darkest night of the year. Not the shortest night, but the darkest night – Rosh Chodesh Tevet, the new month of Tevet, begins at sundown of the seventh night of Chanukah. In other words, the seventh night of Chanukah is the night closest to the winter solstice on which there is no visible moon.

I highly doubt that this was an intentional placement on the calendar. It’s just as “planned” as the fact that we’re likely to be in the parashiyot telling the Joseph story during Chanukah, as well – that the seventh night of Chanukah falls on the darkest night of the year occurs just because a few different ways of setting Jewish time happen to coincide. But I find that there’s something quite powerful in knowing that the seventh night of Chanukah is the night that most requires us to kindle lights.

On the seventh night, our Chanukiah is almost full. With eight of the nine candles flickering in the window, we see almost all of our lights. As Chanukah in general reminds us of holding onto hope in the most difficult times, lighting the Chanukiah reminds us that we can bring light even in the darkest times. And on the darkest night of the year, we are using almost all of our candles to bring some light into this world.

But the key word there is “almost” – we are not bringing all of our lights. We might think that it would be great if the darkest night of the year happened to fall on the eighth night, the night on which our Chanukiah is full and we would make a powerful statement that “Even in our darkest times, we can bring all of our lights to shine!”

Except our Chanukiah is not full on the darkest night of the year. There’s one candle missing – and that’s wonderful, because it reminds us of so many other things we might forget otherwise. It reminds us that even when we bring our light, there is still darkness in this world, for our world is not yet redeemed. It reminds us that there is still more work that needs to be done, and so there is always more light we can bring. It reminds us that even in our happiest times, life is not all joyous – we all face moments of doubt and despair, and those are parts of the human condition, as well.

And yet for me, knowing that there is one “missing” light reminds me most of the words of Rabbi Tarfon: “Lo alecha ham’lcha ligmor, v’lo atah bein chorin l’hibatel mimenah.” Usually we take that to mean, “The world is never going to be perfect—but we have to try.” I read it a little bit differently. The Hebrew says, “Lo alecha”— “it is not upon you,” and the word for “you”—alecha – is in the singular. So I read that quote as, “It is not upon each of us by ourselves to complete the work – but we do have to do our part to the best our ability.” There is always something we can do to help bring more light into this dark world – and there is always something we must do.

Rabbi Geoffrey A. Mitelman is Assistant Rabbi of Temple Beth El of Northern Westchester. 

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