By Diane Herman, December 28, 2024
Shabbat shalom!
I love the Joseph story. It’s my favorite story in the Torah. In fact, I can hardly contain myself every year when we get to the end of Parashat Miketz and I feel like I have to continue reading the story into Parashat Vayiggash to see if Joseph’s dramatic meeting with his brothers ends the same way as last year. So doing a drash on Parashat Miketz seems like a perfect fit for me.
Except I don’t want to talk about the Joseph story at all. Instead, I want to talk about Hiddur mitzvah and how it relates to Chanukah and to the story of our family’s journeys and Chanukah celebrations.
The principle of enhancing a mitzvah through aesthetics is called hiddur mitzvah. The idea is that we can enhance the performance of mitzvot by appealing to our senses. Beautiful sounds and agreeable fragrances, tastes, textures, colors, and artistry contribute to human enjoyment of religious acts, and thus beauty itself takes on a religious dimension.
The concept of hiddur mitzvah is derived from Rabbi Ishmael’s comment on the verse, “This is my God and I will glorify Him” in Exodus 15:2
זֶ֤ה אֵלִי֙ וְאַנְוֵ֔הוּ
which is part of the Shirat Hayam that we recite every morning.
In Midrash Mechilta Rabbi Ishmael asks, “Is it possible for a human being to add glory to his Creator?” Rabbi Ishmael answers his own question: “What this really means is: I shall glorify Him in the way I perform mitzvot. I shall prepare before Him a beautiful lulav, a beautiful sukkah, beautiful tzitzit, and beautiful Tefillin.”
The Talmud in Masechet Shabbat adds to this list a beautiful Shofar and a beautiful Torah scroll which has been written by a skilled scribe with fine ink and a fine pen– and which has been wrapped in beautiful silk coverings.
The Midrash suggests that not only are the mitzvot themselves enhanced by an aesthetic dimension but so is the Jew who observes the mitzvah in this fashion. By concentrating on elevating the aesthetic aspect of the mitzvah, we add kedusha, sanctity, to the mitzvah and to our performance of it.
But there are limits to the lengths that one should go in striving for hiddur mitzvah.
Rabbi Zera taught in Bava Kama, “one should be willing to pay even one-third more than the normal price” for the principle of Hiddur mitzvah. Notice that he says, “even one-third more,” but not double or triple. Why are there limits? One can imagine that it’s to discourage destructive competition or manifestations of prideful extravagance. Jewish folklore is filled with stories about Jews of modest circumstances impoverishing themselves, paying more than they could afford for the most beautiful etrog to enhance their observance of Sukkot, or for the most delectable foods to enhance their observance of Shabbat. The 2004 Israeli film, Ushpizin, shows how this principal of Hiddur mitzvah works in the buying of an etrog in Jerusalem, and how – when taken too far – it can have harmful effects. It’s a beautiful movie and if you haven’t seen it, you should.
So, it seems to me that there is a natural tension between extravagance and modesty in finding the right balance in hiddur mitzvah.
My guess is that most of you apply the principal of hiddur mitzvah to your celebration of Chanukah. We choose to light a particularly beautiful chanukiah or light one that burns oil to relate our observance more closely to the times of the Maccabees.
We choose expensive, designer Chanukah candles whose beauty lasts for only 30 minutes. Over the years my family has purchased and lit particularly beautiful and distinctive chanukiot.
But let me suggest that not only the physical characteristics of an object itself, but also the story behind it, its yichus so to speak—the how and where you got it and have used it – that can make its use a hiddur mitzvah and enhance our celebrations. I think that my story about one of our family’s chanukiot exemplifies this principle.
Now I want to introduce you to this plain, lowly and even flawed chanukiah, and tell you why using it qualifies as hiddur mitzvah in our family.
This Chanukiah has 3 stories attached to it: The first is that it came into my Mom’s possession from her Aunt Emma. My Mom doesn’t remember when or why her aunt– my Grandfather’s sister–gave it to her. But it must have been on one of my parents’ rare trips to visit family in Omaha, Nebraska where my grandfather grew up. I assume Great Aunt Emma just didn’t want or need it anymore. She married a non-Jew at a time when this wasn’t common—so who knows what if any Chanukah celebrations she had.
My parents brought it home, but having a similar, silver chanukiah, put this one it in a box in their basement and promptly forgot about it– until it was time to move out of their home in Oak Park, Michigan, the home where I grew up. They asked me to go through the “stuff” in their basement and I discovered this chanukiah. So naturally, I took it.
Fast forward to making our making aliyah, our children getting older, and the prevailing custom among our friends for each family member to choose a chanukiah to light for themselves each night of Chanukah. We had 4 chanukiot—one, a wedding present, one – bought in Paris during our year in France which could be used for burning oil or candles, one made of Jerusalem stone- kind of like a mini-Kotel- from our sabbatical year in Israel, and this one. We discovered early on that after about the fourth day of Chanukah the heat of the burning candles below causes the nearly instant melt-down of the shammash, leaving a waxy mess all over the poor lions. Invariably, every year when each member of the family chose the chanukiah they wanted to light Great-Aunt Emma’s was chosen last. Too common, too plain, and defective to boot.
But here’s the real reason this chanukiah has become so special. On the Shabbat before Chanukah 5761 (that’s 2000 in the Gregorian calendar) Reuven was home for a brief respite from his naval duties onboard the Israeli naval ship, the INS Aliyah. We got to talking about Chanukah aboard the ship. The Israeli Navy sometimes does a surprisingly abysmal job of dealing with the holidays. I asked Reuven if the ship even had a chanukiah and he said he didn’t know, but he didn’t think so. So I offered him Great-Aunt Emma’s Chanukiah to take back to the ship. Did they actually light it? I have no idea and Reuven doesn’t remember.
But I’d like to think that this chanukiah helped chase away the darkness, if only for a brief time, for the crew of that Israeli warship. And brought some Chanukah joy to the sailors who, entrusted with their special role in defense of Israel, wouldn’t be home with their families for Chanukah that year.
Our family’s continued use of this chanukiah, now with grandchildren to help light it, represents the principle of hiddur mitzvah —because of its yichus— the history and stories that are attached to it. Many of us have objects in our homes that have their own distinctive stories like this chanukiah—Shabbat candlesticks from our mothers, dishes from our grandparents, jewelry.
For Larry, it’s using his father’s kiddush cup on Shabbat and a simple, green glass bowl, used in his childhood, that is the last remaining of its set and which he ritually uses to eat farfel and milk on Pesach. We use these items to enhance our celebrations and our lives. And we should be sure and tell the stories behind them to the next generation, because those stories themselves are a form of hiddur mitzvah, they beautify and sanctify our religious rituals and make our celebrations more meaningful.
Shabbat Shalom and Chanukah sameach!