Hanukkah is a holiday made joyous by its origins in the victory of the Jewish people over our oppressors and the liberation by the Maccabees of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Now, thousands of years later, over eight nights, we light candles to honour our brave ancestors and to recognize the fortitude, across the millennia, of the Jewish people.
The meaning of Hanukkah has acquired a new relevance: the bravery demonstrated by the people of Israel – especially since Oct. 7, 2023.
It has been more than 15 months since, in the most shameful and grievous fashion imaginable, Hamas deliberately started a war, placing the people of Israel – and of Gaza and the entire region – in jeopardy. Israel continues to defend its residents and citizens from terror on multiple fronts, facing both assaults from Hamas and unprecedented attacks by hundreds of rockets from Iran-backed Hezbollah. Israelis and the global Jewish community continue to call for the release of 101 hostages who remain captive in Gaza. Families across Israel and the world continue to adjust to life without the 1,200 Israelis – and victims from 30 other nations – systematically murdered on Oct. 7.
Yet, amid the chaos and terror of daily rocket attacks, the spirit and fortitude of the people of Israel remains as strong as ever.
This year, as we light our candles over the eight nights of Hanukkah, we contemplate the history and symbolism of our Jewish traditions, and we have an opportunity to consider their meanings in our current reality. Just as we light our hanukkiyah with its eight, equally proportioned candles, we remember Jews have an admirable track record in fighting for social equality, and we consider where, today, there are inequalities to be addressed.
This year, as we light our Hanukkah candles, we contemplate the history and symbolism of our Jewish traditions, and we have an opportunity to consider their meanings in our current reality. (photo from pexels.com)
As we add candlelight to our homes, we remember our age-old obligation to bring light to our families, friends and neighbours. We encourage well-rounded education, free from hate, for all children; we advocate for a safe and welcoming learning environment for our post-secondary students and faculty; and we support the most vulnerable among us.
There is much to do – what will your focus be over the coming year? To what cause will your efforts be directed?
Can we hope that Gaza will be freed from the terrorist influence of Hamas? Will Lebanon emerge from under the sway of Iran-backed Hezbollah? Will Israel’s adversaries stop their war against the Jewish state?
Will our focus be on our own family, our close friends, our community, a charitable cause? Will we share the Jewish values we cherish, the triumph of light over darkness, freedom over oppression, and the importance of upholding one’s identity and beliefs?
And can we help our fellow Canadians uphold the values we hold dearest? How much light can we share this Hanukkah season?
Let’s find out.
Chag sameach.
Judy Zelikovitzis vice-president, university and local partner services, the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA).
Thanks to Doodle the village orphan, the people of Chelm celebrated Hanukkah even during “The Long Winter of the Cabbage.” (image from reformjudaism.org)
In literature, a cabbage might be a symbol for anything and everything disagreeable. In the village of Chelm, however, a cabbage is sometimes just a cabbage.
They called it “The Long Winter of the Cabbage” and, in the village of Chelm, few people were happy. There was a food shortage – all there was to eat was cabbage. Cabbage for breakfast, cabbage for lunch, and cabbage for dinner. No one was looking forward to Hanukkah.
As Rabbi Kibbitz was heard to mutter, “A diet of cabbage may sustain, but it doesn’t make you want to sing with joy.”
Except for young Doodle, the village orphan, who honestly and truly loved cabbage, and reveled in every bite. Doodle, however, had learned to keep his appreciation for all things brassica to himself. When everyone else is miserable, they really don’t want to hear someone appreciate the things they dread.
In previous years, the villagers held a Hanukkah party in the social hall, lighting candles and then dancing, and complaining about Mrs. Chaipul’s lethal latkes.
But, this winter, the thought of Mrs. Chaipul’s latkes made from cabbage made everyone shudder. So, the Hanukkah party was canceled.
“It’s the weather,” Mrs. Chaipul said. “Too cold. Too wet. Too much snow. Too much ice. Too much wind.”
“I’ll say there’s too much wind!” said Reb Cantor, the merchant, before he withered under Mrs. Chaipul’s glare.
Reb Cantor himself was particularly unhappy. Recently, the villagers of Chelm had gotten into the habit of buying and giving gifts to each other to celebrate Hanukkah.
“They’re not Christmas presents,” explained little Shemini Schlemiel, who had come up with the idea. “They’re Hanukkah gifts!”
The problem with these Hanukkah gifts was that they had become a large part of Reb Cantor’s business. The merchant discussed this at great length with his friend Rabbi Yohon Abrahms, the school teacher, but their cabbage-addled brains devised no brilliant solution. Not even a foolish solution.
When the first night of Hanukkah arrived, with a cold wind and rain mixed with snow, that turned to muddy slush in the darkened streets, the villagers of Chelm stayed home. They shivered in front of their fires. They poked at their cabbage stews and their cabbage briskets (don’t ask).
Everyone wanted to complain, especially the children, who had become accustomed to getting presents, but nobody had the energy.
Except young Doodle, the village orphan, who had already finished a bowl of Mrs. Levitsky’s sweet and sour cabbage soup, and was about to ask for more, when he noticed the dark mood in the Levitsky house.
“What’s wrong?” Doodle asked.
“Nothing,” Martin Levitsky, the synagogue’s caretaker, said, glumly. “I’m tired of cabbage.”
“I think I’ll go to bed early,” Chaya Levitsky said, taking off her apron. “Help yourself to as much cabbage as you want.”
“But we haven’t lit the Hanukkah candles yet,” Doodle said.
“Meh.” Both Levitskys shrugged, and began making their way to their bedroom. “You do it, Doodle. We’re going to sleep.”
Now Doodle was really worried.
He ran to the window, looked outside, and saw that no other houses in the village had candles lit in their windows.
“Not again,” Doodle whispered. It was the time of year. Sometimes the cold and the dark…. Was everyone just too tired of cabbage to celebrate?
“Wait!” Doodle shouted.
This startled the Levitskys, who stopped in their tracks.
“You want us to have a heart attack, Doodle?” Reb Levitsky asked.
“No, I want you to wait two minutes while I light the Hanukkah candles.”
“All right.” Mrs. Levitsky sighed. “Go. Go already.”
Doodle ran to the cabinet and brought down the Hanukkah menorah. He set two candles, and began to sing the blessings.
At first, the Levitskys stayed quiet, but soon they began to hum.
When Doodle used the lit shammos to set the second candle’s taper alight, the Levitskys joined him.
And then, together, they all sang the words of the Shehecheyanu, giving thanks simply for being alive.
Moving quickly but carefully, Doodle set the lit menorah in the front window of the Levitskys’ house.
At that very moment, Reb Cantor the merchant happened to look out his window. As did the entire Schlemiel family.
So did Rabbi Kibbitz and Mrs. Chaipul, who had been in the middle of a three-way argument with Rabbi Yohan Abrahms. All three forgot what they had been fighting about.
Through the rain and the sleet, everyone in the village of Chelm saw the two lights burning in the Levitskys’ window.
They all fell silent. They all ran to their cupboards and shelves, got their hanukkiyahs, said or sang the blessings, and lit the candles.
Soon, there were bright lights burning in the windows of every home.
Even though it was still raining and snowing, and all there was to eat was cabbage, those small flames made everyone feel warmer. Songs were sung, children began to spin dreidels, gambling for cabbage, and a few brave souls tried to make cabbage latkes, but without much success.
That year in the village Chelm, there were no presents. The lights in the windows were gifts enough.
Izzy Abrahmsonis a pen name for storyteller Mark Binder. To find out more about ‘The Long Winter of the Cabbage,’ Mrs. Chaipul and Doodle, read The Council of Wise Women. This new novel for adults is available in print, ebook and audiobook. For purchase links, visit bit.ly/council-book.
Erev Rosh Hashanah, from Shalom Hartman Institute’s Memory and Hope. For each holiday and Shabbat evening in Tishrei, the institute suggests we light a memorial candle before kindling the holiday and Shabbat lights, and offers an intention to recite before lighting this candle and a text to read afterward (both in English and in Hebrew).
Each year during Elul, the month leading up to the High Holidays, the women of medieval Ashkenaz would measure each of the graves in their community cemeteries with string. They would then dip these lengths of string in melted wax that had been collected from candles lit throughout the year in the synagogue when the community gathered to pray, to study, to cook and to connect. They would light these new candles, each made from string representing the dead and wax representing the living, on Yom Kippur as yahrzeit candles, a way of honouring and remembering deceased relatives.
On Rosh Hashanah, we will welcome a new year. And then, in the midst of the 10 days of repentance that lead up to Yom Kippur, we will reach the one-year anniversary of Oct. 7 and, with it, the anniversary of the day on which at least 1,139 people were killed by Hamas terrorists and more than 240 people were taken hostage. We will pray for the return of the remaining captives, and we will mark the start of the war that has since killed so many in Israel and Gaza.
We have struggled to fully mourn these losses as this war continues to unfold and expand; as not all the hostages have yet returned home; as, in North America, many of us navigate antisemitism in our communities and shifting relationships with local allies. And yet, we feel the need to grieve. The chaggim (holidays) offer us a pause in which we can reflect, cry and pray.
The Shalom Hartman Institute has developed two rituals for the anniversary of Oct. 7, one that spans most of the month of Tishrei, for individuals to use at home, and one for communal gatherings on Oct. 7 or on Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah.
Commemorating Oct. 7 at home
Every week, we begin Shabbat by lighting candles. Every Tishrei, we usher in Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah by lighting candles. Our ritual for commemorating Oct. 7 at home is woven into these traditions.
More specifically, for each holiday and Shabbat evening in Tishrei, we suggest that you light a memorial candle before kindling the holiday and Shabbat lights. We offer an intention to recite before lighting this candle each night and a short text to read afterward. These materials – inspired by the work of Hagit Bartuv and Rivka Rosner of the Shalom Hartman Institute’s Ritual Centre in Israel and in collaboration with Maital Friedman, Masua Sagiv and me from the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America – connect us with some of the central themes of the last year. Our hope is that the light of the memorial candle, the ner neshamah, literally a soul candle, and light of the festive candles flickering together will connect the strands of our grief and celebration.
Like the candles dipped by the women of Eastern Europe, this ritual honours both the dead and the living. It brings us back to the devastation of Oct. 7, and it also celebrates the artists, soldiers, teachers and ordinary people who helped us through a difficult year. Similarly, while memorial candles are traditionally lit to remember the dead, the ritual invites us to use these candles to light the way for the living – for peace, healingand hope.
While many Israeli Jews light candles on seven evenings from Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah, many diaspora Jews light candles on nine, the two additional candles marking the second night of Sukkot and for the start of Simchat Torah. As a statement of Jewish peoplehood, this home-based ritual is for seven nights of candlelighting, so that it will be used in Jewish homes around the world on the same days. If you want to use this ritual to accompany your candlelighting on the second night of Sukkot or on erev Simchat Torah, you might repeat an intention and text or offer an intention and reflection of your own.
Developing this ritual led us to ask about the meaning of memorializing Oct. 7. Is this ritual only about Oct. 7 or is it about everything that occurred that day and since? What do we mean by “heroism” at this time? Are we referring to military bravery or to the ways civilians stepped up to support and protect one another this year as well? Can the entire Jewish world share this one ritual, or have our experiences of this year been too different? What is the right balance between particularistic and universalistic yearnings?
For many of these questions, we looked to our Israeli colleagues to set the tone in creating a ritual that met their needs for their grief and vulnerability this year, as well as their sources of hope and comfort. For other elements, we offer suggestions to adapt the framing or created a slightly different version in the English that we thought might be better suited for those outside of Israel. You may want to use this resource exactly as is, but you may also find yourself adding different texts or focusing on different themes. We encourage creativity and would love to hear from you about how you adapt it to meet your needs for this moment.
Commemorating Oct. 7 in community
Many communities in North America will gather to mark the anniversary of Oct. 7, whether in synagogues, JCCs, Jewish federations, Hillels, schools or other Jewish centres. Our second resource is a collection of texts and prayers to be used in a communal ritual context, including suggestions of three different ways to use these rituals in your community.
The supplement also gave us the opportunity to add more texts, prayers, songs and perspectives, including texts with expressions of grief for the suffering of Palestinian civilians, which did not fit in the more particularistic framework of the home ritual above.
This Elul, as we reflect on the past year and gather up the wicks that measure our lives and our communities, may we continue to find ways to bind our wicks together, to find strength in community and ritual, and may all who mourn this tragic anniversary find comfort among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. Shanah tovah.
Rabbi Jessica Fisheris the director of rabbinic enrichment at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America. To read and download various Hartman Institute resources, including Memory and Hope: Rituals for Tishrei 5785 and accompanying resources for commemorating Oct.7 in community, visit hartman.org.il.
Hundreds attended the lighting of the Silber Family Agam Menorah on the first night of Hanukkah Dec. 7, where politicians from all levels of government offered holiday greetings and support. (photo by Pat Johnson)
Hundreds gathered outside the Vancouver Art Gallery on the first night of Hanukkah, Dec. 7, to kindle light in the darkness. The decades-old annual event led by Chabad Lubavitch BC had even more than the usual sense of familiarity, as the Jewish community has been gathering weekly on the same site since the Oct. 7 pogrom, and Hanukkah’s messages of hope amid tragedy reinforced the words that have been shared from the podium over recent weeks.
The art gallery event, as well as a community menorah lighting Sunday in Richmond, was attended by many elected officials – including the premier of British Columbia and the provincial opposition leader at both ceremonies. Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, reiterated his gratitude for the support shown to the community in times of trouble.
The first night event was co-hosted by Karen James and Howard Blank and was produced by Richard Lowy, who sang and played guitar. Children from Jewish schools and public schools sang Hanukkah songs. Spoken word artist Vanessa Hadari performed.
The first candle on the Silber Family Agam Menorah was lit by Etsik Mizrachi and Dan Mizrachi, father and brother, respectively, of Ben Mizrachi, the Vancouver man who was killed Oct. 7 while attempting to save others under attack at the music festival in Israel, where more than 360 people were murdered by Hamas terrorists.
The first candle on the Silber Family Agam Menorah was lit by Etsik Mizrachi and Dan Mizrachi, father and brother, respectively, of Ben Mizrachi, z”l. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)
“This is a time of darkness in the world,” said B.C. Premier David Eby. “British Columbia is a place of tolerance and we need to be like the light on the menorah – we need to be a light against hatred.”
Speaking on behalf of the provincial government, Eby promised to do “all we can to push back against the tide of rising hate around the world.”
He spoke of meeting Dikla Mizrachi, mother of Ben, before addressing the assembly.
“It’s moving to meet the mother of a hero, a man from Vancouver who didn’t run away from danger. He ran back to help a friend,” said the premier, “and it cost him his life.”
In a message he repeated in Richmond a few days later, Eby said he prays for the release of the hostages and for peace.
Kevin Falcon, British Columbia’s leader of the opposition, also spoke both in Vancouver and in Richmond.
“I cannot think of a time in my lifetime that the message of Hanukkah, the triumph of good over evil, light over darkness, has resonated and been so meaningful to all of us,” he said on the first night of Hanukkah. “In the wake of that horrific tragedy, we’ve seen unfortunately some really vile antisemitism in the weeks that followed. Sadly, we’ve seen some of that even here in British Columbia and in Canada.”
Falcon received a resounding ovation on both occasions when he acknowledged Israel’s right to defend itself.
“Something must be made really crystal clear, and that is that Israel has a right to exist, Israel has a right to defend itself and the Jewish community here in British Columbia has the right to feel safe and secure,” said Falcon.
Vancouver Mayor Ken Sim, flanked by many Vancouver city councilors, said, “It’s a really tough time.”
“While we can’t unwind what’s going on, I can tell you that … we love you and we will always be here for you,” said the mayor. “You are our family, you are our friends, you are our neighbours. We have your back. We are not going to stand for any acts of hatred.”
Messages of support from Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and federal opposition leader Pierre Poilievre were read aloud.
“In a country built by immigrants, the contribution that Jewish Canadians have made and continue to make every day to our shared nation are indeed invaluable,” Trudeau wrote.
“For generations,” Poilievre wrote, “the menorah has been a symbol of strength and comfort to the Jewish people. In times of darkness, it has carried a message of hope. In times of oppression, it has been an emblem of freedom. Today, it continues to bring encouragement to Jewish people in Israel, here in Canada and around the globe. Unfortunately, this message of hope is needed now more than ever.”
Jim DeHart, consul general of the United States to British Columbia and Yukon, also spoke, promising that the United States will not stand by in the aftermath of such attacks.
“We won’t be silent in the face of antisemitism and we will continue to work to defeat hate and prejudice in all of its forms,” he said.
Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld compared current events with the Hanukkah story.
“In the glow of these menorah lights, we find inspiration and the triumph of light over darkness, hope over despair and freedom over oppression,” he said. “Even in the face of challenges that may seem insurmountable, the human spirit can prevail and miracles can unfold.… In the face of darkness, we choose to be the light.”
Herb Silber, son of the late Fred Silber, who donated the menorah that is lit annually at the Vancouver Art Gallery, spoke of the vision of his father and his father’s contemporaries, who built British Columbia’s Jewish community.
“It would be with a heavy heart if those pioneers like my father were here today to witness a rise in antisemitism that, while bubbling on the surface these last few years, has now burst into the open and become mainstream,” he said. “So, I come back to the holiday of Hanukkah because it reminds us that the story of antisemitism is not a new phenomenon. It is 3,500 years old, and the attempt to separate the Jewish people from their indigenous land of Israel is also not a new phenomenon. But what history has shown us is that Jews like my father and his contemporaries and those that came before him, and indeed the story of the Jewish people, is that we are a resilient people.
“One disappointment that marks these historic outbreaks of antisemitism,” he continued, “has been the silence of the non-Jewish community and, regrettably, we have seen evidence of that in events of the past two months. But, gathering here tonight reminds us that we have friends on the stage and elsewhere. And we know that the silent majority of our Canadian neighbours and our friends cherishes each one of us as Canadians, as we do them.”
Lana Marks Pulver, chair of the board of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, thanked the Vancouver police for ensuring the safety of the community, and noted that antisemitic hate incidents reported in October were up 350% over the same month a year earlier.
Members of the Rabbinical Association of Vancouver stood on stage, days before most of them left Sunday for a three-day mission to Israel.
Rabbi Dan Moskovitz, flanked by seven other rabbis who are on the mission, said he will carry the light of the Vancouver community to the people of Israel.
“We are going because of your light, which shines so brightly in this dark time,” said Moskovitz, senior rabbi at Temple Sholom. “We are going to bring that light, the message of Hanukkah, of resilience, of dedication, of rededication, of religious freedom, of the few fighting to preserve freedom against the many who seek to destroy it, and us in its process. We are going to assure Israelis that they are not alone, that the people of Vancouver stand with them.”
The rabbis, according to Moskovitz, will meet with Israeli thought leaders, Oct. 7 survivors, the wounded, Jewish and Arab Israelis, and others, “to hear with our own ears what people experienced on Oct. 7 and what it has been like in the months since.”
They will also bring cold weather gear to soldiers, especially in the north, who have not been able to leave their posts to replenish supplies.
On Sunday, Dec. 10, almost every one of Richmond’s elected officials at the federal, provincial and municipal level was present to hear rabbis speak and to see the premier and Richmond Mayor Malcolm Brodie light the shamash and the first candle. Community leaders Jody and Harvey Dales lit the successive candles.
The Richmond event began 35 years ago and joining Eby on Sunday was Bill Vander Zalm, who was premier at the time and lit the menorah on the first year a public lighting was held.
The Dec. 10 candlelighting was a chance to celebrate the 35th year that there has been a community menorah lighting in Richmond. Among those in attendance were, left to right, Rabbi Avraham Feigelstock, lighting organizer Joe Dasilva, former BC premier Bill Vander Zalm, BC Premier David Eby and Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman. (photo by Pat Johnson)
Rabbi Levi Varnai of the Bayit emceed the Richmond event and said it was the Lubavitcher Rebbe who revived the ancient tradition of public menorah lightings, which, over the centuries, had fallen out of favour for fear of persecution. Richmond was among the first communities to institute the celebration, he said, thanks to Rabbi Avraham Feigelstock, who also spoke Sunday.
In addition to the rabbi and the former premier, numerous people who were at the first menorah lighting 35 years ago were also in attendance Dec. 10, including Joe Dasilva, who has organized every annual menorah lighting. He retired from the Ebco Group of Companies, whose founders, Helmut and Hugo Eppich, donated the Arthur Erickson-designed menorah. Richard Eppich, now president of the family business, attended Sunday.
The reason that is ascribed to the House of Hillel for the custom that we follow in lighting the candles is that we go upwards in holiness. (photo by Maor X)
Hanukkah lives in the sweet spot where there is one story that claims it is “historically true” and yet there is very little contemporary evidence to back this up – the earliest account being written generations after the events – and there is another story, a miracle story whose earliest recording is centuries after its supposed occurrence. We go with the miracle story.
There was no love lost between the rabbis and the Hasmoneans. There are several legends about rabbis (i.e. Shimon ben Shatah) confronting the Hasmonean king Yannai (e.g. Sanhedrin 19a-b) and Yannai killing sages (Kidushin 66a). So, it is not surprising that the rabbis did not glorify the Hasmonean victory, and chose to centre a different legend, which seems to have arisen in the first centuries of the common era. The additional prayer (called Al Hanisim) that is added to the central prayer does not mention the miracle of the oil. The earliest mention of the miracle of the oil is in the commentary (the “scholion”) to a first-century list of holidays called Megillat Ta’anit. This commentary is not mentioned in the Palestinian Talmud. Its first appearance is in the Babylonian Talmud many centuries later.
While this may point to a choice for the miracle story over the martial story, the martial story did not fade away. It arose from time to time, gaining full rehabilitation with the birth of the Zionist movement, whose adherents looked to the Maccabees for ancestral precedent. However, this is not my point.
The earliest rabbinic legal discussion of the obligations of Hanukkah (as opposed to mentioning Hanukkah in passing) is not in the Palestinian Mishnah. It is in a supposed Palestinian baraita (“outside” teaching) quoted in the Babylonian Talmud and not in the Palestinian Talmud. This is the famous debate between the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai as to whether one lights one candle on the first night and then adds a candle each night (Hillel); or, conversely, one lights eight candles on the first night and then subtracts a candle each night (Shammai). This is followed by the obligation to light the candelabrum in the doorway, outside or, if one lives on an upper floor, in the window.
These are the earliest legal discussions of Hanukkah. There are others. The salient point is that many of the laws have to do with the placement of the candelabrum in order to publicize the miracle (pirsumei nisa). One might have thought that a holiday whose legend included the purification of the Temple would have had a Temple-like ritual at its centre. Instead, even the candelabrum does not replicate the seven-branched Temple candelabrum. The focus of the holiday obligations is marking Jewish space. Facing outward at the moment that people return from the market. If one has two entrances, the Talmud asks, does one have to light in both places?
Hanukkah is a diasporic holiday that celebrates place. This place where we are now is the place in which we announce the miracle. This is not a second-rate reminder of a ritual whose better form would have been and will be ensconced in the Temple. It is a diasporic ritual that lays claim to diasporic Jewish space.
This places Hanukkah on the same axis as Purim, again a holiday that is about and in Diaspora, and would not make sense in the Land of Israel. However, the difference is Purim posits that redemption is impossible and that, as long as the king is maliciously or foolishly evil, there will be a never-ending drama in which first Haman succeeds and then Mordecai succeeds. Hanukkah celebrates the fact of being here. Light in whatever many religious or secular metaphors it is clothed is brought into these Jewish spaces. The reason that is ascribed to the House of Hillel for the custom that we follow in lighting the candles is that we go upwards in holiness and not the opposite. We light the candles and increase the holiness. Here.
Hanukkah is a diasporic holiday in that it is portable. The celebration of Hanukkah defines the space that is celebrated as a Jewish space – like a mezuzah on a doorpost or an eruv (ritual boundary) in a city. Like these other markers, it creates Jewish space that is non-exclusive. Jewish space that has permeable boundaries. Jewish space that lives in proximity to others, despite the fact that this proximity is risky. From the start, the halakhah (Jewish law) of Hanukkah decided that, in a time of danger, one need not light the candelabrum on the outside or facing out, rather one may light inside on a table.
When we light candles today, we again announce that we live in Jewish spaces that are proximate to other spaces and, while we embrace this proximity, we are aware that it is risky – and yet still we increase the holiness, the light, from day to day. Here, in this time, and in this place.
Rabbi Aryeh Cohen is a fellow of the Kogod Research Centre at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America and professor of rabbinic literature at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies of the American Jewish University, where he teaches courses in Talmud. He is also the rabbi in residence for Bend the Arc: Jewish Action in Southern California. For more articles by Cohen, visit jewschool.com, where the original of this article can be found. For articles by other Shalom Hartman scholars, visit hartman.org.il.
