Remarks from Hanukkat Mezuzah — Building Dedication Ceremony

I’d also like to share with you the remarks I offered at our Hanukkat Mezuzah, our modest Building Dedication Ceremony on Sunday, in the hopes that they help lay out for us an intention as we occupy our newly revamped spaces, including the Paula Kline Learning Center:

Mai Hanukkah. What is Hanukkah? That simple phrase is one we encounter in the Talmud, that ancient, sacred compilation of Jewish dialogue, rabbis arguing back and forth, trying to figure out what it all means, and how we do this thing called Judaism, this sacred, communal way of living in this world.

Just like us, the ancient sages sometimes had to take a step back and say, wait a minute, why are we doing this whole ritual that we’ve become accustomed to doing, year after year, generation after generation? Why do we do this thing where we light candles for eight nights in the middle of winter, beginning specifically on the 25th of the month of Kislev? What’s this all about?

Their answer in the Talmud is the stuff of legend. It’s the teaching we’re all familiar with by now: when the Maccabees finally defeated the imperial Greek forces, and re-entered the sanctuary, they found only enough uncontaminated oil to light the menorah—that seven-branched candelabrum that illuminated the inner sanctum of the sanctuary, which needed to be lit every nigh—for one night. And of course, lo and behold it lasted for eight nights. Hence our holiday.

Of course, some historical scholars question this explanation of the origin of the holiday, perhaps in part because the discussion omits an explanation for one of the most important parts of the holiday: the name. Hanukkah. What does that mean? The Talmud doesn’t discuss it.

Well, as many of you know, the word Hanukkah has a very appropriate, apt meaning for our celebration here today. Hanukkah means “dedication.”

The holiday was called Hanukkah because when the Maccabees finally liberated Jerusalem, they discovered that the Temple—that sacred gathering place where we communed with one another and with the Divine—had been ransacked and abandoned. They set about rebuilding and consecrating its vessels and culminated these labors with a rededication celebration on, you guessed it, the 25th of Kislev.

So on one level, Hanukkah is indeed a holiday based on the idea of triumph in the face of adversity, of kindling lights when the world is at its darkest because we know it will be light again.

But on another level Hanukkah is fundamentally about dedication: about the practice of setting an intention as we enter a sacred space after not having been able to be there for a long time. Sound familiar?

Now, sometimes the Torah I like to offer is to take a literal concept—dedicating a building, for example—and asking what spiritual insights, what spiritual truths we can glean from this sacred, ancestral practice. Rabbi Simcha Raphael does that brilliantly this year. He asks, “What would it mean to see ourselves as Maccabees responsible for cleansing and dedicating the Temple, the Sanctuary,” by which he means the inner sanctuary, the sanctuary of our souls. “Every year at Hanukah,” he continues, “each one of us is responsible to cleanse and renew the Sanctuary. Today, at this time of the year we are called to illuminate places where the inner spirit has been extinguished.”

Normally, this is exactly the sort of Torah I would steer us towards—what would it mean if we took seriously the practice that each year we are responsible for cleaning, for rebuilding, for rededicating, our inner sanctuaries, where God, where the Holy can, needs to reside? How can we dedicate ourselves to that task? And I very much want us to reflect on that.

But I also want us to reflect on a more straightforward understanding of the ritual: what does it mean to dedicate a literal building? If we are the Maccabees of Society Hill Synagogue, and it is our task to dedicate ourselves to this space, to be stewards of the life that takes place within, what does that dedication look like? How do we ensure that we build community around the rhythms of Jewish life in ways that lead to meaning, connection, and holiness? How do we live up to the teaching in Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of our Ancestors, that al shelosha devarim h’olam omed: upon three things does the universe stand: (1) al ha torah, upon Torah, lifelong Jewish learning, where the conversations of our people are renewed in each generation, with the potential to open our eyes to new ways of living and engaging with the universe; (2) al ha’avodah, on worship, on service, on prayer, and song, prayer and song being those spiritual technologies that can unlock channels in our souls we never knew we had access to; (3) v’al gemilut chasadim, and on acts of loving kindness to our neighbors, where we extend our circle of concern not only to those in our family, but to a broader Jewish family, a broader human family, synagogues being spaces where we are brought into true community with those who will visit us when we are sick, celebrate with us in times of joy, and sit alongside us when we are mourning a loved one, all of which we do for them, too. That’s community, that’s gemilut chasadim.

So how do we live up to this?

Well, I think the answer is in the question. Mai Hanukkah. What is Hanukkah? Dedication. We dedicate ourselves—to this community, to this building, to each other, through our time, through our spirit, through our resources, we dedicate ourselves to one another. That’s what Hanukkah is. Dedication. Hag Sameach.