Adrenaline of the soul

Much like in a painting, ostensibly trivial details in a biblical story or in its Midrashic expansion often contain allusions that are weighted with meaning. In Vayishlach, the Torah tells us of the night that our father Yaakov spent wrestling with an angel, culminating in his being renamed Israel, a name signifying the ability to struggle and persevere. In addressing why Yaakov found himself alone on that dramatic night, Rashi quotes the Talmud (Chullin 91) that Yaakov “had forgotten pachim ketanim/small jars” and had crossed the stream to reclaim them. The term “small jars” is particularly evocative during the season of Chanukah, and intentionally calls up the image of the pach shemen, the cruse of oil so pivotal to the story of Chanukah, and in fact the 16th-century commentary of R’ Mordechai haKohen of Safed explicitly connects the two. So what is the significance of these jars that somehow bridges these two very different stories?

One of the remarkable new elements of the Chanukah narrative is that so much of it is about the valor of individuals, of regular Jews who made the choice to take a heroic stand for Judaism, risking their lives in the process. Certainly, the popular rebellion against the forces of the Seleucids is an obvious testament to bravery, but even before the rebellion began in earnest, many ordinary Jews made the dramatic choice to give their very lives for their faith.

The Book of First Maccabees, a historical work contemporaneous to the events of Chanukah describes the following:
“According to the decree, they put to death the women who had their children circumcised, and their families and those who circumcised them; and they hung the infants from their mothers’ necks. But many in Israel stood firm and were resolved in their hearts not to eat unclean food. They chose to die rather than to be defiled by food or to profane the holy covenant; and they did die.”

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R Shneur Zalman of Liadi, in his classic of Chassdic thought Tanya (chapter 19), describes this instinctive ability of average Jews — even erstwhile sinners! — at times of challenge to be prepared to even give up their lives for Judaism as a defining characteristic of the Jewish neshama.

“Nevertheless, when they are confronted with a test in a matter of faith…. it is aroused from its sleep and it exerts its influence by virtue of the Divine force that is clothed in it, as is written, “And the L–rd awoke like one who had been asleep.” On such occasion the sinner is inspired to withstand the test of faith in G–d, without any reasoning, knowledge, or intelligence that may be comprehended by him, and to choose G–d as his portion and lot, yielding to Him his soul in order to sanctify His Name.”

In other words, part of the Jewish experience includes almost a spiritual adrenaline — reserves that might not express themselves without extraordinary pressure. Intriguingly, Rabbi Shneur Zalman expresses this idea as part of explaining the phrase “The soul (neshamah) of man is a candle of G-d.”

The flames and oil of Chanukah also represent all of the souls that suddenly burst into flame during the crisis of the Greek revolt, fueled by the adrenaline of their souls.

To return to our opening image, by putting the small oil flasks of Chanukah into the scene of Yaakov wrestling the angel, the Talmud is perhaps identifying that courage and dedication as being deeply rooted in that fundamental experience of the Patriarch: that the strength of the individual Jew is in fact an inheritance from Yaakov.

The past year has been a time, like the back story of Chanukah, where individual Jews have had to show extraordinary dedication and valor: from our brave soldiers in Israel, to all of the perseverance shown by the home front, to those whose lives were shattered on Simchat Torah who are rebuilding nonetheless, to the many otherwise ordinary Jews around the world standing up to a resurgent antisemitism. It is profoundly humbling to see ostensibly ordinary Jews display such heroism under pressure. As we reflect on those lights once again, we remind ourselves that we all can continue to draw on those deep spiritual resources implanted in our ancestors. PJC

Rabbi Daniel Yolkut is the rabbi of Congregation Poale Zedeck. This column is a service of the Vaad Harabonim of Greater Pittsburgh.