Hanukkah is the only Jewish holiday that is not Biblically derived. And like Purim, which is derived from the Book of Esther, it is not overtly, divinely commanded. Hanukkah celebrates what? A military victory over our enemies? No. For the Temple was eventually destroyed, and the Maccabees who helped fend of the Greeks do not make into the Biblical canon. Rather, it celebrates perseverance—lighting a candle even in the dark, a glorious defeat. The holiday marks a historical event with no Biblical basis and yet is elevated to the same status as Passover and Yom Kippur. It is a kind of Herculean story of a holiday that rises to the level of the divine. It is not just a story of underdogs but it is itself an underdog.
The moral teaching of Hanukkah is not the miracle of oil lasting for eight days, but of a people lasting longer than other peoples thought it could or should. It’s a holiday about the endurance of the Jewish people in spite of its calamitous history. It’s also a universal holiday—Adam is said to have lit a menorah to mark his relief (or to cope with his fear) that the shortening days do not mean he is going to die. Winter is a sign of death, but we can make it to spring. We can make it through long winters that last centuries.
It takes a contrarian mindset to believe in yourself when all doubt you, and even more so when that doubt is so encompassing and so long lasting. But the light of the menorah is a kind of inner light of self-confidence that proves self-fulfilling. The rabbis were not cynical in swapping in the miracle of the long-lasting oil for the miracle of military success. They were wise. Battle outcomes are fickle and volatile. Lighting endures. They understood the flaws of what Annie Duke calls “resulting”—judging something on the basis of its outcome, rather than its process. We can’t always win the outward battles, but we can always look to bring and find the light.
HANNAKAH is a sharing of the light. We do not light the menorah alone; we light it with children, family, friends, partners, husbands, whomever. When we don't share the knowledge, insight, revelation, we literally "Turn out the light." And like Othello, we are condemned to living in darkness.
It seems a very Kiplingesque holiday looked at that way. "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat these two impostors just the same", etc.