Parshat Miketz invites us to reflect on the human ability to discover light amid darkness and build hope even in the most challenging circumstances. In this narrative, Joseph, after being sold into slavery by his own brothers, overcomes suffering and adversity to rise as a leader.
The Parasha and Chanukah converge in a powerful message about light emerging from the darkest moments and the capacity to transform adversity into opportunity.
In Miketz, Joseph rises from prison to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams, ascending to a position of leadership that enables him to save Egypt—and his own family—from famine. This story highlights the power of resilience and faith, demonstrating how light and our inner strength (some might call it divine providence) can guide us even in the bleakest of times.
On the other hand, Chanukah celebrates the miracle of the light—a small jar of oil that, against all odds, illuminated the defiled Temple for eight days. When it seems like all is lost, a glimmer of hope can expand beyond imagination.
Both narratives invite us to reflect on our ability to find strength, resilience, and light within ourselves and our communities. In Miketz, it is Joseph’s wisdom, intelligence, and fortitude; in Hanukkah, it is the Jewish people’s unwavering commitment to resist oppression.
Together, they inspire us to uphold our principles and act with courage to face the challenges of our generation in a time that often feels dehumanized.
We face a tragedy that demands our utmost humanity: one hundred of our brothers and sisters—children of our ancestral tree, Bnei Yisrael, like Joseph and his brothers—remain captive in unimaginable conditions in the tunnels, victims of Hamas's cruel terrorism.
In the text of Miketz, we read that Joseph did not let his pain define or paralyze him. Instead, it became a driving force, a tool for redemption and, later, reconciliation.
He was also "well-favored," as the text says, but the sages never refer to him as "the handsome Joseph"—only as "the righteous Joseph." This is clear proof that Joseph succeeded in overcoming the temptations of Potiphar’s wife.
If you ask me the reason behind the Jewish people’s survival through centuries of pogroms, bloodshed, and the Holocaust, there is only one answer: as a people, we were never enslaved to the material world—not to buildings, not to land, not even to the tablets of the Ten Commandments.
We rebuilt our community after the destruction of the Temple. We thrived as a nation even during the harshest times of exile. We wrote books after the loss of the tablets. By contrast, civilizations that viewed the body and material wealth as their ultimate purpose are now relegated to history books. It is possible to destroy the body, but the spirit remains untouchable.
This idea resonates in the story of Rabbi Chanina ben Tradyon, one of the ten martyrs under Roman rule. When the Romans executed him, wrapping him in a Torah scroll and setting it ablaze, his students asked him, “Rabbi, what do you see?” He replied, “I see parchment burning, and the letters soaring to the heavens.” (Avodah Zara 18a).
You can burn the scroll, but you cannot extinguish the spirit of its words. The Hanukkah candles bear witness not only to our physical survival but to the triumph of our spiritual values. No earthly power can destroy our spirit or our essence.
Our responsibility now is not to abandon those in the shadows. Freedom and human dignity are sacred values, and we cannot rest until every life is protected and the captives return home.
Even in the darkest moments, unity, diversity, and collective action can pave the way to redemption and justice.
Tonight, we will first light the Chanukah candles (three candles and the shamash) and then the Shabbat candles. The act of lighting is considered a moment for prayers and petitions, and this year, there is so much to ask for.
Herzl, imbued with his Zionist spirit, wrote in his short story The Menorah:
"First, a single candle. It is still dark, and the solitary light seems somber. Then it finds a companion, then another, and yet another. The darkness must retreat. The young and the poor are the first to see the light. Then others join—everyone who loves justice, truth, freedom, progress, humanity, and beauty. When all the candles are lit, everyone must stop in awe and rejoice at what has been achieved. No task is more blessed than being a servant of this light."
Let us ensure that the collective action of our congregations brings a bit more light to our surroundings and our world, just as it did on the first night of Chanukkah at the JCC.
Let us never stop seeking that light.
Let us continue to demand, cry out, and even howl, if necessary, for the return of the captives. Amid so much despair, let us find sparks of hope and fight to uphold our values and principles.
Let us not remain silent in the face of those who seek to undermine our inner strength.
Let us continue to illuminate the path for those who need it most.
Chag Chanukah Sameach!
Shabbat Shalom U’mevorach
Rabbi Gustavo Geier