Chapter 8: Adding Light

Each night, one more flame. Light only ever increases.

The Source

The House of Shammai says: on the first night, eight lights are lit, and from then on, one fewer each night. The House of Hillel says: on the first night, one light is lit, and from then on, one more each night.

Shabbos 21b

Because we ascend in holiness, and do not descend.

One explanation the Talmud gives for the House of Hillel, Shabbos 21b

You who cleave to the L-rd your G-d are alive, every one of you, today.

Deuteronomy 4:4

The Teaching

The little jar of oil

In the second century before the common era, the Temple in Jerusalem was defiled by the forces of the Seleucid king Antiochus, who tried to force the Jewish people to abandon the Torah. A priestly family, the Hasmoneans, known as the Maccabees, led a revolt, and against all odds, they won.

When they came to rededicate the Temple and light its great menorah, the Talmud says, they searched for pure oil, and found only one small jar, still sealed with the seal of the High Priest (Shabbos 21b). It held enough oil for one day. And a miracle happened: it burned for eight days.

That is the story of Chanukah, the festival of lights. For eight nights, Jewish families light candles in their homes to remember it.

One more each night

The two great schools of the sages, the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai, disagreed about how the lights should be lit (Shabbos 21b).

The House of Shammai said: begin with eight on the first night, and light one fewer each night, counting down the days that remain.

The House of Hillel said: begin with one on the first night, and add one each night, counting up. And of the two reasons the Talmud gives for their view, one has become a great principle of Jewish life: ma’alin bakodesh, “we ascend in holiness, and do not descend.”

The law follows the House of Hillel. And so, every Chanukah, in Jewish homes around the world, the light grows. One flame. Then two. Then three. Until, on the eighth night, the whole menorah is ablaze.

This is the word that names this book: ascend. The Jewish way is to add light, never to subtract it. Whatever you did yesterday, today you can add one more flame.

A lamp in the window

The Talmud also teaches where the Chanukah lamp should be placed: at the door of the house, or in a window, facing the street, so that everyone who passes can see it (Shabbos 21b). The purpose of this mitzvah, this commandment, has a name: pirsumei nisa, publicizing the miracle (Shabbos 23b).

The light is meant to be shared: with the street, with neighbors, with strangers passing in the dark. On some of the longest nights of the year, a small flame in a window says to anyone who sees it: there is light here. There is light in the world.

Cleaving

The Torah speaks of those who “cleave to the L-rd your G-d” (Deuteronomy 4:4). From that verse comes the word deveikus, cleaving, and it became one of the central ideas of Chassidic life: the practice of staying close to G-d, not only in prayer, but in every moment.

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chassidic movement, taught that deveikus is not reserved for mystics in trance. It can be practiced while eating, working, walking, and talking with people. It is what every chapter of this series has been pointing toward: the blessing before an apple, the few words before a good deed that offer it for the sake of bringing the world back together, the honest scale in the marketplace, the candle on Friday night. Each one is a small act of cleaving. Put together, they make a life that stays close to the light.

The practices, gathered

Here, in one place, are the practices this series has offered. None of them needs to be done all at once. Like the Chanukah candles, they can be added one at a time.

On waking: Modeh ani. Thank You for returning my soul. And Hineni, here I am: the answer of someone ready to be called.
Through the day: blessings, before food and at moments of wonder. Gam zu l’tovah: this too is for the good.
Before a good deed: l’shem yichud, for the sake of bringing the world back together.
In the marketplace: honest weights, fair wages, and no false impressions.
In the kitchen: a tzedakah box, for giving to people in need, fed before Shabbos.
Once a week: Shabbos, beginning with two candles.
Toward others: a visit to someone who is sick or alone; a stranger welcomed; a candle lit for someone else by teaching what you know.
When you fall: teshuvah, returning. The door never closes.
Before sleep: forgive everyone who hurt you today.

Two Tales

As long as the candle burns

As it is told, the great nineteenth-century teacher Rabbi Yisroel Salanter was walking home late one night when he passed the workshop of a shoemaker. The candle in the window was burning low, and the shoemaker was still bent over his work.

“Why are you still working so late?” Rabbi Yisroel asked him. “Your candle is almost out.”

The shoemaker answered: “As long as the candle is still burning, it is still possible to mend.”

Rabbi Yisroel Salanter never forgot those words. He repeated them to his students for the rest of his life. As long as the candle is still burning, it is still possible to mend. As long as a person is alive, it is never too late to repair, to return, to add one more light.

The first winter

The Talmud tells a tale about the very first human being, and the very first winter (Avodah Zarah 8a).

Adam had been created in the warm light of the world’s first days. But as the months passed, he saw the days growing shorter. Each evening the dark came a little sooner, and each morning the light came a little later.

He was afraid. “Woe is me,” he said. “Perhaps it is because of what I did. The world is growing dark around me, and it will return to emptiness and chaos.” So for eight days he fasted and prayed.

Then the shortest day of the year passed, and he saw the days begin to grow longer again. And he understood: “This is the way of the world.” The dark was not the end. The light was coming back. So he made eight days of celebration.

The first book told what happened on the night after the first Shabbos, when darkness fell for the first time and Adam struck two stones together and made fire (Pesachim 54a). The first winter teaches the same lesson, stretched across a whole year.

Many families tell these tales at Chanukah, which falls in the darkest weeks of the year and also lasts eight days. The first human being learned what every Chanukah teaches again: the dark is real, but it is not the end. The light comes back. And we are the ones who strike the stones.

Light for the Week

Add one practice.

Look at the list of practices above. Choose the one that calls to you most, and begin it this week.

Next week, if you wish, add one more. Then another. You are not asked to do everything at once. You are only asked to ascend in holiness: one more flame each night.