Editor’s note: This commentary is a summary of speeches given by Sara Farber and Esther Smigel at a Simchat Bat ceremony — Hebrew for “celebration for a daughter” — at which their daugher, Eden Reed Smigel, was named.
The word “Hanukkah” is derived from “dedication” and the holiday is traditionally seen as commemorating the rededication of the Temple in the second century BCE.
Under Syrian-Greek rule, Jewish practice had been forbidden and their Jerusalem Temple was made into a shrine to other gods. Following an unlikely military victory, the Jews reclaimed their Temple and proceeded to make theirs again by relighting their menorah with one day’s worth of oil, which miraculously burned for 8 days — the miracle of Hanukkah. This is confounding though.
To paraphrase Rabbi Yosef Caro: If Hanukkah is about a miracle, and the oil which was only supposed to last one day lasted eight, then why don’t we celebrate Hanukkah for seven days? After all, the first day of the oil burning was no miracle!
Rabbi David Wolpe explains that while the burning of the oil the seven following days were god’s miracle, but the miracle of the first day is that of the faith needed to even try to rededicate the temple. That faith, and that effort, is a miracle in and of itself.
Rededication is, in many ways, an act harder than dedication. When we dedicate ourselves to something, we begin with a blank slate, complete possibility and naivete. When we rededicate, we try again, despite loss and failure. We push through our grief, our cynicism, and our doubt to be hopeful again. And then we do it again, and again. It’s not something that’s ever finished.
Rabbi Aviva Richman teaches that on Hanukkah, we reenact the rededication of the Temple by lighting menorahs in our own homes. We also light a menorah in the synagogue, a practice originally meant to allow Jews to “publicize the miracle of Hanukkah” even when they had to practice their own menorah lighting indoors, with shades drawn. In this way, the mitzvah of rededication happens in both the personal and public realm. Rabbi Richman also brings in a third source, about how rededication is a process that happens within our own bodies as well.
During the eight days of Hanukkah, at the end of morning prayers, Jews traditionally sing Psalm 30 — “the song of the dedication of the house of david” Mizmor shir hanukat habayit le david. The title uses the same word “hanukkat” — dedication — and on the surface it seems to be about the dedication of the Temple. But the house spoken about is not the temple in Jerusalem, it’s David himself. R’Richman cites the Malbim, who writes:
“The house mentioned here is the metaphorical home, which is the body that is a refuge to the soul and home to the inner person who resides and dwells within it … At the time of sickness the pillars and foundations of the house are shaky, and after one is healed the home is rebuilt on its ruins … it is David’s personal home, the refuge of his soul that was rededicated through his being healed.”
This month we learned personally how closely intertwined life and death really are. The act of childbirth can be relatively straightforward for some, while potentially deadly for others. The ordeal that she (Sara Farber) survived is enough to make anyone want to give up.
Instead we are focusing on rededication. Rededication of Sara’s body, as she heals. Rededication to building our home and our family with love. And rededication to the communal sphere by giving back to the doctors, nurses, and other professionals who helped deliver our daughter and heal Sara.
There is a principle of Jewish Law — Pikuach Nefesh — which provides that saving a life overrides almost any religious commandment, including Shabbat Prohibitions. And that it as if one who saves a life has saved an entire world. It is hard to process how to give back to the universe when your life has been saved. Nothing feels adequate or proportionate to the mitzvah of pikuach nefesh.
And yet, we can’t help but feel compelled to give back. In thinking through ways to give back, my mind goes to the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, where being “written in the book of life” is earned by Tsheuva (repentance), tefila (prayer) and tzedakah (charity).
We are focusing on two areas of tzedakah. First, we plan to organize a blood drive for the spring. Blood donations are key for treating patients with both placental conditions like accreta, as well as DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation.)
Second, we’ve arranged for a discretionary fund for the UConn Maternal-Fetal Medicine group. My personal Hanukkah appeal to you is that if you are able to give tzedakah to the high-risk pregnancy team to support their life-saving work, please do so at https://www.foundation.uconn.edu/fund/maternal-fetal-medicine-support-fund/