Six more weeks of winter, so says Punxsutawney Phil. And while I enjoyed the movie, Ground Hog Day, I have mixed feelings about Ground Hog Day as a holiday. You see, I was born at a quarter to midnight on February 1, and my mother always said she thought I was going to be a ground hog and go in for six more weeks.

Yesterday was amazing. In Chicagoland we had a blizzard which somehow seemed appropriate since there was a blizzard the day I was born. I spent the morning working out on the elliptical and felt so alive. I set a new personal record for time and distance. It was a shehechianu moment. A chance to thank G-d for sustaining me and enabling me to reach this point.

Safe from inside it was a good opportunity to watch the dog frolic in the snow and the birds enjoy the bird feeder. Such variety and color, juncos, chickadees, cardinals, and a flock of something I couldn’t identify, even with Petersen’s guide book.

The rest of the day was devoted to sports. And that’s really what I want to talk about.

I am a sports fan. I was a sports reporter and editor in college. I run. I hike. And for fun, I watch sports. Mostly football, basketball and baseball. But let’s reiterate. This is for fun. There are plenty of days sitting on the couch next to my husband where the game is so close or so frustrating I vow, yes vow, I am never going to do this again. And I break that vow by the next weekend.

As a sports fan, this has been a tough year. Earlier in the year I predicted the death of football. There are too many problems.

I have been a Patriots fan since Super Bowl XX when we couldn’t find any Sam Adams (Sold out) so we bought Dos Equis XX. I have loved watching Tom Brady, since he was a Michigan quarterback. Since he bailed out the Patriots when rew Bledsoe was injured in what was a magical, second half of the season story. I have loved Bob Kraft and his wife Myra, for their commitment to philanthropy, for their commitment to the Boys and Girls Club, for Israel and for the Jewish community. My love of the Patriots runs deep. Red and blue.

But cheating? This is important stuff. I am a rabbi. I try to lead a moral and ethical life. What is going on here? I spent two weeks being crushed. I canceled the idea of me having a Super Bowl party (and it was my birthday!) The Boston Globe ran an important article about how to talk to your kids about this topic. http://www.bostonglobe.com/lifestyle/2015/01/22/what-can-tell-kids-about-deflategate/j228TLkXz4Cj8cRYFKkzCJ/story.html

I tried to do precisely that at Hebrew School. It didn’t work well. And yet, I remember my Girl Scout handbook saying so clearly, “It isn’t whether you win or lose; it is how you play the game.” The Patriots have become the team people love to hate. Partly because they have become so good. Partly because they have not avoided the look of impropriety. So I read every article.

What finally made me feel OK about it, not good, just OK, were two articles. One from the New York Times. Never Patriots fans they hired their own physicists and concluded it could be the weather. (Doesn’t explain why the Colts balls seemed to be OK). Another one my cousin posted saying that the NFL wanted you to believe this stuff. He was posting as an attorney. http://tanyarayfox.weebly.com/blog/how-the-nfl-made-a-fool-of-you-with-deflategate

Head injuries—a life or death matter—head my list. A 25% reduction in head injuries is not good enough. I remember watching a college game between University of Michigan and Delaware State. In terms of size and physicality, there was no comparison. I remember thinking that the administration had no business sending those kids out to do battle with Michigan and risk their injuries just for TV revenues. The response to those I was watching with is that the kids want to do it. It might be their chance to be discovered.

But that doesn’t quite cut it for me. There was a recent haunting story on NPR about Northwestern’s attempt to unionize. It seems that colleges don’t always do a good job helping players who get injured, or even with completing their college degrees which is the ultimate goal—not getting a NFL berth.

Yet, I still seem to want to watch. This story explains some of it.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2015/01/27/381963930/why-do-we-love-football-so-much-theater-tackles-tough-questions

OK—I get it. As I did watching a poorly played Michigan-Northwestern game. It is about being part of something bigger. It is about feeling connected. It is a community. All the same things we say about religion, meaning to tie back up into. Simon talks about sitting in the Michigan stadium and feeling close to his father. So when I jokingly say there are two religions in this house, Judaism and Michigan football I am closer than I think.

But still. If the injuries were not enough, then we have the domestic violence question. It is never OK to hit another person. The NFL has consistently missed the mark on disciplining sports superstars (I can’t call them heros) who batter wives or girlfriends. They seem to think they are above the law. Or maybe they won’t get caught. Or maybe since they are trained to be aggressive on the field, that carries over to bars, hotel rooms, elevators and their own homes. Domestic violence is never OK. Period.

So the NFL ran an ad. http://fox8.com/2015/02/01/first-ever-commercial-addressing-domestic-violence-to-air-during-super-bowl/ A chilling, haunting ad. And the response has been mixed. I would like to think it helped. It may have raised awareness. It may have given one woman a tool to use. But I don’t think the NFL has put its money where its mouth is. And believe me, the NFL has lots of money.

In my early days of working on domestic violence issues we learned that Super Bowl Sunday is the largest day for domestic violence issues. While that may not be exactly the case, the calls to hotlines do go up. If you are reading this the morning after and need to make a safety plan, the national domestic violence hotline is 1−800−799−7233.

Then it was game time. The controversies faded into the background. I watched every play. I held my breath for the last 2 minutes. Did the game go the way I hoped? Yes. Does the NFL, college and even high school and Pop Warner have ongoing issues? You bet. Maybe this off season, we will begin to see real solutions to real problems. I challenge all of us to work towards that. This can’t just be Ground Hog Day.

The last blog post I published was about balance. I am still working on achieving it. That may be why I haven’t written much lately. Topics I considered but didn’t make it to paper include: France and Nigeria. Martin Luther King Day and the role of Jews in Civil Rights. Inflategate and Cheating. Healing and Curing. Birthdays. I’ll get there.

I am going to start with Healing and Curing.

The rabbis of the Talmud had it right, 2000 years ago, they understood that if even one of our arteries or values were blocked we could not praise G-d’s name.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who formed us with wisdom and created within us many openings and many hollows. It is obvious and known before Your Throne of Glory that if even one of them ruptures, or if even one of them becomes blocked, it would be impossible to survive and to stand before You (even for a short period). Blessed are You, Lord, Who heals all flesh and acts wondrously.”

Some people chuckle at this prayer because it is also known as the bathroom prayer. However, it is included in many morning services as a prayer for healing. One person once told me that there are no prayers in Judaism for going to the bathroom, since that is not “holy.” However, if you go into any traditional Jewish day school you will find this prayer posted right outside the bathroom.

I find it a profound prayer.

When my mother was sick I had the feeling that anyone of the numerous specialists: cardiologist, pulmonologist, endocrinologist, dermatologist, (they all end is ist, including the hospitalist!) could have kept any one of her organs going indefinitely.

But the rabbis were right, the body is a finely balanced network and the physicians couldn’t keep all of it going together at the same time. For my mother, who struggled with lung issues as long as I can remember (DON’T SMOKE!), the ultimate issue seemed to be a balance between kidney function and liver function. And then there was a heart attack. Her body was shutting down.

At some point it became clear to us that we could not cure her. Nothing medicine could offer would restore her quality of life. She would never go back to her apartment with all of her books, her collections, her holiday decorations. She wasn’t going to be able to work at Borders or serve on the many boards she was still on. She wouldn’t be able to drive to the grocery store or her doctors.

And yet, two rabbis and I stood at her bedside and sang the last verse of “Adon Olam,” with a lovely Debbie Friedman melody which reminds me of a lullaby. The English is:

“Into G-d’s hand I commit my spirit, my breath
When I sleep and when I wake
And with my spirit, my body
The Lord is with me, and I will not fear.”

You might ask, why was this important when my mother, while always active in the Jewish community, was never sure about the Lord being with her. Since then I have stood at many bedsides. I wrestle with the same question. What difference does this prayer make? What difference does any prayer make—we can’t possibly cure people with prayer. Or can we?

I grew up in a medically savvy household. My father was a medical school professor with a specialty in genetics and cell biology. He was the leading expert in the olfactory of the crab’s nose. My mother was a medical researcher with major credits including Metformin, the drug used to treat diabetes and Ensure. Science ruled the house. If it wasn’t able to be seen through a microscope, it wasn’t real. Bedside manner didn’t matter so much.

But there is good research now that prayer, meditation, yoga, can reduce stress and increase healing. I am not going to provide a full bibliography here, but one interesting study was at Brandeis (a school my parents respected), http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/06/090617154401.htm

Apparently some of what is important is in knowing that others care about you, that you have a community surrounding you. It makes you less isolated, less alone. It is a burden that is shared. Some of it is in believing that there is something beyond yourself. Some of it is in slowing down, acknowledging the fears and reducing stress. Reducing stress is always a good thing. Prayer can do all of those things.

Recently I hosted a mincha havdalah service late on a Shabbat winter afternoon, specifically to talk about healing. While preparing for it, I realized that almost every major Jewish federation now has a pamphlet, booklet, link something to hand to Jewish patients who are wrestling with some of these same issues. Amongst my favorite compilations came from Chicago’s Jewish Child and Family Services, http://www.jcfs.org/sites/default/files/uploads/documents/JHNC%20Jewish%20Prayers%20%20Reflections%20on%20Healing1.08.pdf Chicago has a Jewish Healing Network, also run by JCFS, specifically Rabbi Joe Osarowski, who has done some training of Congregation Kneseth Israel’s own Bikkur Holim committee.

We’ve come a long way as a Jewish community. We can pray for healing, as individuals and as a community.

Jews have understood the positive connection between mind, body and spirit. We see it in the traditional misheberach and in the version by Debbie Friedman. “The renewal of body, the renewal of spirit.” That’s what we pray for. Not one or the other, but both.

Recently I stood at the foot of another patient in ICU, singing that same Adon Olam, softly, gently.The nurse and I watched as the blood pressure dropped to near normal levels. Can I cure that patient? No. I went to rabbinical school, not to medical school. But I can provide a calming presence and that alone can be healing.

One of my favorite Psalms appears in lots of these guides to healing. Psalm 121 says

I lift up my eyes to the mountains, from where comes my help? My help comes from the Lord….
God will not let your foot slip. (So important when I am mountain climbing, again it is about balance)
God will watch over you, guard you. God will not slumber.
God will not slumber nor sleep.
God will watch over your coming and your going, now and forevermore.

I link this to Adon Olam.

Into Your hand, I commit my soul. While I am awake and while I sleep. I will not fear.

When I went to Weight Watchers this week, I was reminded of an important word, sustainability. It feels good to get back on track after the holidays. All of the holidays. Undoubtedly some of you made New Year’s Resolutions. I wrote my annual New Year’s letters. I was pleased that I had achieved many of my goals and expectations from last year and know that I still have a lot of work on some of them. I outlined my goals for the year. Some of them are doable. Some are probably not. Climbing Kathadin in Maine is perpetually on the list it seems. And while I did not finish the Disney Princess Half Marathon, I completed five other races and I raised, together with Sarah, and many of you, over $5000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

But then my friend and colleague, Rabbi Evan Moffic, also wrote about New Year’s goals. He only achieved two of his from last year and wondered if that was a failure. http://www.rabbimoffic.com/fail-achieve-goals/#more-1228 He concludes no because the real goal is to move towards are goals. We are not off the hook. Quoting Pirke Avot, he says that “ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.”

Endings and beginnings. Beginnings and endings. This week’s parsha is about endings. It is the last of Genesis. It is the last of the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Jacob blesses his sons, leaving them in Egypt with an important legacy. He blesses them and tells the truth about them.

But this same parsha links us back to the beginning. The Talmud hints at this when describing this parsha, and I learned it from my teacher, Rabbi Michael Pitkowsky:

Until Abraham there was no such thing as [the sign of] old age. Whoever saw Abraham thought, “This is Isaac.” Whoever saw Isaac thought, “This is Abraham.” Abraham prayed for mercy so that he might have [signs of] old age, as it is said, “And Abraham was old, and well stricken in age” (Gen. 24:1). Until the time of Jacob there was no such thing as illness, so he prayed for mercy and illness came about, as it is written, “And someone told Joseph, behold, your father is sick: (Gen. 48:1). “Until the time of Elisha, no one who was sick ever got well. Elisha came along and prayed for mercy and got well, as it is written, “Now Elisha had fallen sick of the illness of which he died” (2 Kings 13:14) [Sanhedrin 107b; Bava Metzia 87a-trans. Jacob Neusner]

We learn from this that our children are our legacy, and a new beginning. We learn that for the first time there is a concept of old age. We learn that we can use words to pray for healing.

A new year is a beginning as well. In the book, Seven Questions You Are Asked in Heaven, we learn that one of those questions is did you leave a legacy.

What is your legacy? What do you want to tell your children and grandchildren? What’s important to you? How do you tell that story?

Sometimes it feels like a quest for balance.

Sometimes I look at a Jewish Star, a Magen David, and try to figure out the balance I need.

What do you put in the center? Maybe yourself? Maybe G-d.

What are the points?

Maybe Torah, Gemilut Chasadim, Avodah, since those are the three things the world is sustained by. They can be broader. Torah could be any study. Gemilut Chasdim could reflect social justice/tikkun loam or community. Avodah could be divine service or work.

Maybe Torah, Israel, G-d.

Or Work, Family, Health, Community, Friends?

What if for each of your points you write one goal for the year. Perhaps then we can find balance. Then when it comes time for you to bless your children and give them a legacy, you will be able to honestly bless them.

Recently I finished reading Anita Diamant’s new book, Boston Girl. It is essentially an oral history lesson between a granddaughter and her 85 year old grandmother. Sprinkled throughout the stories of Addie Baum’s life are pearls of wisdom she shares with her granddaughter. Like it is better to be kind than smart. What pearls are you leaving your children?

Collected together these pearls become an ethical will. Jacob’s blessings are also a kind of ethical will. Writing an ethical will, very different from a last will and testament that divides property, can be a good way to start the new year—and coupled with updating my advance directive/living will/health care proxy, something I want to tackle as one of my goals.

It is a new year. Next week we start a new book of Torah. What will the new year bring for you? What goals will you set for yourself? What will be sustainable?

This took me two days to write and a lifetime to think about. It began when I was in Charlevoix because I received this question twice on Christmas Eve.

I am in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Charlevoix, Michigan. It is known as Charlevoix the Beautiful. whose tagline is “Once in a blue moon there is a Charlevoix.” It is indeed beautiful and I am lucky that I get to enjoy it. Frequently. It is a place I return to again and again to recharge, watch Lake Michigan sunsets, eat smoked whitefish and spend time with family. Even the cloudy, rainy weather we had this trip was beautiful. Some people say it is paradise. But Paradise is up the road a piece, over the Big Mac bridge in the Upper Peninsula. And Hell, well that’s outside of Ann Arbor. Really. Hell, Michigan. You can buy a bumper sticker there that says, “I’ve been to Hell (Michigan) and back.”

It is almost secular New Year’s and people seem to be reflective. Myself included. Several times in the last week I was asked as a rabbi what do Jews believe happen after we die. Of course, there is no one answer in Judaism. Perhaps one answer would be easier. People want answers. Telling people that there is a range of opinion does not help someone going through a medical crisis trying to find their own answer or the kid on the playground trying to answer his friends.

Nonetheless, here are the “standard” Jewish beliefs:

The concept of a life after death is actually very Jewish. You could say that the Israelites invented it. There are hints about it in the Hebrew Bible. The rabbis talked about Olam Habah, the world to come. They were vague on what that would be like. However, you could lose your place in the world to come if you embarrassed someone in public. Some see the world to come as a higher state of being, whatever that means.

In the Talmud, Olam Habah is referred to this way: “This world is like a lobby before the Olam Ha-Ba. Prepare yourself in the lobby so that you may enter the banquet hall.” It also says that “This world is like the eve of Shabbat, and the Olam Habah is like Shabbat. He who prepares on the eve of Shabbat will have food to eat on Shabbat.” Abraham Joshua Heschel developed this idea more fully in his book The Sabbath.

“The Sabbath is a reminder of the two worlds–this world and the world to come; it is an example of both worlds. For the Sabbath is joy, holiness, and rest; joy is part of this world; holiness and rest are something of the world to come.”

All Israel has a share in the world to come. However the focus in Judaism seems to be on this world. “Be not like servants who serve their master for the sake of receiving a reward; instead, be like servants who serve their master not for the sake of receiving a reward, and let the awe of Heaven “ Pirke Avot 1:3.

But Judaism, even the book Pirke Avot, has more than one opinion. “Rabbi Yaakov would say: This world is comparable to the antechamber before the World to Come. Prepare yourself in the antechamber, so that you may enter the banquet hall. He would also say: A single moment of repentance and good deeds in this world is greater than all of the World to Come. And a single moment of bliss in the World to Come is greater than all of the present world.” (Pirke Avot, Chapter 4) I think we want to believe that our actions for good have some power to change the decree and what our reward maybe. Psalm 92, the Psalm for Shabbat, says that the “foolish cannot understand, that the wicked may spring up like grass and the evildoers flourish, they will be destroyed forever.”

Yet, there does seem to be a reward and punishment system. And it would appear you do not have to be Jewish to merit a place in the world to come. It is not like some branches of Christianity where you can only merit heaven if you believe in Jesus. No such litmus test here. Much has been written about righteous gentiles as well as the seven Noahide laws. Keep the Noahide laws if you are not Jewish and you should be fine.

So what is heaven? The place of spiritual reward in Hebrew is often called Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden) which was seen as Paradise, a place of spiritual perfection. While the same name as the place where Adam and Eve were, this is a place of spiritual perfection and no separation from G-d. There are many descriptions of what Gan Eden might be like, but we who are still living cannot know. Paradise also Hebrew loan word comes from pardes, an orchard, is also used as an acronym for the levels of Torah study. “Four men entered pardes, Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher and Akiba.  Ben Azzai looked and died; Ben Zoma looked and went mad; Acher destroyed the plants; Akiba entered in peace and departed in peace. (Hagigah 14b, also in Jerusalem Talmud) So the conclusion seems to be that trying to attain pardes can be dangerous. We should be careful. We should remain grounded. We should not do this alone. (Cue the do not attempt this at home music!)

The levels of Torah study are peshat, the simple, plain meaning of the text, remez, hints of the deep allegorical, hidden, symbolic meaning, deresh, from to inquire or seek, like Rebecca did when she went to l’derosh, seek out the oracle, or the process of midrash and sod, the secret, mystical meaning of the text. Taken together they are paradise.

But what happens to all those wicked? All those who are not righteous? Most of us are some combination of good and bad. Judaism has its own version of purgatory. Not like Christian versions of Hell, with fire and brimstone or Dante’s Inferno with differing levels. The Hebrew for this is Gehinnom (Gehenna in Yiddish) or She’ol. Again based on a actual place name, this is the valley outside of the ancient walled city of Jerusalem that the goat Azazel was sent into. Again, what happens in Gehinnom is not clear. It could be that every time we sin we create our own demon and those demons come back to haunt us. It could be like a film of our lives, that we can see the action of our lives objectively and can experience remorse. Apparently no one stays in Gehinnom for more than 12 months, and then we ascend to olam habah. That is the reason why we only say Kaddish for a parent for 11 months since no one wants to assume that their own parent would take the full 12 months of purgatory.

Jews also have developed beliefs about reincarnation and resurrection. This surprises many Jews. Resurrection is explained in the Book of Ezekiel when he talks about breathing new life into those dry bones. It is codified in Rambam’s 13 Articles of Faith, and acted upon every time there is a terrorist bombing in Israel and such care is taken to collect all the remains for proper burial.

Many Jews are equally surprised to learn that the belief in reincarnation exists in Judaism too. This revolving of souls through a series of successive lives is called gilgulim. Rambam talked about this too when he hints that gilgulim is the secret to understanding the deep mysteries of yibum, the arcane commandment that a brother of a childless, deceased man must marry the widow. He uses Genesis 38:8 and the story of Judah and his sons and their attitudes toward Tamar. That feels like a stretch to me. What is important to note is that it exists in the tradition.

Reform Jews really struggled with the whole notion of life after death. I remember when my father died, my mother pulled the rabbi aside and begged that he explain that Jews don’t believe in heaven. For her, and for many Reform Jews, the more rational “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” made more sense. We live on in the memories of the people that come after us. For me, personally, that doesn’t seem like quite enough. So I told that rabbi to amend his comments to say that “Some Jews don’t believe in the afterlife.”

The very first piece of Talmud I learned still resonates. The rabbis of the Talmud had it right. We should repent one day before our death. But the next question is key. How do we know when we will die? So the rabbis answered their own question, we should repent every day.

For me I think this makes the most sense. We should live each day as though it were our last. We should repent when we need to repent.

Perhaps Ron Wolfson had it right. Based on the Talmud and Reb Zuziya, there are seven questions we will be asked in heaven:

• Were you honest?
• Did you leave a legacy?
• Did you devote time to study?
• Did you have hope in your heart?
• Did you get your priorities straight?
• Did you see G-d’s Alps, i.e., Did you enjoy your life on earth?
• Were you the best you could be?

I think I can answer each of them. Not perfectly and not consistently. They are a good benchmark. We should strive to be honest. We should leave a legacy, whether that is children, a book, an enterprise or making this world a better place. We should be cognizant of what it means to be a good person—to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our G-d. We should fulfill the mitzvot in ways that our meaningful to us, not because we are seeking reward in the world to come but because they are the right thing to do and they enrich our lives now. We should experience Shabbat and Torah study because they are a foretaste of the world to come. We should live life to its fullest. We should make this world a better place. We have been given a glorious opportunity for which we should be thankful. And then once we die, and we all will at some point. Then, and only then will we truly know.

Meanwhile for me, I have been lucky enough to see the Alps. Charlevoix and Leland may be heaven. and Paradise is in the Upper Peninsula. Much more to ponder. Happy (secular) New Year.

Tonight is Rosh Hodesh Tevet and I need to take a break from the stories I have been posting. This blog is dedicated to Women of the Wall, Rabbis Regina Jonas, Rabbi Regina Sandler-Philips and Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn.

“Light One Candle” on the third night of Chanukah was the request that came from Women of the Wall. They were denied the ability to light a large menorah on the Kotel plaza by the rabbi who governs the Western Wall. I was appalled. I was angry. This denial was a clear violation of halacha. This was the opposite of the song “Light One Candle” whose opening verse is “Light one candle for the Maccabee children , Give thanks that their light didn’t die . Light one candle for the pain they endured, When their right to exist was denied.” This is the opposite of the story I posted earlier this week with the woman, Hannah, who helped make the miracle by giving up some of her own oil.

I am happy to light a candle (I already had by the time the call came out). Happy is the right adjective for Chanukah as we are told in the halacha precisely how to light Chanukah candles and in what order. Hillel argues that we light so that the light increases each night and with each night so does the beauty and our joy.

The pictures of women lighting candles all over the globe prove the point that women light Chanukah candles. Period. The Talmud says look and see what the people are doing. Here is a clear example, in photographic evidence.

But this denial of the rabbi at the Western Wall calls for more than lighting candles and increasing light and joy. It calls for an actual t’shuvah, responsa, using halachic arguments. Because the halacha on this is clear. Women light chanukiot.

In what seems like a long time ago, my chevruta partner, Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn, and I were studying the halachic codes for Chanukah. We started with the Mishnah and Gemara and made our way through Rambam and Shulchan Arukh. What we learned surprised us and at one stage made us giggle uncontrollably. We giggled uncontrollably over mixed up two Hebrew words, shemesh, the sun, and shamash, the helper candle. I still wonder how the words are related. They must be. Perhaps it is the sun that is a great helper candle, providing light for all. Perhaps it is the shamash that ultimately gets its light and energy from the sun.

The idea that Women of the Wall called for this on the third night of Chanukah, the same night another organization, Ways of Peace (http://waysofpeace.org ) called for remembering Rabbi Regina Jonas, seems beshert. Rabbi Regina Jonas is recognized as the first ordained woman rabbi. She perished in Auschwitz in late 1944, 70 years ago this month. Those of us who are women rabbis stand on her shoulders. But it is more personal than that. Linda Shriner-Cahn’s mother, Herta, had Rabbi Regina Jonas as her Hebrew teacher in Berlin before the war. Her mother thought she was crazy. Here was a woman who wanted to be a rabbi. But I have this feeling if Regina Jonas had not taught Herta, then Herta would not have been able to teach her daughter Linda. Had Herta not survived the Holocaust by going with her family to Shanghai, she would not have had her daughter. Had her daughter Linda not gone to rabbinical school (and not told me how to take the train to Brooklyn while I was applying to school), I would not have written this t’shuvah. Perhaps this is part of the miracle of Chanukah and part of what needs to be publicized.

Rabbi Regina Jonas said, “May all our work be for the blessing of the future of Israel, and of humanity.”— From a Theresienstadt sermon by Rabbi Regina Jonas (1902-1944). May this teshuvah be for that. May it spread more light and more joy as we continue our celebration of Chanukah.

So here it is:

Question: What is the Jewish law concerning women lighting Chanukah candles? What is the halacha in general about women and Chanukah?

Answer:

Women are obligated to light Chanukah candles. You might argue that lighting Chanukah candles is a time-bound mitzvot and so women might be exempt as they are from other time bound mitzvot. However, the Gemara is clear in Shabbat 23a. “But a woman may certainly light [it], for R. Joshua b. Levi said: The [precept of the] Hanukkah lamp is obligatory upon women, for they too were concerned in that miracle.”

Since women are obligated, if a husband is away traveling, it is permissible to have his wife light at home for him in order to fulfill his obligation.

It is comprehensive and clear. See notes below.

And then, because this is Judaism, it is not perfectly clear. Some hold that a married woman should rely on her husband’s lighting. Unmarried girls living in their father’s house can rely on their father, according to the Ashkenazic custom. If they want to light, Ashkenazim can light with a Bracha. Again see the note below. However, note that this says it is a custom, not a halacha.

Woman should not do any work while the candles are burning. There are two reasons for this. The first is because unlike Shabbat candles which are lit to increase the light in the house, Chanukah candles are lit only to “publicize the miracle.” That is why they are put just outside the door or in a window except in a time of danger. Because they are only for “publicizing the miracle” they cannot be used for any other purpose. (Shabbat 21a and Rashi)

Some have argued that the purpose of the shamash was to provide additional light, not just to be the helper candle so that work could continue. This argument doesn’t work well, since many leave other lights on or light lots of additional candles to make the room more festive (or light).

Nor does it explain why the women are singled out to not work. It could have just as easily said all people, men, women, children, slaves. Why especially the women? The texts answer because they participated in the miracle. Women played an active role in helping the miracle happen. Judith, Yehudit, is specifically mentioned.

So there you have it. Women are obligated to light Chanukah lights and can even light them on behalf of their husbands. Women are obligated to rest during Chanukah because Judith helped make the miracle of Chanukah happen.

Notes: Rambam (Chanukah 4:9), Tur 665, and S”A 665:5 codify this as halacha. Kitzur S”A 139:16 concurs.Piskei Maharam Riketani (154) holds women can fulfill a man’s obligation on his behalf. This is also the opinion of Rabbenu Yerucham 9:1, Rokeach Chanukah 226:3, Ritva and Meiri (Shabbat 23a, Megilah 4a), Maharil (Chanukah pg 407). Levush (675), Bach (675), Taz(675:4), Magan Avraham 675:4, Olot Shabbat 675:1, Pri Chadash 675:4, Eliyah Raba 675:6, Sh”t Shar Efraim 42, Shulchan Gavoha 675:6, Mor Ukesia 675:6, Machzik Bracha 675:4, Mishna Brurah 675:9. Sh”t Yechave Daat 3:51 writes that since some rishonim and achronim hold one can only light at Tzet HaKochavim one should let his wife light at the right time and fulfill his obligation according to all opinions. The Yechave Daat holds like the Chaye Adam 154:33. Kaf Hachiam 676:25. Chaye Adam adds that Ashkenazim can light without a bracha. Interesting point: S”A 689:2 says a women can read the megillah to fulfill for a man his obligation of megillah, and some hold otherwise. [Bahag (quoted by Tosfot Megilah 4a, Erchin 3a) and Morchedai 4a in name of Ravyah (Megilah 569,843) hold women can’t fulfill the obligation of a man, but Rashi Erchin 3a, Or Zaruh 2:324, Rambam(Megilah 1), Rif (quoted by Sefer Eshkol 2:30) hold a women can fulfill obligation of a man]. However Smag (brought by Magan Avraham 589:5), Itur (Megilah 113d), Eshkol 2 pg 30 differentiate between Megilah which is like Torah reading but by Chanukah women can fulfill the man’s obligation according to everyone. Also Torat Moadim Chanukah pg 40 says the Behag only held a women can fulfill megilah for a man since a women’s obligation is derebanan and a man’s is from divrei kabalah (Ketuvim). Similarly, Sh”t Maharash Halevi O”C 24 says Chanukah isn’t an obligation on each person but on the household and so a women can fulfill it for a man. Thus even those who say by Megilah a woman can’t fulfill a man’s obligation agree by Chanukah.(http://halachipedia.com/index.php?title=Lighting_Chanukah_Candles )

A married women is exempt by her husband because “Ishto Kegufo Dami”(a husband and wife are like one person). So writes the Maharshal 88, Knesset Hagedolah 671, Mateh Moshe 982, Eliya Raba 671:3, Machasit Hashekel 675:4. Mishna Brurah 675:9 quotes this in name of Sh”t Olot Shmeul 105 and says if women want they can light with a Bracha like any mitzvah for which one’s exempt according to the Ashkenazi Minhag. Mishmeret Shalom 48 says since a married woman doesn’t light and relies on her husband, her daughters also don’t light as derech eretz. Similarly, Chiddushei Chatom Sofer (Shabbat 21b D”H Vehamehadrin) writes since the practice used to be to light outside it wasn’t Derech Eretz for women to light if her husband is already lighting and since then the Minhag hasn’t changed. Ashel Avraham Mebustatesh 675:3 says according to kabbalah women don’t light (unless they have to). However it seems as the minhag is that Ashkenzic unmarried girls also light. Rav Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986) is quoted in sefer Moadei Yeshurun 1:4 says if a woman wants to light and recite the beracha, she should light before her husband does.(http://halachipedia.com/index.php?title=Lighting_Chanukah_Candles )

It seems that in France, the way to celebrate Chanukah is to open the new casks of wine on the night after Shabbat Chanukah. They sample the wine and toast the holiday, eat beignets, a French version of a donut also popular with café au lait in New Orleans.

I always thought that the new wine, the Beaujolais Nouveau, are shipped to the United States to arrive on the Thursday before Thanksgiving. In fact, this year, late on the Thursday before Thanksgiving, after my Confirmation Class and after delivering corned beef lunches to our seniors, Simon sat down and drank some red wine. We should have realized that it would be more “traditional”, more Jewish to wait for Chanukah. I think we learned that reading Maggie Anton’s series, Rashi’s Daughters.

Tonight’s story comes from another book, Hanukkah: Eight Lights Around the World by Susan Susman.

“Jacques and his friends run through the quiet Sunday streets of Strasbourg, bravely slashing enemies with swords. They are mighty Maccabees on the way to reclaim their Temple. Jacques leads the race across the large square to the Rue de la Paix, the Street of Peace, where the white marble synagogue stands waiting. As always, its two enormous bronze doors are closed. None of the children has ever seen them open.

My father says this temple is so strong,’ says Suzanne, who thinks she knows everything, ’that even Judah and the Maccabees couldn’t have recaptured it.’

‘If this was Judah’s Temple,’ says Jacques, ‘it couldn’t have been taken in the first place.’

The children enter the synagogue through a smaller door. Above them, bronze letters in the white marble say, “Stronger than the sword is My spirit.’

Jacques teacher sits with the children in a circle on the floor. ‘Long ago,’ she says, spinning a small dreidl, ‘children like you used toys like this to fool wicked old King Antiochus.’ The top dances across the floor and hits Jacques’s shoes. ‘That wicked king said no children would be allowed to study Torah,’ says the teacher. ‘But do you thik that stopped the children?’…..They play dreidle.

Later, the rabbi comes to the classroom. ‘The story of Hanukkah is much like our sotry,’ he says. ‘Yours and mine….In the 1940s our synagogues were seixed by our enemies, the Nazis.’ Up and down go the rabbi’s eyebrows. Up and down go Jacques’s. ‘All our synagogues were destroyed. Unlike the Maccabees, who were able to take back their Temple, we had no buildings to retur to after the way. No temple to rededicate. The rabbi raises his arms wide. ‘And so, we built this new synagogue.’

Jacques teacher catches him wiggling his eyebrows and stops him with a stern look. Jacques settles down and listens to the rabbi, even though he already knows the story. Every Jew in Strabourg knows how the Nazis tried to destroy the Jews. That is why the synagogue has been built with heavy sotnes. This is why the massive bronze door stand closed. As a reminder. As a precaution. As a message that this place and the spirit of the people within are stronger than the strongest enemy. As a promise that this synagogue will stand as a haven of safety and worship. Forever.”

What is inscribed over the door of this synagogue, “Stronger than the sword is My Spirit,” is a line from the very haftarah we read as part of Shabbat Chanukah, “Not by might and not by power, but by spirit alone….shall we all live in peace.” It is a beautiful image, a vision of a world at peace. But sadly, this Chanukah, that is yet to be. Life for the Jewish community in France has been very difficult this year. Anti-semetic events and threats have doubled this year. There have been anti-semetic hate crimes to rival some of those during the Holocaust. Synagogues have been torched. Recently a young French Jewish woman was raped and her boyfriend tied up, simply because they were Jews. This latest crime has led to a national outcry and a recommitment to prevent further such attacks.

Just in time for Chanukah, a Jewish organization in France has issued an anti-semitism first aid kit. While humorous, http://www.israelnationalnews.com/News/News.aspx/188918#.VJeZDAF9rA, it belies the seriousness of recent events. Nonetheless, the story tonight, a reminder of G-d’s promise, “Not by Might and Not By Spirit but by Spirit alone, shall we all live in peace.” And some humor, the first aid kits. They give me hope. Let us recommit, rededicate ourselves to eradicating anti-semitism, in France, in the US, around the globe. That is the message of the sixth night.

Chanukah Around the World, 5^th Night, Ancient Israel

Tonight at our Chanukah Chappening we had the traditional latkes. We also had Scottish shortbread, French macaroons, Italian canolis, Israeli tabbuleh and wine, mandlebrot, ruggelach, and American Apple pie! Everything was delicious. The conversation was good. The house was pretty. The light was dazzling—both from the Havdalah candle and from the three Chanukiot we lit in the dining room.

Chanukah is about miracles. The miracle of the oil. The miracle of the victory over the Assyrians. Our students had an interesting discussion about miracles this week as we celebrated Chanukah by eating latkes and ice cream at a local ice cream parlor. Ice cream always seems to go with Chanukah—ever since standing on line at Steve’s Ice Cream when it was well below zero, after lighting a very unsafe menorah but beautiful made of number ten tin cans and some combustible fuel on Tufts’ Library Roof.

The dictionary definition of a miracle is an unexpected event not explicable by natural of scientific laws Sometimes it is seen as divine in origin. We looked for examples in the Bible. We thought the angel stopping the action so that Isaac was not sacrificed might be but that Jacob’s dream of a ladder with angels ascending and descending was not. Neither was the burning bush or the giving of the 10 Commandments. Those were “just” G-d communicating. On the other hand, the parting of the Red Sea was. So was manna. And water in the desert. So was the oil lasting for eight days.

We looked for modern miracles. Surviving surgery when you code out twice counts. Surviving a car accident counts. Birth counts. Sunrises and sunsets not so much since they are part of the natural order. We talked about 9/11 and the Holocaust. We talked about why some people deserve a miracle and others seem not to. How do we explain that some people didn’t go to work on 9/11 and were spared and yet 3000 people died? We decided we couldn’t answer that one.

Tonight’s story is another take on the miracle of the oil. From Hanukkah Lights, Stories of the Seasons, from NPR. This story is by Simone Zelitch.

“Once in the age of the Maccabees, there lived an old Jew named Eleazar, who guarded the courtyard of the Holy Temple, while a single flask of oil burned for eight days. Because he had stood watch while the miracle took place, there were some who believed he had taken on a little of its glory and a little of its light. After a while, in spite of his good sense, Eleazar began to believe in himself.

Then one day, Eleazar had a visitor. A lamp-maker knocked on his door, and said, ‘I need to make peace with you, Eleazar. When I heard we only had one flask of oil for the rededication, I found a little in my shop, and I slipped past you into the sanctuary and fed the flame.’
Eleazar was stunned. The fire burned in a holy place, and only the High Priest was permitted there. It stood to reason that the lamp-maker should have been struck dea. But clearly, he’d meant no hard. So Eleazer said, ‘The Lord works through plain and honest Jews like you. Go in peace.’
So Eleazar made peace with the knowledge that G-d worked a wonder through an ordinary man. But then one day, he had another visitor, a woman. Her hair was white, and her expression haunted. Eleazar greeted her with courtesy, for she was Hannah, the heroine who’d lost her seven sons because they wouldn’t bow down to a pagan god.

Hannah said, ‘Something lays on my heart and I must make peace with you, old Eleazar.’ Eleazar said, ‘No one deserves peace more than you.’

‘Then I will speak,’ said Hannah. ‘When I heard there was only a single flask of oil for the rededication, I couldn’t bear to think that the flame would go out. I had a flask I’d once used to comb through the hair of my seven sons. It was good oil, and now I had no need of it, so I slipped past you, Eleazar, and into the sanctuary.’
Eleazar caught his breath. Women defiled a sacred place. It was as though the altar stones had once again been soaked in pig’s blood. He couldn’t control his anger or confusion, for Hannah was an honorable woman, for whom no tribute was too great. How could he condemn her? So he mastered himself and said, ‘Go in peace.’

That night, Eleazar could not sleep. He wrapped himself in his shawl, thinking and praying, he did not hear his next visitor arrive. It was a young man with a shaved chin, and clipped curls, who stood half-naked in the cold. Eleazar recoiled form the sight of him. He said, ‘You’re wise to come at night. If pious Jews found you here by daylight, you’d be dead.’ With a nervous smile, the young man said, ‘I am a Jew.’

‘A Hellenized Jew,’ Eleazar said. ‘You’ve come from the gymnasium, where Greeks teach youths to turn their backs on G-d and worship their bodies. It was your kind who bleated out philosophy while the seven sons of Hannah were slaughtered before her eyes.’

‘I am still a Jew,’ said the young man. ‘I am also Greek. Is that impossible?’ Bitterly, Eleazar said, ‘Oil and water don’t mix.’

‘Don’t they?’ The young man cocked his head. ‘Funny, old Eleazar, that you should bring up oil. We have quite a bit of olive oil at the gymnasium. We oil our bodies to make them beautiful. And rumor came to us that you were short of oil. That should have meant nothing to me, yet somehow it did, and I brought that oil and fed the flame and kept the fire burning.’ Eleazar said, ‘The Maccabees fought against the likes of you.’

‘Yet I am a Jew,’ the young man said again. Eleazar could not speak. He took a long look at the young man’s face and saw there pride, anger, remorse, and a deep need to be told he had a share in the Temple. After a moment, with great effort, he took the young man’s hand. ‘Go in peace,’ he said. ‘You have a Jewish soul.’

He wanted to say more, but before he’d gathered words enough the youth had gone.
Eleazar could not sleep that night pondering the oil poured by transgressors. Was he right to grant them peace? In the days of the Judges, they would have been condemned. In the days of the Prophets they would have been chastised. Yet, Eleazar knew, there were no more Judges in Israel and the age of Prophets had ended long ago. Now, Jews found G-d in each other, in acts of courage and in acts of kindness. G-d’s arms are open. G-d forgives. G-d answers light with light.
Eleazar might have gone to sleep then, but someone else appeared at the door. ‘Old Eleazar!’ The voice was thick, and words slurred together. Eleazar did not return he greeting. ‘Old Eleazar,’ the visitor said again. ‘I’m come to make my peace with you.’

‘Take your peace and go,’ said Eleazar.

‘I’ve come to tell you something. About the oil, old Eleazar.’
‘I know. It was a miracle,’ said Eleazar. ‘Now take your peace, friend and go.’

‘You call me friend? But our people are deadly enemies. Do you grant friendship so easily/’

Then Eleazar looked up. In his doorway stood a man with shaggy hair and brilliant eyes. He wore a lion’s kin and carried a tall, carved staff, and his teeth had been sharpened to points. Bracing himself, Eleazar said, ‘You are a Canaanite.’

‘I am,’ the man replied, ‘My people have lived in this city for thousands of year, when it was called Salem. Then you came, the people we call Habiru. On this mountain we had our temple fo the Evening Star and you made a ruin of it and massacred our people. Now, like us, you have been conquered. You rise up and call for freedom, and we join you Eleazar. Out fates are bound together. And together we rededicated the Temple.’

‘You did not enter G-d’s Temple,’ said Eleazar and he turned away.

‘The Canaanite said, ‘We gave you oil, all we had.’

‘We took no oil from you,’ said Eleazar and he turned back to his bed, hoping the Canaanite woud pass like an evil dream.

‘I stand before you old man, at great peril of my life,’ the Canaanite said. ‘Would you sooner that there was no flame then, Eleazer. Would you sooner the flame went out?’…..

There is so much in this story–the hint of Ebenezer Scrooge and It’s a Wonderful Life. The idea that miracles happen through human action. The role of women, of assimilated Jews, of enemies. The idea of making peace. It brings me continued hope.

Perhaps one of the things we learn at this season of light is tolerance and inclusivity. This year there were a couple of events that fit in that category. On Tuesday several of us went to Congressman Peter Roskam’s office on behalf of American Jewish World Service to ask for his sponsorship of the International Violence Against Women Act. Some of my congregants had never met a congressman before. The meeting went well. He will consider the bill and adding his name. He is outspoken about trafficking. He has a daughter who has worked in an orphanage in the Dominican Republic and he seems to understand the connection between violence and poverty. He encouraged us to read the book The Locust Effect and I look forward to doing so even as I think it might be scary or very similar to Half the Sky. The idea that five Jews representing scores more can attend a meeting with a Congressman speaks to our power and our assimilation here in the United States.

Yesterday I met with the Mayor, the Police Chief and several clergy, both African American and white about race relations and the police department in light of Ferguson. This has been an ongoing dialogue, from before any of us had heard of the town Ferguson. It is complex. It will not be solved by this series of meetings but it puts us ahead of where Ferguson was. I do not think I am naïve. Unfortunately a black male could be shot by a white officer anywhere, even Elgin. And that is tragic. No officer, black or white, wants to use deadly force. But sometimes it is a split second decision. And sometimes they get it wrong. I don’t want to be in their shoes.

Like the African American community, Jews have not always felt safe. Not in the Old Country and not here in America. Recent events in places like Overland Park and Lombard, Illinois add to the unease.

This week I also had a conversation with a downtown Elgin business owner. He, together with Congregation Kneseth Israel, put in a window display celebrating Chanukah. He graciously offered. We accepted. But I felt I had to have a hard conversation with him. Did he feel at risk displaying something so overtly Jewish? He did not.

There are two stories tonight. One called The Trees of the Dancing Goats, where Patricia Polacco spins a tale of hope. Everyone in the farming community in Michigan has scarlet fever except the Jewish family. They wind up helping with this strange custom of cutting down pine trees and decorating them. They take a holiday meal—a Christmas supper and a tree to each of their neighbors. Each tree has a wooden, hand carved animal ornament. Each family is able to enjoy Christmas. At the end of the quarantine period, each family returns the favor. The animal ornaments come back to Patricia’s family and everyone, Jewish and not Jewish celebrates the last night of Chanukah together.

The second story is called the Christmas Menorahs, How a Town Fought Hate. In Billings, Montana someone through a rock through a Jewish family’s window during Chanukah. Simply because they were Jews. The town’s response is that everyone put a menorah in their windows, much like the non-Jews of Denmark who all wore Jewish stars during the Nazi occupation.

It is stories like this that bring me hope. I am hopeful after meeting with Congressman Roskam, Mayor Kaptain and Chief Swoboda. Our country is not perfect. But it remains better than most. After this week, I am hopeful that our communities can rise above hate and violence. For me that is the gift of Chanukah.

Hope seems to be the theme of this year. I remember fondly racing home from school to Chanukah dinners of latkes with pot roast or sauerbraten and applesauce. Never sour cream. It was part of our German Jewish heritage. But my people came to this country really early. In the 1840s, not the 1940s. Tonight’s story is from Eight Tales for Eight Nights, by the consummate storytellers, Peninnah Schram and Steven M. Rosman. It is a Holocaust tale.

“Many years ago, our town was the nicest place to live. Trees lined the streets and wooden carts filled with fruit and vegetables stood by the curbs. On Thursday nights, we would go to the bakery and buy the challahs that had just emerged from the brick ovens. We always bought three challas, two to eat on Shabbos and one to eat on the way home. Fresh from the oven, it was so sweet and warm it seemed to melt on our tongues. I studied violin with Mr. Solomon. He was a kind man with chubby cheeks that would puff up and push his eyes closed whenever he smiled. Mr. Solomon thought that I might grow up to be a great violinist, if only I would practice more. But I did not like to practice. One day, the Nazi soldiers came to our town…

One Thursday evening we were all on our way to the bakery, Mama and Papa and my little sister Necha. ‘What’s that?’ cried Papa suddenly…I ran before Mama could grab me and when I got to the bakery, I stopped short. There was broken glass everywhere, the little pieces glistening in the moonlight like crystals. All the cakes had been thrown off the shelves. The challahs had been torn to pieces and strewn throughout the shop…

The Monsters in Black Boots built a high wall around our town and locked us in with a huge iron gate. Then the trucks started coming, bringing Jews from smaller neighboring towns….Chanukah was coming. We used to have big parties and invite our friends. Mama would bake kugel and fry latkes and Papa would organize dreidle games…Oh how we loved that dreidle game. But this year there would be no party. There would be no dreidle game. There would be no celebrations of any kind…I sat at my bedroom window and looked into the night sky. It was very dark. There was no moon and no stars. The street was bleak and deserted. The Nazis had ordered the streetlights to be extinguished early. Papa opened the door…’What are you looking at,’ he whispered. He put his arm around me and I started to cry. ‘Sometimes things can look very dark and very frightening,’ he said softly, ‘But watch this.’ And he took a match out of his pocket. ‘Do you see how dark it is in this room?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘Well then, watch how one small match can chase away all the darkness.’ Papa struck the match against the wooden window sill. Suddenly a flame arose and danced on the match head. It cast its light across the whole room… ‘Tomorrow is Chanukah,’ said Papa. ‘We Jews have always believed in the power of light. Remember that our prophet Isaiah said that we were a light to the other nations of the world. Even one Jew who believes can chase the darkness of evil from the world. Antiochus was like these Nazis. He thought he could make us give up being Jews. He thought it would be easy to destroy us. But Judah Maccabee and his brothers believed in the strength of our people. Judah and the other Maccabees were only one small candle against the darkness of Antiochus’s whole army. But they chased the wicked Antiochus away, just like this match I am holding chases the darkness from this room. Every time a Jew lights a candle, as we do on Chanukah, we chase away some of the evil in the world.’ Papa hugged me and left the room. But he left something behind. I could feel the thin stick next to me on the bed. When I picked it up, I saw it was a match. It felt like a magic wand in my hand. As long as I had it, I could banish darkness and defeat the demons of the world…The next day the deportations began. We were herded into trucks like cattle. The Monsters in Black Boots uses sticks and attack dogs to squeeze us into the trucks….

It was evening. I could see the darkness through a crack in the wooden wall of the train. ‘Rabbi,’ I said, ‘It is erev Chanukah. Shouldn’t we say the blessings and sing Ma’oz Tzur?’ ‘Where is the menorah to kindle?’ asked the rabbi. ‘And what miracle shall we ask G-d for?’…Seeing the desperation in my eyes, Mama reached into her pocket for the small stick of butter she had taken when we were deported. I broke off a piece and made my way back to where the rabbi lay against the wall. In my pocket was the match Papa had given me the night before. With one short scrape against the wood, the flame arose and danced on the match head. As I held the flame to the butter it began to melt and the fat dripped into the well I had made in the potato. I placed my shoelace in the potato like a candle wick and used the dying match flame to light the lace. ‘Rabbi,’ I cried. ‘Here is your menorah.’…There we were, prisoners herded onto the train of the Monster. Yet that night, the spirit of Chanukah rocked the train. I looked at Papa. ‘One candle can defeat all the darkness,’ I said. Papa smiled at me and pulled me close to him. My one candle had banished all the darkness in our lives that night. And for many dark nights to come, I kept the memory of that candle burning within me.”

One candle. The power of light. Hope. This is what Chanukah is all about. Peter Yarrow had it right in his song, Light One Candle:

Light one candle for the Maccabee children
Give thanks that their light didn’t die
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied

Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand
Light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker’s time is at hand

Don’t let the light go out:
it’s lasted for so many years.
Don’t let the light go out:
let it shine through our love and our tears.

Light one candle for the strength that we need
to never become our own foe.
Light one candle for those who are suffering
the pain we learned so long ago.
Light one candle for all we believe in,
let anger not tear us apart.
Light one candle to bind us together,
with peace as the song in our heart.

What is the memory that’s valued so highly
that we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died,
we cry out they’ve not died in vain?
We have come this far, always believing,
that justice will somehow prevail.
This is the burden and this is the promise
and this is why we will not fail.

Don’t let the light go out. (3x)

The celebration continues as we spend some time in Italy. Italy has a different menu for Chanukah, with Italian fried chicken and a risotto with raisins. My husband has consulted for Olivetti in Ivrea, Italy and learned about these dishes there. The chicken is light and moist marinated in lemon. It is something I look forward to all year since he will only make it once a year. The recipe is at the end of this story.

When the Second Temple was destroyed and the spoils carried off to Rome, the menorah from the Temple is shown on Titus’s Arch. This connection between Italy and the destruction of the Temple is what drives today’s story, again from Tami Lehman-Wilzig’s Hanukkah Around the World. It is set in Turin, Italy, where Simon and I attended services one Shabbat. We have fond memories of being invited back to the president’s home for lunch where his wife was very apologetic that the cook could only make left-overs. It was the first risotto I had tasted and it was…divine! We think often of that Shabbat in Torino and the discussions that happened in Italian, Hebrew, English, French that went on until Havdalah.

Now the story:

“Jacopo is feeling proud. He’s eight years old and for the first time, his father, Alberto, is taking him to the synagogue on the night before Tisha B’av. ‘We’re going to read a very sad story,’ explains Padre. ‘On the ninth day of the month of Av, the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed, but we end the reading with a feeling of hope.’ Padre pauses, then asks, ‘Do you have our candle?’ Jacopo nods, digging deep into his right pocket to make sure the candle hasn’t fallen out. Padre told him they are going to do something special with it. He can’t wait. They wind their way to the synagogue of Piazzetta Primo Levi. It is a huge building with four onion shaped domes. Padre and Jacopo go into the side entrance, making their way down a narrow, semi-circular stairwell to a small chapel, decorated in blue and gold. Padre tells him it used to be the bakery where the community makde its Passover matzah.

Padre asks Jacopo for the candle. He puts it into a small candleholder, stands it on the floor, and then lights it.

‘Jacopo, come down on the floor next to me,’ says Padre, as he sits next to the candle. By candlelight Padre reads Eicha (the Book of Lamentations) to Jacopo. ‘Now blow out the candle,’ Padre whispers when he is finished. The Padre takes the burnt candle out of its holder and carefully wraps it in silver foil. He gives it to Jacopo to put back in his pocket. ‘What happens to the candle next?’ asks a surprised Jacopo…”.

What do you think happens to the candle?

Jacopo’s father explains “Tonight we mourn the destruction of the the Holy Temple but on Hanukkah we celebrate its rededication. The candle we just used will connect the two events. Tonight it is a sad candle, but it four months’ time it will be a happy one.”

That’s hope. That is the wild hope that I wrote about earlier this week. What brings you hope?

Riso coll’Uvetta (Rice with Raisins)

4 Tbl. olive oil
I small clove garlic, finely minced
I Tbl. freshly chopped Italian parsley
11⁄2 cups shortgrain rice
1⁄2 cup dark, seedless raisins
1
⁄2 teaspoon salt
3 cups hot broth or water
Black pepper

Heat the oil in a large skillet. Add garlic, parsley, and rice. Cook over high heat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until garlic begins to discolor. Add raisins and salt. Add hot broth or water, 1⁄4 cup at a time, and continue to cook, uncovered, over high heat until rice is done—about 15 minutes in all. Taste for salt and pepper and add it necessary. Serve hot or at room temperature. Serves 6.

Riso coll’Uvetta is an ancient Venetian dish prepared mainly during Chanukah. It has an interesting taste, but is not for every palate.

Simon Klein (from The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews, by Edda Servi Machlin)

Pollo Fritto per Chanuka (Fried Chicken for Chanukah)

1 small frying chicken, cut into pieces
11⁄2 tsp. salt
1⁄2 tsp. freshly ground pepper
1⁄4 tsp. nutmeg
1⁄2 tsp. garlic salt
juice of 1 lemon
o
live oil
1⁄2 cup flour
2 eggs slightly beaten
1 lemon cut in wedges

Sprinkle chicken evenly with salt, pepper, nutmeg and garlic salt. Place in a bowl with lemon juice and 2 Tbl. olive oil and set aside in refrigerator or several hours or overnight. Toss to ensure even marinating

Heat one cup of oil in large skillet or Dutch oven. Roll the chicken in flour and dip in egg. Fry in hot oil over high heat for 1 or 2 minute. Lower heat and fry for 15 minutes until pieces are golden but not brown and chicken does not juice pink. Serve with lemon wedges and risotto with raisins.

Simon Klein (from The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews)