Chanukah: The Menorah, the Oil, and the Bond of Banim Through Torah

Topics

• Chanukah: Why the Menorah and the Oil?
• A Mitzvah That Is Chavivah
• Torah: The Inner Keys of a Father
• The Menorah, the Torah, and the Wisdom of Greece
• Torasecha: The Fire Within Every Jewish Neshama
• Na'aseh V'nishma: A Son Does Not Calculate
• Why Oil? The Unmixed Identity of a Jew
• Yaakov's Small Vessels and the Pach Shemen
• Yaakov's Oil: Torah That Shines in Galus
• Yaakov's Korban: The Oil of Torah Learning
• 'Yosef B'ni': Can a Son Remain a Son in Mitzrayim?
• The Real Victory: A Son Who Still Learns Torah

Transcript

## Chanukah: Why the Menorah and the Oil?

Be'ezras Hashem Yisbarach, I'd like to speak about Chanukah. We have just begun Chanukah. There is so much written in the sefarim, but I want to take one nekudah that I think gets to the heart of what Chanukah is all about.

What do we immediately think of when we think of Chanukah? The menorah. We light the menorah; it is practically the symbol of the Yom Tov. We tend to picture the story this way: the Yevanim made the oil tamei, they defiled the menorah, and after the war we came back and lit it again.

But, rabosai, that is not the entire story. They did not defile only the menorah, nor only the oil. They defiled the entire Beis Hamikdash. We sometimes speak as though the problem was simply that the oils were tamei. There is that familiar phrase, *v'timu kol hashemanim*—they rendered all the oils impure. Yet the Rambam describes something far more extensive.

Let me read the Rambam in Hilchos Chanukah. He writes that in the time of Bayis Sheini, when the Greeks ruled, *gazru gezeiros al Yisrael, uvitlu dasam, v'lo hinichu osam la'asok baTorah u'vamitzvos*. They issued decrees against Yisrael, sought to uproot their religious life, and did not allow them to learn Torah or keep mitzvos. *U'pashtu yadam b'mamonam u'vivnoseihem*—they laid hands upon their property and their daughters. Then, *v'nichnesu laHeichal u'partzu bo p'ratzos, v'timu ha'taharos*: they entered the Heichal, breached it, and defiled what was pure.

Do you hear what the Rambam says? *V'timu ha'taharos.* He does not say merely that they made the oil tamei, or that they singled out the menorah. He speaks of the whole Beis Hamikdash, its kedushah and everything that was pure there. They came in and desecrated the Mikdash.

So here is my first question. If the whole Beis Hamikdash was defiled, why does Chanukah focus specifically on the menorah? Why do we speak of the oil, the *pach shemen*, as the defining miracle? Why was the lighting of the menorah the particular act through which our return to the Beis Hamikdash was remembered? Something about the menorah and something about the oil must be unique. What is it?

The Rambam himself gives us a clue later in Hilchos Chanukah.

## A Mitzvah That Is *Chavivah*

Actually, the Rambam's statement is in perek daled, halachah yud-beis. He says: *Mitzvas ner Chanukah mitzvah chavivah hi ad me'od, v'tzarich adam l'hizaher bah k'dei l'hodia ha'nes u'lehosif b'shevach haKel v'hoda'ah al hanisim she'asah lanu.* Lighting the Chanukah lights is a mitzvah exceedingly dear to us, and a person must be careful with it, to publicize the miracle and increase our praise and gratitude to Hashem.

It is so important that even a person who has nothing to eat except what he receives from tzedakah must ask or sell his garment in order to obtain oil and lights. That is how seriously the Rambam treats this mitzvah.

But listen to the Rambam's language. He doesn't merely say *mitzvah chashuvah*—an important mitzvah. He says *mitzvah chavivah*. Dear. Beloved. Why does he use precisely that word? What is so *chaviv* about the ner Chanukah?

So we have two questions. Why is the menorah, rather than some other part of the Beis Hamikdash, the symbol of Chanukah? And what makes its mitzvah not merely important, but unusually dear?

There is another ha'arah in the words of *Al Hanisim*. This is not my own discovery; the sefarim discuss it. We say: *Ul'amcha Yisrael asisa teshu'ah gedolah ufurkan k'hayom hazeh, v'achar kach ba'u vanecha lidvir beisecha.* You gave Your people Yisrael a great salvation, and afterward **Your children** came into Your dwelling.

Why *vanecha*—Your children? Why not simply say that the Kohanim came back, or that Klal Yisrael returned to the Beis Hamikdash? Why identify them at this point specifically as the children of the Ribono Shel Olam?

*Chavivah.* *Banim.* There is a common thread here. It is not only the importance of fulfilling a mitzvah; it is the closeness and warmth of a relationship. When we light the menorah, we are expressing: Ribono Shel Olam, I am Your son, Your child. We came back to the Beis Hamikdash not simply as people who had regained a holy building, but as **Your children** returning to their Father.

In English we say something is 'close to my heart.' Chanukah has this quality of closeness. We are *banecha*; Hashem is our Father. That explains why the Rambam calls it *chavivah*. But what about Chanukah brings out that relationship more than other mitzvos? Why particularly here? To answer that, we have to understand the menorah itself.

## Torah: The Inner Keys of a Father

Remember, rabosai, we need to explain **both** the menorah and its oil.

Every day we daven: *Hashiveinu Avinu l'Sorasecha, v'karveinu Malkeinu la'avodasecha.* Bring us back, **our Father**, to Your Torah; draw us near, **our King**, to Your avodah. Notice the wording. When we speak of Torah, we call Him *Avinu*. When we speak of avodah, we call Him *Malkeinu*. Why is Torah connected particularly to *Avinu*?

Because Torah represents a special relationship. It is not just a way to serve the King; it is a way for the son to draw close to his Father.

Reb Chaim Volozhiner explains this with the idea of *maftechos penimiyos*, the keys to the innermost chambers. Whom do you trust with the inner keys? A stranger? Certainly not. You entrust them to a son whom you love, to someone with whom you share an intimate connection. That is what Torah is for Klal Yisrael: the inner keys, the special access to the Ribono Shel Olam.

There are ways for every human being to connect with Hashem. Even the nations can pray; the pasuk says, *Ki veisi beis tefillah yikarei l'chol ha'amim*—My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. But Torah, in this special sense, was entrusted to Klal Yisrael. It is our private passageway, our shortcut to the Eibishter.

Think of an important person travelling along a crowded road. Everybody must use the regular route, but a special entrance is opened for someone with a personal connection. What gives Klal Yisrael that entrance? *Banecha.* We are His children. The Torah is our *maftechos penimiyos*.

Chazal teach, *Chachmah bagoyim ta'amin; Torah bagoyim al ta'amin*. The nations may have chachmah. And don't misunderstand me: I do not mean merely knowing how to play ball, deliver a speech, or make computers. There is real, profound wisdom in the world, wisdom through which a person may recognize Hashem. Nevertheless, there is a distinction between the wisdoms of the world and *Torah* as our personal connection with Him.

Now look at the menorah in the Beis Hamikdash. It had seven branches—not the eight lights of our Chanukah menorah, which commemorate the eight-day miracle. The seven branches have meaning: the *shivah chachmos*, the seven wisdoms. There are different dimensions of wisdom, including wisdom that reveals something of the Borei Olam.

But, as the Netziv explains, the branches all face the central light. Their direction is *keneged ha'emtza'i*, toward the middle. And what is in the middle? The wisdom of Torah. All wisdom is oriented toward that central *Chachmas haTorah*.

That is the menorah: the special place of Torah, and through Torah the closeness of a son to his Father.

## The Menorah, the Torah, and the Wisdom of Greece

The middle flame represents *Chachmas haTorah*. Each of the seven wisdoms has its own light, but all are directed toward the center: *el mul p'nei hamenorah*. They have to be viewed through the Torah. The menorah symbolizes Torah itself, especially *Torah sheb'al peh*, and the way every other wisdom receives its proper direction from it.

There is a teaching that when Moshe Rabbeinu faced a difficulty in Torah, he would turn toward the menorah and draw from its light the wisdom he needed. That is how intimately the menorah is associated with the illumination of Torah. [The precise source of this teaching requires verification.]

What were the Yevanim fighting? The Greeks were not opposed to intelligence. Quite the opposite: *Chachmah Yevanis* was something they valued tremendously. They had a culture of wisdom and inquiry. They would not necessarily object to someone studying the words of Scripture as an academic subject. Think of a university offering a course, 'Bible 203.' You could study the text there. But a **beis medrash**, a **yeshivah**, *Torah sheb'al peh*, Torah as a living connection between the Ribono Shel Olam and His children—that was something entirely different.

[There is a brief exchange with listeners in the recording here; the words are broken and do not yield a reliable continuous sentence.]

The Yevanim wanted *misyavnim*, Jews who would become assimilated into Greek culture. They wanted the Jew to possess *chachmah*, but not the special Torah relationship. 'Learn the wisdom,' they were saying, 'but leave out the *banecha*.'

There is an interesting connection in the Torah between Yefes and beauty: *Yaft Elokim l'Yefes, v'yishkon b'ohalei Shem*. Chazal speak of the beauty and language of Yefes finding expression in the tents of Shem. There is a kind of beauty in Greek language and culture, an external form that can have a place in Torah. Yet the external letters and the inner meaning are not the same thing.

The *osiyos*, the written form, are the outside. The *pnimiyus* of Torah—the message written into the neshama, the heart and living meaning of those words—belongs to the special bond of Klal Yisrael with Hashem.

Understand this, rabosai. Greek culture was not simply an appeal to crude *taivos* and *olam hazeh*. It contained real *chachmah*, even ideas that seem to resemble or connect with Torah. That made its challenge more subtle. There could be beauty and wisdom in Yefes, but if it remained only an external intellectual achievement, without *Torasecha*, it was not the same as Torah.

## *Torasecha*: The Fire Within Every Jewish Neshama

This is what the Yevanim wanted: a Jew and a Greek studying wisdom together, but without the personal connection to Hashem that makes Torah Torah.

Listen to the words we say in *Al Hanisim*: *Bimei Matisyahu ben Yochanan Kohen Gadol ... malchus Yavan haresha'ah ... l'hashkicham Torasecha.* What did they want to make us forget? Not simply 'Torah,' but **Torasecha**—**Your** Torah. Take Hashem out of it. Let a Jew study and understand it as wisdom, but cut away the relationship with the Ribono Shel Olam. Do you hear the distinction?

Now you can begin to understand why the menorah was so central to the miracle. Chazal teach that the light of the menorah testified that *haShechinah shruyah b'Yisrael*—the Shechinah rests among Klal Yisrael. The *ner ma'aravi*, with its extraordinary enduring light, was a sign that Hashem remains with His people.

There is a fire inside every Jew. A person has a physical body and a heart, but also a neshama. The neshama is that inward light. The pasuk says, *Halo koh devarai ka'esh*—My word is like fire. Torah is fire. And another pasuk teaches, *Ner Hashem nishmas adam*—the soul of man is Hashem's lamp.

Why do we light a candle in memory of someone on a yahrzeit? Because the flame evokes the neshama. So the flame of the menorah, the flame of Torah, and the neshama of the Jew are deeply connected. The light declares: the Shechinah dwells among us. No foreign culture can erase that inward bond.

What makes a **son** different from a friend? You can be very close to a friend, and then a friendship can end. A son remains a son. There is a connection that exists because of who he is; it is in him from birth. Today we call that DNA. A son carries something of his father within him. The closeness is not merely an arrangement or agreement.

That is my point about *vanecha*. The Yevanim wanted to make the Jew indistinguishable from anyone else, someone studying the same material at the same table. But our connection to Torah is not just external intellectual interest. It is spiritual, deeply personal, part of our identity as *banim laMakom*. *Hashiveinu Avinu l'Sorasecha*—bring us back, Father, to **Your** Torah.

And when Klal Yisrael declared at Matan Torah, *na'aseh v'nishma*, a bas kol proclaimed: *Mi gilah raz ze l'banai?* Who revealed this secret to **My children**? Notice again the word *banai*. There is a secret in being Hashem's children. What is the secret?

## *Na'aseh V'nishma*: A Son Does Not Calculate

The secret is deep inside the neshama of every Yid: we are *banim laShem*. That is what gives us the ability to say *na'aseh v'nishma*. We can be prepared to leap forward for the Ribono Shel Olam before making all the calculations.

Tell me something, rabosai. What were the Chashmonaim thinking when they went to war? Such a small group! What was their military plan? Who was the general of that army? I would like to know. If you judged the decision only by ordinary calculations, you might say the general should be fired on the spot! How could they undertake such a battle?

The answer is *na'aseh v'nishma*. There are moments when the response of a son is not governed by the calculations of an employee. A son says: this is my Father, this is what needs to be done, and I am going.

I associate this idea with Rashi's explanation in the sugya of *na'aseh v'nishma*, in Maseches Shabbos, daf pei-ches. [The specific attribution to Rashi needs verification.] The contrast is between the mindset of an *eved*, who works out what he can undertake, and the mindset of a *ben*, who responds from a special closeness.

Let me give you a simple example. Just this week my wife was giving our cleaning lady instructions: do this, do that, and then something else. After the second or third instruction I myself thought, 'Wow, that's a lot!' I was watching her work out what could reasonably be done in the hours available. And she finally said, 'I cannot do all that. There isn't enough time.' An employee naturally says, 'I can do this, but I can't do that.' There are limits to the assignment.

But a ben, in the way I am describing it, doesn't first make every *cheshbon*. He jumps to do what is needed for his Father.

There is the familiar account of Hashem offering the Torah to the nations. They asked what was written in it. 'You shall not steal?' They reasoned about the terms of the contract, so to speak: 'That is not for us.' They looked first at whether they could agree to the obligations. When Klal Yisrael was approached, what did we say? *Na'aseh v'nishma.* We will do, and then we will hear. *Bli cheshbon.* Why? Because we are *banim*.

That was the spirit of the Chashmonaim. They did not begin with the ordinary odds of winning a war. Their response came from devotion and love. And that brings us right back to the Rambam: *Mitzvas ner Chanukah mitzvah chavivah hi ad me'od.* **Chavivah**—beloved, dear, close to the heart. Chanukah expresses the love of a son for his Father and the gift of Torah that binds them.

Maybe that is even why children receive Chanukah gelt and doughnuts: a father gives his child something sweet, and Hashem gave us the sweetness of Torah! I'm joking, of course. But don't stop at the doughnuts. Grow beyond the parties and see what a dear, profound Yom Tov this really is.

We have now explained the **menorah**. It symbolizes Torah, and especially our connection through Torah to the Eibishter as *Avinu*. Greek wisdom may indeed be wisdom; it is not something to dismiss. But *chachmah bagoyim ta'amin; Torah bagoyim al ta'amin*. The Yevanim wanted to remove the *Torasecha*, the bond between Hashem and His children.

Now let's take the next step. We understand the menorah. But why **oil**? Why was the *pach shemen* so important? What does the *shemen* teach us?

## Why Oil? The Unmixed Identity of a Jew

The Yevanim wanted the Jew to merge with Greek culture, to become *misyavnim*. Now let us see why the oil matters.

*Shemen* has a remarkable quality, and this is not my own vort. I am drawing here on the Rokeach. The Yevanim defiled the whole Beis Hamikdash, but in the shemen they were striking at a particular symbol. *Shemen zayis zach*—pure olive oil. Oil does not mix with water. Pour them together, and the oil separates and rises to the top. It does not simply disappear into the water.

There is also a teaching associated with the olive tree: unlike other fruits that people speak about grafting or combining, the olive is treated in this derashah as something that retains its distinct identity. [The exact text and attribution of this teaching to the Rokeach require verification; this is the symbolic analogy in the shiur, not a botanical ruling.]

And listen to the beautiful pasuk: *Banecha kishtilei zeisim saviv l'shulchanecha*—your children are like olive shoots around your table. Do you hear the words? *Banecha*! Your **children** are compared to olive shoots. According to the explanation I have been giving, it fits together beautifully. The olive represents something that does not dissolve into what surrounds it. So too the children of the Ribono Shel Olam retain a special connection to their Father.

We are *banim*, not simply friends or admirers of Hashem. Even people among the nations who respect the Borei Olam do not possess the same bond that we are discussing here: *banecha*. That is the closeness expressed by the menorah and the oil. We do not want the Jew to lose his identity by becoming mixed into everything around him.

But how do we keep that distinction alive? Through **Torah**. Without Torah, outside influences—*taivos*, foreign cultures, even impressive foreign wisdom—can blur who we are. The relationship of *banecha* is strengthened and made enduring when we learn Torah.

That is why the Greeks opposed the menorah's message and why Torah was the source of the victory over them. What they wanted to erase was what enabled the Chashmonaim to remain firm. Torah sustained Klal Yisrael long after the immediate military struggle; it kept the connection from being swallowed up.

The Rambam describes the period of Jewish rule after the victory as lasting more than two hundred years. The message is not simply about surviving a battle: Torah is what preserves the chain from one generation to another. Without it, a people can be changed very quickly—not only through *taivos* but also through the attraction of other kinds of *chachmah*.

## Yaakov's Small Vessels and the Pach Shemen

Think about the *Haskalah*. Its message, in part, was that a person could remain a Jew and embrace a different kind of knowledge. But Torah learned as *Torasecha*, Torah together with the Ribono Shel Olam, is what keeps the Jew anchored.

Now I want to show you something very interesting from Parashas Vayishlach. Yaakov struggles with the *sar shel Esav*. When does the struggle take place? After he goes back for *pachim ketanim*, the small vessels. The Torah says, *Vayivaser Yaakov levado*—Yaakov remained alone. Chazal explain that he returned for those small vessels.

The *Pane'ach Raza* explains a remez, also brought by the Shach, reading *levado* in connection with *lekado*—he remained for his **jug**. It is a play on the wording, not the plain reading. The suggestion is that this jug alludes to the very *pach shemen* of Chanukah. The vessels for which Yaakov returned were not merely empty containers; on this approach, there was oil inside.

But this is striking, because the standard lesson of Chazal emphasizes that tzaddikim value their properly acquired property and will not waste even something small. What are *pachim ketanim*? Little jugs! Think of an empty paper cup, a coffee mug. Yaakov was prepared to put himself in danger for something so small? Chazal teach that the possessions of tzaddikim matter to them because they are earned honestly and received from Hashem, not because they are greedy.

A coffee mug! You see, rabosai, sometimes I have to use American English or the *olam* falls asleep. Now everybody is smiling. He couldn't do without his morning coffee! Every now and then I manage a joke.

But the real question remains: was there something more to these vessels than a worthless cup? Was there a special *kedushah* connected to that jug and its oil?

And there is a lesson here even on the straightforward reading about not wasting things. Many *ba'alei mussar* speak about how careful a person should be with what he has. We live in a society that throws things out so easily. Years ago, would somebody have discarded a perfectly usable rubber band? Why would he? Today, after a simchah, good food can go straight into the garbage. 'Who has time to deal with it?' people say.

That habit affects a person's *psyche*. Don't think we have no *chisaron* from living with the constant instinct: 'Next thing—throw it out.' There is a larger subject here; we will speak about it another time.

## Yaakov's Oil: Torah That Shines in Galus

But let's return to the *pachim ketanim*, because the sefarim see something deeper than a little jug.

The Chashmonaim went back to fight, and they went back as a small group, almost alone. Yaakov, too, went back alone. *Ma'aseh avos siman labanim.* *Vayivaser Yaakov levado*—and in a sense the Chashmonaim, too, were left to fight for the *pach*. I believe that is part of what the mefarshim are teaching. The jug of oil links Yaakov's struggle to the miracle of Chanukah.

What was this oil? Let me go back to Yaakov in Parashas Vayeitzei. When he slept, he arranged stones around his head. In the morning he set up the stone as a *matzeivah* and poured oil upon it. A simple question: where did he get the oil?

There are explanations in the midrashic tradition that the oil came to him from Shamayim. The *Pane'ach Raza* also connects the oil to Yaakov's staff, reading into *Ki v'makli avarti es haYarden hazeh* a suggestion that he carried oil in his *makel*. [The exact versions of these midrashic explanations require source verification.]

What does that oil symbolize? All those years of Yaakov's life—his years of learning in the beis medrash of Shem and Ever and the long years living with Lavan—were years in which he continued his Torah. He learned and learned, through night after night.

The Rambam speaks about the special presence of the Shechinah with those who learn Torah at night. Darkness is the setting; Torah is the light. What illuminates the darkness of galus? Torah. Yaakov Avinu represents our journey through galus. His Torah, learned through those difficult years, was the light by which he survived.

*Ki v'makli avarti es haYarden hazeh.* How was I able to cross the Yarden? Think of life as a river, even an ocean, with storms that can drown a person. How do you get through? *B'makli.* In the way I am explaining this remez, the staff points to the Torah Yaakov carried with him. Torah brought him through the water.

There are further teachings about that staff and later crossings of the Yarden; the details need careful checking. But the *nekudah* is clear: *ba'eish uvamayim*, through fire and water, *amcha Yisrael chai*. How does Klal Yisrael survive the storms of galus, fear, and darkness? Through Torah.

*Al tira avdi Yaakov*—do not be afraid, My servant Yaakov. That doesn't mean there will be no fire or water. There will be challenges. It means we possess the light that helps us endure them. Yaakov carried that light with him.

And so, *levado* hints to *lekado*: his jug, his oil. In this reading it was a gift from Shamayim, and the oil he poured upon the stone was part of his *avodah*, his offering. He erected a *matzeivah* and dedicated it to Hashem. The recording also recalls another scene involving Lavan, the *gal* and the *matzeivah*, and asks whether this is the same oil Yaakov continued to carry. That connection requires checking against the pesukim.

So what was Yaakov Avinu's special *korban*? That is what I want to explain.

## Yaakov's Korban: The Oil of Torah Learning

What was Yaakov Avinu's offering? His *shemen*. The oil represents Torah—the nights he spent learning, the years he gave over to learning Torah. That was his *korban*, his *hakravah*. He gave himself in *limud haTorah*. Do you hear what I am saying? The dedication and sacrifice of those years were what he brought before Hashem.

That is the significance of shemen in Chanukah. The menorah represents Torah. The shemen points to the Torah that keeps a Jew distinct, that does not become *misarev*, swallowed up by his surroundings. *Banecha kishtilei zeisim saviv l'shulchanecha*: the children remain connected through the light of Torah. That is what protected Klal Yisrael from the influence of Yavan.

Now return to the words *Vayivaser Yaakov levado*. How did Yaakov remain himself, apart from Esav? *Levado—lekado*, with his oil, with his Torah. That was the *koach* that enabled him to stand alone. Without that *koach* a person can become *mitbolel*, mixed into the culture surrounding him.

Now, rabosai, let's go one step further. Are you ready? **Yosef** is also an important part of the story of Chanukah.

Before Yosef revealed his identity to his brothers, he invited them into his home for a meal. They had no idea that they were speaking with their brother; he had sent them on quite a goose chase. The pasuk says: *Vayomer la'asher al beiso: Havei es ha'anashim habaysah, u'tvoach tevach v'hachen, ki iti yochlu ha'anashim batzohorayim.* Bring the men into the house, slaughter an animal, prepare it, because they will eat with me at noon.

It is unusual language: *u'tvoach tevach v'hachen*. Why say it this way? Why repeat *tevach*, and why this particular expression for preparing a meal?

There is a remez cited in the sefarim—perhaps the Levush; I would have to check the attribution—that the letters around *u'tvoach tevach v'hachen* allude to **Chanukah**. I am not presenting that as the simple meaning of the pasuk; it is a remez. But what has Chanukah to do with a meal at Yosef's house?

Let me tell you something interesting. Chazal speak of Yosef's preparations for his brothers as careful about kashrus. Today we would describe such a meal as 'glatt kosher, mehadrin min hamehadrin'—for some of you, I could even joke, 'Beis Yosef!' Imagine the brothers in Mitzrayim sitting down to what looks like a thoroughly Jewish seudah—steak, gefilte fish, the whole thing!

How was Yosef able to provide that kind of Jewish table while living in Mitzrayim? The point is that he had **not** become *misarev*. He remained Yosef.

That is what Yaakov found so hard to believe when he heard Yosef was alive. Yosef might still be alive—but could he possibly still be **my son**, after so many years in Mitzrayim?

## 'Yosef B'ni': Can a Son Remain a Son in Mitzrayim?

*Yosef b'ni!* This is the remarkable thing. There is an explanation among the mefarshim that Yaakov's question was not only whether a man named Yosef was still alive. He feared that the Yosef who was alive might no longer be **b'ni** in the deepest sense. Could Yosef possibly have remained Yaakov's son in Mitzrayim, surrounded by an entirely different society?

Just imagine what Yaakov might have expected: not the son he had raised in Torah, but an Egyptian-style professor—neatly groomed, with a fashionable mustache and little spectacles! A 'Professor Yosef,' not the *Harav Yosef* he knew. That is how I am picturing the fear.

When the brothers told Yaakov that Yosef was alive, the pasuk says *ki lo he'emin lahem*—he did not believe them. *Ha'od Yosef b'ni chai?* Is Yosef **my son** still alive? Could the *ben* have survived spiritually? How did he manage it?

Through **Torah**.

Chazal teach that Yosef sent *agalos*, wagons, to bring Yaakov down to Mitzrayim. The wagons alluded to *eglah arufah*, the Torah they had learned together when they parted. What was Yosef telling his father? 'I never stopped learning. I am still connected to the Torah you taught me.' That was the proof that Yosef remained **b'ni**. And that is the same power of Torah that we have been describing throughout the shiur: the ability to live in galus without becoming swallowed up by it.

Now I want to offer a *pshat* that occurred to me. Listen to the wording when the brothers bring Yaakov the bloodied *kesones* and tell him something has happened to Yosef.

They say: *Zos matzanu; haker na, haksones bincha hi im lo?* We found this—please recognize whether it is **your son's** coat.

Why *bincha*, your son? Why not say 'Is this Yosef's coat?' When you speak to your father about your brother, do you normally avoid the brother's name? You would say, 'Is this Yosef's coat?' The wording is strange.

Maybe the brothers' hatred made it difficult for them to say Yosef's name. 'Your son,' they say, as if distancing themselves from him. Or perhaps it is the language used when a person has to identify someone, when a terrible loss has occurred: 'Is this your son?' I am thinking aloud. There may be another way to explain the phrase.

But then notice Yaakov's own words: *Kesones b'ni*. **My son's** coat. Why is he answering with *b'ni*? And the Torah continues: *Vayikra Yaakov simlosav, vayasem sak b'mosnav, vayisabel al b'no yamim rabim.* He mourned for **his son** many days. Why not simply say he mourned for Yosef? And then Yaakov speaks of going down mourning to **b'ni**.

The Torah returns again and again to this word: *b'ni*. Why? What are we being taught?

## The Real Victory: A Son Who Still Learns Torah

*B'ni, b'ni, b'ni.* Rabosai, I think there is a beautiful *pshat* here. *Be'ezras Hashem*, I think it may be *emes la'amito*.

Yaakov said, *Kesones b'ni; chayah ra'ah achalashu, tarof toraf Yosef.* The Torah does name Yosef there. But the repeated language of *b'ni* may tell us what Yaakov feared losing: not just the physical presence of Yosef, but the son who carried his Torah.

Perhaps, in some way, he could even imagine Yosef being alive while the **b'ni** was lost. What was he afraid of? That his child could be swallowed up by a world that tried to destroy everything he had received from his father.

And remember what Chazal teach on *Eileh toldos Yaakov, Yosef*: everything Yaakov had learned from Shem and Ever he passed on to Yosef. The Torah bond between them was central. 'These are the generations of Yaakov—Yosef.' Did Yaakov have only one child? Of course not! There is a special relationship here through Torah.

So imagine what happened when Yaakov learned that Yosef was still studying Torah in Mitzrayim. *Yosef—b'ni!* Not merely the man Yosef, but the **son** Yosef, still connected to his father. That is why the sign of the *agalos*, the remembered learning of *eglah arufah*, was so powerful.

You like that? I think it is a wonderful thought. It's worth coming for this alone! And certainly worth more than another Chanukah party and another doughnut. We have custard doughnuts and jelly doughnuts, custard inside jelly and jelly inside custard—every kind of mixture imaginable! But with a thousand varieties, you still won't get the taste of this *nekudah*: what it means to be a **ben** of the Ribono Shel Olam.

So let this be my Chanukah present to you. *Eileh toldos Yaakov, Yosef*—Yaakov gave Yosef Torah, and that is how Yosef remained his son in Mitzrayim.

It's all about *b'ni*. The Torah protected Yosef, just as the Torah protected the Chashmonaim from Yavan. It is the meaning of the menorah and the oil, and it brings us back to the words of *Al Hanisim*: *V'achar kach ba'u vanecha lidvir beisecha.*

When you light the menorah tonight, try to **feel** what it means to be a *ben*. Not merely someone fulfilling another obligation, but a child standing before his Father. *Hashiveinu Avinu l'Sorasecha.* Think of the love you can feel for the Ribono Shel Olam when you learn His Torah, and the closeness He offers us through it.

I wish you all a good, freilichen, kosher Chanukah.