Dear Members and Friends,
Today is the sixth day of Hanukkah. It was good to see a menorah lit this past Sunday. I was deeply touched by the Choir’s musical offering, and I was impressed how well the music streamed through my computer here in Oak Park. Thank you to all of you that made the service so beautiful.
Have you’ve been asked “How many candles does a menorah have?” There’s one candle for each of the eight days of Hanukkah—and a ninth candle, the Shammas. “Shammas” means “the one who serves” or “custodian” or “helper.”
About 2,000 years ago, there was a conversation among rabbis about the right way to celebrate Hanukkah. By “conversation,” I really mean “argument.” This argument was whether to start Hanukkah by lighting all eight candles at the beginning of Hanukkah and reduce by one each day or whether to begin with one candle and increase the number by one each day until all eight candles are lit. I don’t know how exactly how the rabbis settled the disagreement, but the practice ever since has been to increase the light by one candle each day. The reason the leading rabbis gave for this was that during Hanukkah, Jewish people are supposed to be seeking to increase the light one shares with one’s community each day. This practice also called for the Shammas candle that remains lit through the entire eight days.
This is a dark time. It is a dark time for the Jewish people. It is a dark time for the Palestinian people. It is a dark time for people all over the world who face violence or can’t meet their basic needs. It is a dark time when so many people scream from their own sense of righteousness. During this Holiday Season, there is indeed much need for more light. May we reflect on how we can serve as the “shammas” light for others, just as others sometimes help us through the sharing of their own light.
A Jewish friend is a leader in an environmentalist community that communicates with each other online. The anti-Jewish comments from younger climate activists have startled him, making him wonder if he can continue the multi-faith ministry that he started. Rifts have occurred throughout our society like this. Even Ivy League presidents are struggling with how to answer antagonizing questions whether they will tolerate students condoning genocide. I suspect the challenge of answering such a question has to do with a deep concern that genocide is currently being carried out as the war in Gaza continues to unfold.
During this time, it behooves us all to light a candle when darkness descends, in the evening or whenever darkness threatens our hearts. I share with you a meditation on the Shammas candle and a worthy poem to reflect on during this Hanukkah and Holiday Season.
Warmly,
Alan
Meditation with no known attribution
Shammas, sacred light, fire from heaven, eternal flame,
You have much to teach us,
You are a holy light which we do not bend to any other purpose.
You are a holy light, and we are simply to watch you
And learn.
We do not use you, and yet you are the servant candle, it is your very name, the one that serves.
What do we learn from watching you flicker and burn, shining and sharing your light?
You are the one who lights all the others. You literally carry and share light to all the others.
You remind us that this is the gift of faithful service, of compassion, of commitment in community.
Even one light, burning alone teaches us, how it shines brighter in darkness, a beacon that calls us and tells us welcome and goodness are waiting for us when when we add our own light to a larger flame. Together we can illuminate an infinite night.
Come down from the hills.
Declare the fighting done.
Be bold — declare victory,
even when the temple is wrecked
and the tyrants have not retreated,
only coiled back like a snake
prepared to strike again.
Come down. Try to remember
a life gentled by daily acts
of domestic faith — the pot
set to boil, the bed made up,
the table set in calm expectation
that when the sun sets
we will still be here.
Come down and settle.
Unlearn the years of hiding.
Light fires that can be seen for miles,
that dance and spark and warm
the frozen marrow. Set lamps
in the window. Declare your presence,
your loyalties, the truths
for which you do not expect to have to die.
It would take a miracle, you say,
to carve such a solid life
out of the shell of fear.
I say you are the stuff
from which such miracles are made.
