The Haftora Speaks To Us

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The Haftora Speaks To Us

Harav Y. Reuven Rubin Shlita

Chassidisha stories are retold time and again; this is because with each new hearing, more illumination is ignited. Let me share just one such oft-told, yet moving tale.

In Bergen Belsen on the eve of Chanuka, a selection took place. Early in the morning, three German commandants, dressed in their perfect black uniforms with the skull and crossbones insignia, entered the men’s barracks. They ordered the men to stand at the foot of the three-tiered bunk beds.

The selection began, and with indiscriminate nonchalance, they walked past, and, waving a finger, decided who would be subject to the sentence of death. With the cold and cynical word “komme,” the men selected were marched outside; awaiting them was a group of S.S. men. They were then methodically beaten with iron poles and truncheons until they were dead. This random mayhem took place all that black day until sunset. When the Nazi devils finally departed, they left behind hundreds of tortured and twisted bodies.

It was then that Chanukah began in Bergen Belsen. The time had arrived to kindle the Chanukah lights. Instead of a silver menorah, they made do with a wooden clog, strings pulled from a camp uniform for a wick, and for the precious oil, well, for that, they found some liquid shoe polish.

Not far from the heaps of freshly killed neshamos, the living skeletons gathered, seeking to observe the mitzva of light in the darkest pit on earth.

The Bluzhever Rebbe Zy”a lit the first light and chanted the first two blessings with a sweet yet saddened tune. He then looked around, as if seeking something. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the lights and recited the third blessing, “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and hast preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season.”

Amongst the people present was a Mr Zamietchkowski, one of the leaders of the Warsaw Bund. He was a clever and sincere fellow who had a passion for discussing issues of truth even in the hell he was living in. As soon as the Rebbe finished the lighting ceremony, Zamietchkowski elbowed his way to him and said, “Spira, you are a clever and honest man. I can understand your need to kindle the lights with the blessing, even in this death house. I can even understand the historical note of the second blessing, but the fact that you uttered the third blessing is beyond all understanding. How could you thank G-d for letting us live to this time, when outside your window there are hundreds of dead martyrs? Even those alive are just seconds away from death, and to this you bestow a blessing “Who enabled us to reach this season?”

“Reb Yid, you are one hundred percent correct,” sighed the Rebbe. “When I reached that third blessing, I also hesitated and asked myself what should I do with this blessing? I turned my head, hoping to catch the eye of the Rav of Zaner or one of the other worthy Rabbis, wishing to ask them this question. But just as I was turning my head, I noticed that behind me a throng was standing, a large crowd of living Yidden, with eyes expressing faith despite the odds. They were there to see the Chanuka lights with deep devotion. I said to myself, If Hashem has such a nation that at times like these, when standing before the Chanuka lights, they see in front of them the heaps of bodies of their beloved fathers, brothers, and friends, and death is lurking in every corner of their lives; if despite all that they stand in such numbers to witness the Chanuka ceremony, then I have been blessed to see such startling devotion and this is deserving of a blessing.”

Some years later, the Bluzhever Rebbe received regards from Mr Zamietchkowski. He had asked the son of the Skabiner Rav to tell the Bluzhever Rebbe that the answer he gave him that dark night in Bergen Belsen had stayed with him ever since and was a constant source of inspiration during hard and troubled times.

Sometimes darkness creeps up on us, and we suddenly find ourselves engulfed by it. We have been spared the hell of the camps, however many find themselves engulfed in depression and anxiety. We never feel it happening, yet all the while our hearts seem to grow dimmer. When the bleakness seems at its worst, we flounder about, wondering how there will ever be light once again.

This is what Chanuka is all about; it is a Yom Tov of illumination, the point in our year where we can reconnect. The miracle of the oil and the wonder of its lasting all that time is more unique when we realize that in those times, Yidden were in spiritual darkness as well.

This haftara speaks of another such moment, and how light was brought to bear for our ancestors. At the end of the Babylonian exile, nine years before the story of Purim, some forty-thousand Jews, led by Zerubavel and Yehoshua the Kohen Gadol, returned to Israel. They started to rebuild the Beis Hamikdash, but were held back by the authorities until eighteen years after the events of the miracle of Purim.

Things were spiritually very difficult at that time. The Yidden had suffered greatly in galus, and intermarriage was raging rampant throughout the Jewish world. Even the kohen gadol had sons who had taken gentile wives and the Prophet Zecharia depicts here how Satan is condemning Yehoshua for his lack of zeal in chastising his kin.

However, Hashem defends Yehoshua, calling him “a firebrand rescued from the flames.” This means that he had become completely immersed in the horror that the nation was living through, and as such, could not be condemned. He is then clothed in white vestments and told that from henceforth he would have to be careful to observe all of Hashem’s commandments. The prophecy includes a vision of the Menora with a continuous supply of olive oil, reminiscent of the miracle of Chanuka.

This chapter in our long history of pain seems to be speaking to our very own experiences. Our holy leaders came through the dreadfulness of the Holocaust as true “firebrands rescued from the flames,” and through their efforts, a new vision of light was born.

Just as then, we have yet to be granted the total redemption with the rebuilding of the Sanctuary, but we should never despair. Hashem knows our travails and will see to our purification. We need just remain focused, never losing hope, ever.

We may be mired in the dimmed golus of today’s challenges, but Hashem’s illumination is eternal.

Chanuka is not about teaching as much as about “giving over,” handing others that which we see as illuminating. For all the other Yamim Tovim we have whole volumes in Shas, for Chanuka we barely eke out three blatt gemara in maseches Shabbos. Why is there so little teaching? Perhaps because when speaking of illuminating the world, we must give over rather than just speak. And what is it that we are meant to give over? Spiritual radiance! A small speck of light can drive away a huge room of darkness. Our hearts may seem full of gloom, yet with a spark of light, everything can become illuminated.

The sweet voice of the Bluzhever Rebbe, zy”a, still sighs those blessings made in the darkest of dark places; his light is in the light of our blessings today, and connected with that of those spoken of in the haftara.

Chanuka drives the darkness away, and our hearts should feel its light in a very real way.