the Torah relates that Yosef had two sons during the seven years of abundance: “And he called the name of the first-born Menashe, as; ‘Hashem has caused me to forget all my hardship and all my father’s household.’ And the name of the second he called Ephraim as; ‘Hashem has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering.’ ” [Bereishis 41:51-52]. The literal understanding of the naming of Menashe is that Yosef was thankful to Hashem for enabling him to forget the great suffering he had endured in his fathers’ home. This is a staggering statement; it is understandable that his success erased what he endured in the hands of his brothers, but what about his grieving father? The Malbim suggests an opposite approach to the meaning of Yosef’s intention. Yosef was worried his royal life will contribute to erase all memories of his father’s home; hence he called his son Menashe to prevent himself from forgetting. His second son was named Ephraim to symbolize that he recognized that Hashem had made him successful in the land of his suffering. Yosef wanted to constantly remember that he suffered in Egypt. His life was not always rosy there, he spent 12 years in prison. What is the reason of this insistence to remember that he named both of his sons so he would constantly recall? Today’s wisdom is to turn the page and to live the present, why was that not an option for Yosef? The Sifsei Chaim explains that in the Chanukah prayer ‘Al HaNissim’, we thank Hashem for enabling us to defeat the Greeks: “You placed the strong in the hands of the weak; and the many in the hands of the few; and the impure in the hands of the pure; and the evil in the hands of the righteous; and the guilty in the hands of those who toil in Your Torah.” Apparently, the first two praises do not respect the parallel found in the last three praises. Indeed, the first two imply that Hashem enabled the weak to be victorious even though they faced strong enemies; and the few to win even though they were fighting many. In contrast, in the remaining praises suggest that the pure were successful because their enemies were impure; and that the righteous defeated the Greeks as they were evil. In truth, all the praises share the similarity which is the reason Hashem defeated the Greeks. Saying that Hashem placed the strong in the hands of the weak and the many in the hands of the few, it really means that they have succeeded not despite but because they were weak and few. The Hasmoneans acknowledged their physical weakness and lack of numbers and realized that according to the laws of nature they had no chance of overcoming the mighty Greek army. Thus, they fought to avenge the Name of Hashem that the Greeks had desecrated, even if it meant that they would perish during that mission, though living while in such conditions was not an option. Can you imagine, a bunch of old Rabbis who had never bore arms or trained to use them, who never learnt the tactics and strategies of war games, coming at the planet’s best trained soldiers and athletes, surely indulged the Greeks generals with a big laughter. Surely, the Hasmoneans agreed that they lacked the power to overcome their enemies, though they had an implacable trust in Hashem, as the Greeks had truly waged war on Him and therefore were doomed to be defeated. Yosef had also come to Pharaoh with Hashem’s name in hand when saying: “Not I, but Hashem will see to Pharaoh’s welfare.” Whenever one attends a situation with the Name of Hashem in hand, the laws of nature are set aside. Now it is understandable why the Malbim stated that the suffering one endures is the very reason for the subsequent good that he experiences. Difficult and helpless situations teach us that we do not have the ability and the tools to extricate ourselves even from mundane hurdles. Our salvation totally depends on Hashem. This imparts in us that we are truly powerless, and all salvations reside only with Hashem’s help. As a result, this will provide the space for to Hashem to provide us a sounding victory. This is what Yosef teaches in this Parasha, the secret is “Not I”, as holding of oneself and pretending to be self- reliant is part of the foundation of the Hellenistic culture and predestined to difficult awakenings. This is the secret message of Chanukah, never desist from holding onto Hashem! King David says it in Psalms [20:8] “They [call] on chariots, they [call] on horses, but we call on the name of Hashem our God.” Here’s a Chanukah Miracle: Growing up, Chanukah was always my favorite holiday. I mean, isn’t Chanukah every kid’s favorite holiday? There were presents and Chanukah parties nightly, latkes and chocolate coins, sitting around and singing endless songs with my family. While I didn’t necessarily find so much beauty or enjoyment in other aspects of Judaism as I grew up, Chanukah always remained the one holiday I felt a strong connection to. Until I went to college. I don’t remember where or if or how I celebrated Chanukah my freshman year, but what happened my sophomore year is something I will never forget. About a week before Chanukah, I discovered that my parents had sent me a gift through a local Jewish organization on campus. I hadn’t known this Jewish group existed at my school, let alone gone to visit their center. With me that day when I went to pick up the package was my roommate Jen, a Japanese American woman, as well as my best friend Viviana, who was Mexican American; there was also Harley, who was French, Trichette, from the Caribbean, Melanie who was Indian and a girl from Ireland. Our little group represented just about every color, creed and religion possible. I was feeling way too cool and hip to hang out with my fellow Jewish students, who were too outwardly proud of their own religion for my comfort level. So, I quickly took my package and left with my friends, eager to open it. Inside there was a little tin menorah, a box of blue and white candles and of course, the little chocolate gelt that I so loved. Yet looking at the menorah, I realized that I was going to need some instructions to even remember when or how to light. Thinking out loud, I looked at my friends and said, “Wow, I feel like such a bad Jew, I can’t even remember which way you light it, if it’s from right to left or left to right…” Before I could figure out why I chose to share this concern of mine, my very own roommate, Jen, the Japanese American, looked at me and said, loud and clear, “Bad Jew… off to the showers!” Even as I write this now, more than fifteen years after it happened, I get the chills. Everything stopped, froze, and then my mind started racing as I tried to come up with another explanation, another possibility for what she could have meant. Though no matter how hard I tried, there was simply no explanation… There was a collective gasp after Jen’s remark, followed by absolute silence. No one said anything. I would like to hope that it was only because they were too shocked to speak, for the possibility that they weren’t bothered by it is too much to bear. I don’t remember walking back to our apartment, the very apartment I shared with this person. The next thing I recall is sitting on my bed, and my best friend, Viviana, was sitting next to me and crying. She couldn’t even talk, she just cried and hugged me and told me she was so sorry. That incident essentially ended my friendship with Jen. She did apologize, repeatedly about how it came across wrong and it was just a joke and she didn’t really mean it. I did believe she was sorry, terribly sorry. But I felt she was sorry that she verbalized it, not that she was sorry that she thought it and most likely felt it. I could forgive her carelessness in opening her mouth when she shouldn’t have, but how do you forgive someone when they share their true feelings, and those feelings are hatred towards you and your people? That Chanukah I did not light the menorah. I did absolutely nothing to celebrate Chanukah as suddenly, everything related to Chanukah was defined by that statement. Every time I looked at the menorah, all I could think of was “Bad Jew…” I hated Jen so much for what she had said, but even more, I hated her for taking away Chanukah from me. At the time, I had no way of knowing that this incident would be a major turning point in my life. It turns out that the most significant and life-changing choices I have probably ever made were based on my reaction to her statement. Prior to that day, I had planned on spending my junior year in France. I wanted something exciting and new and foreign. But after that Chanukah, I changed my mind and immediately applied for a space at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. I realized that the only way to combat what had happened would be to take the time to connect to the very people and place that so many still hated. My stay in Israel was difficult at first, and quite a few times I wondered why I had even bothered coming. Due to a falling-out with my parents, I became financially independent that year. With no savings, my only option was to work full-time while studying at the university. The result was a miserable existence. While my friends were out having fun, traveling, and enjoying their experience in Israel, I was either in class or working as a waitress, and I rarely saw much outside the classroom or restaurant walls. During Chanukah break, the students were visited by their parents and were brought gifts, and this made feel even more lonely. It increased my negativity and left me feeling even more deserted. At that point, it seemed that Jen’s statement had taken my love of Chanukah away from me for good. Then, the day before Chanukah, I came back to my dorm room and there was a card lying on my bed. It read simply, “With wishes for a happy Chanukah. Buy yourself something special!” Felicia was a girl in the program who knew about my situation and how hard I was working that year. Her parents had come to visit and had given her $100 to spend on herself. She decided to give me that money. This was one of the most generous and moving gifts I had ever received. Her love and support lifted my spirits out of the hole I was quickly sinking. The night before Chanukah I took the money and went shopping. I wanted to buy something that would be meaningful. I decided that the one thing I really wanted was a beautiful menorah. I wanted a menorah that I could look at and love and not one that would remind me of Jen. I spent hours searching for the perfect menorah and finally decided on one where all the branches could move except for the shamash. I felt it perfectly symbolized how I was feeling in life, with everything moving around me and changing, yet at the center of it all, at the core, was stability. That Chanukah I lit the menorah every night, and as I watched the flames leap upwards and increase with the nights, I allowed myself to shed the anger and resentment I had been carrying around with me. That Chanukah I realized, in a very personal way, that fighting darkness with darkness accomplishes absolutely nothing. But even more so, that there was no point in fighting at all. All I needed to do was to bring in light, illuminate myself and my surroundings, and the darkness would automatically disappear. As I recited the blessings – first thanking G-d for the commandment to light the candles, then the blessing about remembering the miracles performed for our forefathers “in that time” – I realized we are all fighting our wars, some with the Greeks outside ourselves, some with the Greeks within. They are trying to destroy us, to bring us down, if not physically, then emotionally and spiritually. But we can fight back and win, even when we are surrounded by the deepest darkness. Our mission is not to banish darkness but to bring out the light! Finally, my year in Israel was a turning point in my life. Though my program itself was secular, I had the opportunity that year to reconnect and learn about Judaism. While my decision to live a Torah-observant life was quite a process, it began that Chanukah – or more precisely, the Chanukah before! I still have that menorah sitting on my bookshelf. It has traveled with me around the world, and not a Chanukah passes that it isn’t lit. Now, as I light with my husband, a rabbi, and our four beautiful children, I look at that menorah and the range of emotions and lessons that it holds. I look at its moveable arms and think about how quickly things can change, but that no matter what situation we find ourselves in, the flame will always bring us light and warmth as it strives to help us reach higher levels.

By Rabbi Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

Have A Question? Ask The Rabbi and he will Answer

990 NE 171 Street  –  North Miami Beach, Florida 33162  –  (786) 405-9692  –  www.badatzmiami.com