As the falsely accused Binyamin stood before Yosef, condemned to a life of slavery, Yehuda stepped forward with a plea for mercy. He implored Yosef to release Binyamin, explaining that their father, Jacob, would be unable to bear the loss of his beloved son, having already suffered the loss of one in the form of Yosef himself. If Yosef refused, Yehuda offered himself as a replacement for Binyamin, a selfless act that moved Yosef to tears. At that moment, Yosef could no longer contain his emotions and revealed his true identity to his brothers, overwhelmed by the love and loyalty they still held for him despite the wrongs they had done in the past.
Upon seeing the shock and regret of his brothers, Yosef reassured them that everything that had happened was part of a divine plan to save their lives, as there were still five years of famine to come. He instructed them to return to Canaan and bring their father and their families to Egypt, where he would provide for all their needs until the famine had passed. The brothers embraced and wept joyfully at their reunion, and Yosef sent them on their way with his blessing.
Upon hearing of the arrival of Yosef’s family, Pharaoh extended an invitation for them to come to Egypt and settle in the best parts of the land. When Jacob and his family arrived in Israel, they were met with the news that Yosef was alive and ruling in Egypt. The news brought new life to Jacob, who had grieved for many years at the thought of losing his son. At the direction of God, Jacob and his family set out for Egypt, stopping at Beer-Sheba along the way. There, God reassured Jacob that he would become a great nation in Egypt and eventually be brought back to Israel. The Tora records that seventy members of Jacob’s family journeyed to Egypt.

Upon arriving in Egypt, Jacob and his family settled in Goshen, where Yosef went to greet them. He prepared them to meet with Pharaoh and instructed his brothers to present themselves as shepherds. Pharaoh warmly welcomed Yosef’s brothers and was amazed to see the advanced age of Jacob, who blessed him in return. Yosef made sure that his family wanted for nothing, providing for all their needs in the land of Goshen.
As the people of Egypt struggled to survive the famine, they were forced to sell their possessions and even themselves into slavery in exchange for food. Meanwhile, Jacob and his family flourished and multiplied in the land of Goshen, blessed with the provisions of Yosef.

In this week’s Parsha, Vayiggash, Yosef finally reveals his identity to his brothers. “I am Yosef,” he tells them. The brothers are in shock. Taken by surprise, they are unable to respond. They remain silent, scared, and perhaps consumed with guilt: 22 years ago, they sold Yosef into slavery and faked his death to their father. Now, Yosef, aware of his brothers’ remorse and in an incomparable display of nobility and altruism, comforts them and says, “It was not you who sold me to Egypt; it was God who directed me here.” Some might think that Yosef is telling his brothers a white lie so they don’t feel bad. However, Yosef’s words delve deeper than a mere diplomatic charade. Yosef, whose life was a roller coaster of unpredictable events—though with a happy ending—understood that human beings are merely pieces in a grand chess game.

Jorge Luis Borges wrote that the chess pieces believe they move at will. “They do not know that the designated hand of the player governs their destiny; they do not know that an adamantine rigor dictates their will and journey.” On the chessboard of life, the Creator is the invisible Grand Master who moves the pieces. But unlike in chess, in the game of life, we humans are conscious players and, ironically, possess free will: we’re responsible for the actions we choose. Divine intervention happens, but without undermining human choice. This dynamic between human free will and Divine intervention is among the most intricate debates in Jewish philosophy. Some rabbis regard this as what Jewish mysticism terms “ma’ase merkaba,” an experience we all share, but its true nature eludes our understanding. Sometimes, as time passes, we come to comprehend an event or its beneficial purpose. Given this perspective, one can ponder the divine reasoning behind Yosef’s relocation to Egypt, which eventually led to the arrival of his entire family, the budding “people of Israel”, in the land of the Pharaohs. It is commonly argued that God sent Yosef to Egypt to save it from famine, a sentiment Yosef himself echoes.

A sixteenth-century Italian commentator, Ribbi Obadia Seforno, offered a unique take on this. According to Seforno, the sons of Ya’aqob, ironically, were on the brink of assimilating among the Canaanites in Israel. For instance, Yehuda, the fourth brother and the leader of the siblings, took a Canaanite woman as his wife and also chose a Canaanite wife for his son. The commentator Eben Ezra noted that Isaac and Ya’aqob sought brides from the distant Syrian city of Haran, not despite, but because of its idolatry: a woman arriving from afar, without her family, might not bring a negative “religious” influence upon her new family. Rather, detached from her past, she would likely adopt the monotheistic values of Abraham, Isaac, and Ya’aqob. Had Isaac or Ya’aqob married locally like Esav, the pervasive influence of their wives’ families might have overshadowed Abraham’s teachings. Now, with Ya’aqob’s sons marrying Canaanite women, there was a risk they would deviate from Abraham’s path, putting the future of the Israelites and Abraham’s faith in jeopardy.

Seforno argued that in Egypt, away from the influence of Canaanite in-laws, the family would reinforce their ancestral values. The stark cultural differences between the Egyptians and the Semitic societies would act as a protective barrier. For instance, the Egyptians considered animals like rams sacred, and they refrained from consuming their meat. This reverence clashed with the shepherding lifestyle of Yosef’s brothers, who raised and consumed these animals. Seforno believed that these cultural and religious disparities prevented the children of Israel from mingling with the Egyptians. This is evidenced when Yosef informs Pharaoh about his family’s arrival and their profession as shepherds, requesting a distinct living area for them. In granting this, Pharaoh allowed the Israelites to live separately, preserving their unique identity.

The brothers’ decision to sell Yosef indirectly led to their move to Egypt. Seforno suggests that this series of events, albeit originating from flawed choices, eventually safeguarded the Israelites from potential assimilation in Canaan. Thus, during their formative years in Egypt, the children of Israel forged their distinct identity, separate from the Egyptians and Canaanites. The rabbis conveyed this with a phrase from the Haggadah: מלמד שהיו מצויינים שם, meaning that in Egypt, the Jews maintained their unique identity. Although responsible for selling Yosef, his brothers inadvertently ensured the survival of their lineage. Yosef’s foresight in asking for a separate dwelling further shielded them from assimilating into Egyptian culture. Ironically, it was in Egypt where Ya’aqob’s family evolved into the people of Israel. This divine plan can be traced back to God’s promise to Abraham: his descendants would venture to Egypt, endure hardships, and eventually return to Israel – a majestic chess game that spanned 400 years.

BASIC LAWS AND TRADITIONS OF HANUKKA

This year, on Wednesday night, December 25th, corresponding to the 25th of Kislev, 5785, we will light the first candle of Hanukka.
The celebration of Hanukka lasts for eight consecutive days.

How Do We Celebrate Hanukka?

HADLAQAT NEROT

The most typical celebration of Hanukka is the Mitsva of lighting the candles. Every night, we light the Hanukka candles, as we will explain. Apart from this Mitsva, there are other customs and traditions to celebrate this holiday.

HALEL RECITATION

During all days of Hanukka, we recite the Hallel Shalem. Hallel is a Tefila (prayer) of praise to HaShem, consisting of the reading and intonation of some Mizmorim (Psalms) of Tehilim related to celebration and joy. Hallel is also recited on Pesach, Shabuot, Sukkot, etc.

‘AL HANISIM

We also introduce in the Amida (the main daily prayer) and the Birkat haMazon (the prayer after meals) a special paragraph where we thank HaShem for having saved our ancestors from their enemies in the times of Matitiyahu and his sons, the Hasmonayim.

TORA READING

During the eight days of Hanukka, we read the Biblical texts corresponding to the inauguration ceremony of the Mishkan (the Tabernacle, that is, the Temple erected in the desert of Sinai), when each of the Nesiim (leaders) of each tribe of Israel brought an offering to HaShem to inaugurate the altar (mizbeach). Even on Monday and Thursday, the days on which we read the weekly section, we interrupt the reading of the Parasha of the week and read only the paragraphs assigned to Hanukka.

SEUDA

Although there is no formal Mitsva to have a Seuda (a celebratory meal, as we do on Purim), in many communities, it is customary to serve special celebratory meals where words of Tora are shared, and joyful songs are sung. These meals are celebrated with family, friends, and guests. Many also serve dairy dishes in memory of the heroic act of Yehudit, the daughter of Yochanan Cohen Gadol. Others serve lebibot, sufganiyot, or other oil-fried pastries.

There are also certain practices that we stop during Hanukka to maintain the festive and joyful spirit of these days.

Examples:

FASTING

Many people observe a fast on the anniversary of a parent’s passing. However, if this anniversary coincides with Hanukka, the fast is postponed until after Hanukka ends.

EULOGIES (Hesped)

It is customary not to perform eulogies (hesped), such as didan, shloshim, arayat, or funeral speeches, during Hanukka. Additionally, visits to the cemetery on death anniversaries are avoided. These visits can be scheduled either before or after Hanukka, depending on each community’s custom.

TACHANUN

During Hanukka, the tefillot (prayers) of confession (tachanun) and mizmorim (psalms) of supplication are omitted. As mentioned, this is done to preserve the festive and joyous atmosphere of Hanukka.

In Parashat VAYISHLACH we read that Ya’akob fought with an angel and the angel blessed him, and changed his name from Ya’akob to Israel. ‘Israel’ became the alternative name of Ya’akob but also the name of the Jewish nation. But is it fair? That we the Jewish people are named ‘exclusively’ after Yaakob? Why aren’t we called the people of Abraham, the founder of the Jewish people? How about Itschack? The middle generation is always the most challenging! Wait a minute: the Jewish status of a person goes after the mother! Whatever religion the mother is, that is also the child’s. So why aren’t we called the people of Sarah or Ribkah or Rachel or Lea? Why are we named AM ISRAEL exclusively after Ya’akob?

This week’s Perasha begins with the exile of Ya’aqob Abinu, our third patriarch. Ya’aqob flees the land of Israel when his brother Esav declares her intention to assassinate him. Ya’aqob then heads to Haran, a town near the Syrian border. Abraham’s relatives live there: Laban, Ya’aqob’s uncle, and his family. Ya’aqob does not arrive at Haran in a caravan of camels with guards and servants, as it happened when Eli’ezer, Abraham’s servant, visited town. Ya’aqob comes by himself with nothing in his pockets. And also, unlike Eli’ezer, Ya’aqob is not coming for a few days. Ya’aqob goes for an indefinite time (which ended up being 20 years). On the first night of his trip, when he had not yet crossed the border of Erets Israel, Ya’aqob had a dream. He dreams of a ladder resting on the ground but reaching up to the sky. And he sees angels. Angels go up to heaven and come down from heaven. And here, we are faced with a challenge that the text of the Tora presents us with. Angels are supposed to “be in heaven,” so they should descend and then ascend. Why, even in a dream, is the order reversed? Let’s look at the most famous interpretation of this point, provided by Rashi.

WHAT ARE ANGELS?
First, we must know that angels in the Tora are not like angels in other religions: winged beings with haloes on their heads. To explain what angels are, let’s remember that the Creator does not act “directly” on His world (there were only two exceptions to this rule: 1. The first act of Creation and 2. The Exodus from Egypt); God acts thru His “angels”. That is, natural forces or instances that seem “fortuitous” to us or individuals who, knowingly or not, fulfill a Divine mission. In Tehillim (104: 4) the wind, for example, is considered an angel of the Creator since HaShem used the wind to create rain and other events in Creation. The angels that visited Abraham and Lot were (or, according to other interpretations: looked like) human beings. What “the wind” and these human or human-like “angels” have in common is that they both “strictly carry out the will of God,” the mission for which they were conceived and created. In Hebrew, the word “angel” (mal-akh) actually means emissary, proxy, representative, an agent of HaShem who, unlike human beings, does not have freedom of choice (that is, “freedom to disobey”).
One more thing: angels are mentioned in the Tora in a particular context: Divine Protection. Again, “angels” are not independent beings, in Judaism, we do not worship “angels,” nor do we pray to “angels.” We speak of angels when we refer to Divine intervention through natural or human, miraculous events. And especially in the context of “protection”. In Ya’aqob’s case, the angels that he saw in his dream came to assure him that HaShem’s protection would continue even outside of Israel.

LIVING WITH LABAN
Once we understand that “angels” refers to Divine Protection, we can address the second question: Why do angels go up first and then come down in our patriarch’s dream? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Rashi says the following, based on a beautiful Midrash: what Ya’aqob contemplated in his dream was “a changing of the guard” between the angels who protect Ya’aqob in the land of Israel and the angels who will protect Ya’aqob outside the land of Israel, in Haran, the territory of Laban. But why is a changing of guard necessary? At Buckingham Palace, the change of guard is done because soldiers must rest, eat, etc. But for what reason does jab need new angles? The dangers that threaten Ya’aqob in these two places are very different. In the land of Israel, Ya’aqob was threatened with death by Esav. Now in his next destination, the land of Laban, no physical threat awaits Ya’aqob. However, Ya’aqob’s values and beliefs will be in jeopardy… Ya’aqob is going to live with an idolatrous family; he intends to marry one of Laban’s daughters and be part of that pagan family. The possibility that Ya’aqob will forget everything he learned from his father Isaac and his grandfather Abraham and ultimately transform himself into a full member of Laban’s family is very real! This new situation, assimilation, requires a new type of Divine protection, which had not been necessary until that moment. In this dream, according to our Midrash, God shows Ya’aqob that He protected him from Esav and He will continue to protect him in terms of his physical integrity. But He is also warning Ya’aqob that unknown dangers await him in his new destiny and that he, Jacob, will have to take the threat of assimilation very seriously.

ISRAEL AND THE DIASPORA
It is incredibly similar to what happens today. The dangers to which the Jews of Israel and the Jews of the diaspora are exposed to are very different. In Israel, the fundamental threat – although it is not the only one – is physical integrity: permanent wars, intifadas, suicide attacks, etc. This was also the kind of danger that haunted Jacob in the land of Israel at the hands of Esav. On the other hand, the most harmful threat facing Jews in the diaspora today is similar to the one Ya’aqob was going to face in his new destiny: assimilation to the values of Laban and to the pagan society of Haran. This is a much more subtle challenge and much more difficult to overcome, especially since it is less visible … and sometimes it happens without us noticing.
Like Ya’aqob we Jews of the diaspora must become aware of the dangers we face and must do everything possible to educate the next generation so that the Tora remains relevant to them and they see it as the most beautiful source of inspiration and the guide of their lives.

We are celebrating the holiday of Hanukka. And whenever this festival approaches, I reflect on one important question: what does it mean to be a Jew? There are many answers to this question—technical, spiritual, and political. However, the answer I want to share with you today transcends these definitions. Let’s explore it together and see what you think.

BEING A JEW AND BEING A CANDLE

Each Jewish person is like a candle. Judaism, the Tora, is the flame of that candle. This metaphor is neither arbitrary nor capricious. The Tora has always been compared to “light.” In fact, the Hebrew word Tora originates from the root or, meaning “light.” Our mission as a nation is to be, as the prophet Yesha’ayahu said (Isaiah 42:6) “or lagoyim,” a light to the nations. Remarkably, we fulfill this mission without acts of proselytism or missionarism. To illuminate, we only need to be lit. The word Tora shares the same root and is nearly identical to the word morá, which means “teacher.” For Jews, the process of learning is one of intellectual and spiritual enlightenment. The Tora is “our teacher”; it educates, illuminates, and guides us. Through its teachings, it dispels darkness from our lives, shows us how to live, and grants us clarity.

CANDLES: LIT OR UNLIT?

Now that we understand why the Tora can be compared to light or a flame, let’s return to the candles, the receptacles of the flame: the Jewish individual. If a Jew (Yehudi) does not learn Tora, does not study it, and does not observe its commandments, is he still Jewish? The answer is an unequivocal “yes.” A Jew never loses his or her Jewish status (Yisrael af al pi she’chata, Yisrael hu). A Jew without Judaism is like a candle without a flame. A flameless candle is still a candle. And while it is not yet fulfilling the purpose for which it was created, it remains a candle nonetheless. Importantly, it can always be “lit.” Often, all this candle needs is another candle, already burning with a strong flame, to approach it, offer its light, and help it ignite.

THE CANDLE The metaphor of the candle and the flame is particularly fitting for Hanukka. It helps us understand why we celebrate a great military victory by lighting candles. Let’s delve into this.

Throughout history, our enemies have often sought to destroy the candles. In such cases, their aim was our extermination. They didn’t care whether the candles were lit or not. For example, during the Shoa (Holocaust), a Jew who said, “I don’t believe in God. I’m not observant. Let me go,” would still be taken to the concentration camps. The anti-Semitic enemy, as in the days of Haman and Ahashverosh, didn’t care about the flame; their hatred was directed at the candles themselves. Their goal was to destroy the Jewish people entirely. By destroying the candles, they also sought to extinguish the flames.

THE FLAME Hanukka, however, tells a different story. During this time, as in the era of the Inquisition, the enemy’s objective was not to destroy the candles but to extinguish the flames. They sought to replace the flames of Judaism with a cross or a Greek deity. The Hashmonayim, our heroic ancestors who triumphed during Hanukka, did not fight to save their physical lives. Their lives were not under immediate threat. Rather, they fought—and were willing to sacrifice their lives—to preserve the flames of Judaism. Lighting candles is the most fitting way to commemorate their victory.

THE MIRACLE Finally, the miracle of Hanukka, when a small amount of oil burned for eight days, has much to teach us. When we follow the example of the Hashmonayim and work to strengthen and multiply our flames—sharing the light of the Tora with others—we can be assured that HaShem is on our side. Even when we feel that our efforts or abilities are enough to light only one candle, HaShem will grant us the inspiration and strength to light many more.

This Hanukka, may we all strive to keep our candles burning brightly and help others rekindle their flames.

HANUKKA: DIFFERENCES BETWEEN SEPHARDIM AND ASHKENAZIM

There are no significant differences between the traditions of Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jews regarding Hanukka. There are only some minor variations.

Examples:

THE FUNCTION OF THE SHAMASH

According to the Ashkenazi custom, the auxiliary candle or shamash is lit first. Thus, after saying the berakha, one uses the shamash to light the rest of the candles, and after lighting all the candles, the shamash is placed in its designated spot. In the Sephardic tradition, however, all the candles are lit using a match or a separate candle, and only at the end is the shamash lit.

For the Ashkenazi tradition, the shamash serves a dual function: it provides additional light and is used to ignite the other candles. In contrast, the Sephardic tradition does not use the shamash for lighting the other candles. The primary reason for lighting the shamash in the Sephardic tradition is to ensure that if one inadvertently benefits from the light of the Hanukka candles, it is the shamash’s light providing that benefit. In other words, whereas Ashkenazim use the flame of the shamash to light the other candles, Sephardim use the shamash solely for its light.

WHERE SHOULD YOU PLACE YOUR HANUKIA?

Many Sephardic families, especially in Israel, maintain the original custom of lighting the candles outside the house, on the opposite side of the mezuza (as seen in historical depictions). The Ashkenazi tradition, however, is to light the hanukia (also known as a menora) inside the house, near a window, so that the light can be seen from the outside.

HOW MANY HANUKIOT DO WE LIGHT?

In many Ashkenazi communities, the custom is for each family member to light their own hanukia, including young children who are older than six years. In Sephardic families, however, the custom is to light only one hanukia per family (mitsvat ish u-beto). This practice parallels the lighting of Shabbat candles. In Sephardic tradition, only the mother lights the Shabbat candles. In Ashkenazi tradition, each daughter in the family lights her own set of Shabbat candles.

LEHADLIQ NER HANUKKA OR NER SHEL HANUKKA?

In the berakha, the Ashkenazi tradition uses the phrase: lehadliq ner SHEL Hanukka (“to light the Hanukka candle”). Sephardim, following the wording of the Shulchan Arukh, say: lehadliq ner Hanukka, omitting the word “SHEL.” There is no grammatical or semantic difference between these two versions, and one cannot claim that one is correct while the other is not.

Interestingly, the original version of this berakha as found in Maimonides’ Mishne Tora (Hilchot Hanukka 3:4) includes the word “SHEL,” similar to lehadliq ner SHEL Shabbat (“to light the Shabbat candle”). Although Sephardic tradition generally follows Maimonides, in this instance, it adheres to the opinion of the mekubalim (Kabbalists). However, some Sephardim, such as the members of the Spanish-Portuguese community of England (who distanced themselves from mystical-based traditions after the events of Shabbetai Zevi), retain Maimonides’ original version. This version, which includes the word “SHEL,” is also found in older Sephardic siddurim like Tefilat haHodesh and Bene Tsion and was the practice in Iran, as recorded by Mr. Nassim Bassalian.

TRADITIONS

Playing with the sebibon (dreidel) is an Ashkenazi custom that Sephardim traditionally did not adopt. Similarly, the practice of giving Hanukka gelt (coins or gifts for children) is an Ashkenazi tradition not typically observed by Sephardim.