Mah Betza: the History of a Bad Idea

by R. Moshe Schapiro

Every year, around Chanukah time, we follow the drama of Yosef–from pampered young boy to lowly slave, then master of Potiphar’s house, once again a lowly prisoner and finally the second most powerful man in Egypt. At the same time, as if in mirror image, another drama of ups and downs plays itself out in the life of Yosef’s brother Yehudah. At first he is the acknowledged leader of his brothers, but in the aftermath of the Yosef debacle, he is diminished and estranged from the family.^[1]See Rashi Bereshit 38:1. He re-emerges as the leader of the family in his confrontation with Yosef over the imprisonment of Binyamin, and Yehudah’s ascendance is underscored by Yaakov singling out Yehudah and charging him with the task of laying the foundation of their new home in Egypt. Ultimately, Yehudah’s leadership role is established in Yaakov’s parting blessings to his sons by confirming royal status upon Yehudah’s descendants. The story of Yehudah’s reformation is complex and multi-layered, but part of it hinges on two words, which are relevant not only to the transformation of Yehudah, but to Chanukah and to contemporary life.

Yehudah’s Reckoning

Yehudah’s downfall begins when he suggests selling Yosef into slavery rather than murdering him outright or allowing him to languish in a pit until death: “What gain [mah betza] will there be if we kill our brother and cover up his blood?” (Bereshit 37:26). Yehudah’s deficient salvation of Yosef is roundly condemned by the Tanna, R. Meir (Sanhedrin 6b): Anyone who praises Yehudah is considered a blasphemer about whom it is said, “u-botze’a berech ni’etz et Hashem” (Tehilim 10:3), which R. Meir reads to mean: “and he who blesses the one who said ‘mah betza’ has blasphemed Hashem.” Maharsha (loc cit) contends that R. Meir’s criticism is not pointed at one who praises the act of salvation itself, limited as it was, for we find that even Yaakov praised Yehudah for this.^[2]See Rashi Bereshit.49:9. Rather, it was Yehudah’s rationale for not killing him, i.e.,“mah betza” – “what gain will there be,” that drew such a strong censure. Yehudah’s words imply that had there been some material gain, then this would have justified the murder of their brother. Such a proposition is tantamount to blasphemy. It is the fear of God that countermands murder, under all circumstances.

Yehudah’s failure was in asserting the materialistic, self-interested, utilitarian philosophy of mah betza. His redemption, therefore, would be to reject that flawed philosophy, something that takes place at the climax of the Yosef story. However, even before that, the Torah hints at Yehudah’s moral awakening.^[3]I thank Micha Berger for encouraging me to include this point. After the sale of Yosef, the Torah interrupts the story of Yosef’s descent to Egypt with the story of Yehudah and Tamar. Tamar was the wife of Yehudah’s eldest son Er, who was “evil in the eyes of Hashem and Hashem slew him” (Bereshit 38:7). Tamar is subsequently married to Er’s younger brother Onan, in accordance with the laws of yibum,^[4]See Devarim 25:5-6. but “Onan knew that the seed would not be his,^[5]See Ramban loc cit, verse 8 for an explanation of the esoteric concept of yibum. and it came to pass when he went in unto his brother’s wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest he should give seed to his brother. And the thing which he did was evil in the eyes of Hashem and He slew him also” (Bereshit 38:9-10). Rashi (verse 7) points out that the Torah’s formulation “And He slew him also” suggests that Er also sinned by spilling his seed, albeit for a different reason, to prevent Tamar from becoming pregnant, thereby preserving her youthful beauty. We have here a description of the mah betza philosophy taken to an ugly, selfish conclusion. As the story continues, Yehudah, afraid for his third son, isolates Tamar, who in accordance with the laws of yibum, is still bound like a wife to Yehudah’s family, and, in her desperation, she dresses up as a prostitute, lures Yehudah into impregnating her and takes several identifying objects from Yehudah as a security. When her pregnancy is discovered, Yehudah assumes that she has committed adultery and sentences her to be burned to death. As she is led out to be executed, Tamar sends a messenger to deliver the previously secured object to Yehudah, asking him to recognize who they belong to and then sends a separate messenger stating that the owner of the objects is the father of her unborn child. Rashi (verse 25) notes that Tamar was prepared to die before publicizing Yehudah’s guilt. From here we derive that it is better to be cast into a fiery furnace rather than embarrass someone in public.^[6]See Bava Metzia 59a. Tamar’s fearless moral stance is the antithesis of the mah betza philosophy. Perhaps Yehudah was impressed by her selfless act and this generated the process of introspection that led to his ultimate repentance. Indeed, Yehudah revoked Tamar’s death sentence and publicly acknowledged his paternity, an act which gained him no benefit and may have even brought him some reputational harm.

Yehudah’s opportunity to fully redeem himself came later, when the food the brothers had purchased on their first trip to Egypt ran out. The brothers could not return unless they brought their younger brother Binyamin with them to appease Yosef, who they only recognized as the capricious viceroy of Egypt. Again and again Yaakov refused to endanger his youngest son until Yehudah turned to his father and proclaimed, “Send the lad with me, and let us arise and go, so we will live and not die, we as well as you as well as our children. I will personally guarantee him [anochi e’ervenu]; of my own hand you can demand him. If I do not bring him back to you and stand him before you, then I will have sinned to you for all time.” (Bereshit 43:8-9). Later when Yosef threatened to take Binyamin as a slave, Yehudah repeated his promise, “For your servant guaranteed [arav] the youth from my father saying, ‘If I do not bring him back to you then I will have sinned to my father for all time.’ Now, therefore , please let your servant remain instead of the youth as a servant to my lord, and let the youth go up with his brothers” (ibid. 44:32-33).

Yehudah’s selfless act, to offer himself in place of Binyamin, is considered by the Talmud (Bava Batra 173b) to be analogous to the legal category of Arev– Gaurantor, a third party who agrees to repay a loan for a borrower if the latter defaults on his loan or in some cases, to repay the loan outright.^[7]The Talmud seems to conclude that Yehudah was in this second category known as arev kablan. See, however, Masoret ha-Shas loc. cit., who cites an alternative textual version of this Talmudic passage … Continue reading Rambam writes^[8]Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Mechirah 11:15 that even though an arev receives no benefit and does not make any legal affirmation, he effects his obligation to repay the loan simply by verbalizing his commitment. The Talmud does speak of an immaterial benefit, namely that the arev gets the satisfaction that the loan was transacted due to his guarantee, but Rambam seems to understand that even this benefit is only necessary to solve a secondary problem, namely, the possibility of a lack of resolve (asmachta) on the part of the arev.^[9]In Kehilot Yaakov, Kiddushin #10 R. Yaakov YIsrael Kanievski catalogs the differing approaches of other authorities, that the arev is considered to have received the monies himself or that the … Continue reading An arev receives no material benefit and is fundamentally unconcerned with his own personal gain. He does not ask- “mah betza?” Yehudah, by offering to guarantee Binyamin’s protection, did not ask “mah betza?” By acting selflessly, and in fact, to his own detriment, Yehudah repented for his earlier callous moral calculation regarding Yosef’s fate.

Original Cynicism

The origin of the mah betza philosophy can be found at the dawn of mankind. A superficial reading of the biblical story of the first sin, yields an untenable conclusion: prior to the sin, man was without intellect and it was only as a consequence of his sin that he attained the knowledge of tov and ra, good and evil. How can the attainment of intellect be construed as a punishment or a negative consequence? In the second chapter of the Guide to the Perplexed, Rambam deals with this question. Most readers of the Guide understand Rambam to say that before the sin man viewed everything in purely cognitive terms of true and false and that after eating of the tree he came to view matters in ethical terms of right and wrong, but R. Soloveitchik contends^[10]Worship of the Heart, Ktav, 2003. The quotations from this work are found on pp. 37-50. R. Soloveitchik’s point is not to reject the aesthetic model completely, but only to argue that it must be … Continue reading that Rambam’s interpretation is identical with the more explicit formulation of Ramban (Bereshit 2:9). The change within mankind was not one of true/false vs. right/wrong, rather “an opposition between the cognitive-ethical truth and falsity, on the one hand, and propriety and impropriety, what is pleasing or displeasing in an aesthetic sense, on the other hand.” R. Soloveitchik argues that the terms tov and ra, while sometimes meaning good and bad in the ethical sense, are understood by Rambam in this context to refer to the aesthetic:

Maimonides translates the words tov va-ra, in the story of the original fall, as meaning the pleasant and unpleasant, the comfortable and the uncomfortable, or the delightful and ugly. He says so explicitly when he continues, in explaining the fall: After man’s disobedience…he began to give way to desires that had their source in his imagination and to the gratification of his bodily appetites, as it is said, “And the wife saw that the tree was good for food and delightful to the eyes…” (Gen. 3:6) (Guide 1:2) (p.47).

Rambam took his cue from Gen. 3:6, where the word tov is clearly used in its aesthetic sense. The consequence of disobeying God’s command was that Man’s ability to intellectually and morally interpret his universe became sullied and confused by subjective and often fanciful or false perceptions.

R. Soloveitchik develops a dialectical approach to the human experience in which there are two world views: the cognitive-ethical and the aesthetic. The cognitive-ethical persona is “engaged in the search for truth.” He follows the dictates of his conscience which is guided by an “ethical law, unaltered” that “persists in her majestic dignity forever.” He “decides in favor of the norm many times a day and does not become bored or tired of repeating the same act hundreds of times, whenever his conscience commands him to do so.” The aesthetic persona, on the other hand, pursues beauty and sensuousness. He “rejects all objective, fixed, self-repeating experiences and searches for the mutable, the new and the unknown.” While R. Soloveitchik’s main purpose is to describe two perceptional modes that exist both concurrently and alternatingly within each person, it is also clear that one of the two modes will assert itself as the dominant philosophy and outlook within a given individual. The deeply religious person lives by an unaltered ethical law. He does not ask, “What gain is there for me?” He is not interested in pleasing himself, but in living up to an objective, transcendental truth. However, the superficially religious person is often an aesthete who “represents only himself; the entire creation centers around him.” The aesthetic model is essentially the materialistic, self-interested philosophy of mah betza. Murder is only wrong because it is ugly and unpleasing. If there is something to gain, it becomes a tantalizing possibility. The cognitive-ethical person will remain true to his principles even under external pressure, but the aesthete will begin to make cynical calculations and ask, “Mah betza?”

The incongruity between the mah betza philosophy and religion is highlighted by the careful wording of Rambam. In the third chapter of Hilkhot Teshuvah, Rambam categorizes different groups of unbelievers. For example, in halakhah 7 Rambam writes that anyone who believes in multiple gods or in a corporeal God, or even one who worships other powers as intermediaries between man and God, is labeled a min (heretic). Later in halakhah 9 the Rambam defines the category of meshumadim (apostates): “An apostate with respect to the whole Torah is one who at a time of religious persecution converted to the idolaters’ religion and clings to them saying, ‘What gain [mah betza] is there to me to cling to the Jewish People, who are lowly and persecuted. Better to join these nations who are powerful.’ Such a person is an apostate with respect to the whole Torah.”

There are two questions that the classical commentaries raise regarding this passage. First, why does Rambam limit apostasy to a time of religious persecution (and, we could add- why was it necessary to dramatize the apostasy by verbalizing the apostate’s cynical thoughts)? Second, Raavad points out that according to Rambam’s own words in halakhah 7 above, a person who converts to idolatry, believes in their gods, and should be categorized as a min. What need is there for the meshumad category? In response to the first question, R. Yosef Karo^[11]Kesef Mishneh loc. cit. explains that it is obvious that one who converts to another religion without external pressure is an apostate. Rambam only writes about a time of persecution because his novel claim is that even one who converts under duress is included in this category. R. Karo proposes several possible answers to the question of why the category of meshumad is necessary. Perhaps, Rambam is speaking of one who converts to those religions that are not considered idolatry. Alternatively, Rambam is asserting that one who converts to idolatry is both a min and a meshumad, compounding his negative status, although the ramifications of this double status are unclear. Finally, R. Karo contends that Raavad’s presumption, that one who converts to idolatrous practice necessarily believes in its theology, is mistaken. One who believes in idols is a min. However, one who merely goes through the motions of external worship is a meshumad.

R. Moshe Avigdor Amiel suggests^[12]“Yoma Tava le-Rabbanan.” Sefer ha-Yovel le-khevod R. Shimon Yehudah ha-kohen Shkop, pp.38-44. a different understanding of this passage in Hilkhot Teshuvah which solves all the difficulties in Rambam’s formulation. Earlier in Mishneh Torah^[13]Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 5:4 Rambam writes that even though one who is coerced to worship idols must forfeit his life, if he does not do so he is not punished because he acted under duress. It follows that, since one who was pressured to convert and did so out of fear is not held entirely accountable for his actions, he should not be placed in any of the categories of unbelievers. Furthermore, the Kesef Mishneh’s assumption, that it is obvious that one who converts without any external pressure is an apostate, is also incorrect. Such an individual is certainly a min because they have willfully accepted idolatry, but the category of apostasy signifies something else. Rambam’s construction of the meshumad classification in Hilkhot Teshuvah is very exact. Only one who converts during a time of persecution, not because he believes in idolatry, but also not out of fear, rather because of the cynical calculation “What gain [mah betza] is there to me to cling to the Jewish People?” is an apostate. It is the materialist, the cynic who abandons God and the Jewish people over a question of what there is to gain, who is labeled a meshumad.

Judaic vs. Hellenic

In the early days of the Second Temple, the prophet Malachi rebuked his generation forthrightly: “Your words have become harsh against Me,” says God. But you say, “How have we spoken against You?” You have said, “It is useless to serve God! And what gain [mah betza] is there for having kept His watch and that we walk submissively before Hashem, Master of Legions?” (Malachi 3:13-14). R. Amiel writes that while the statement “it is useless to serve God” may seem more shocking, it is the materialistic philosophy expressed in the words mah betza that is the greater problem. With someone who does not appreciate the value of divine service, we can argue and debate. However, the entire discussion is undermined by framing the question purely in material terms. If someone does not see the world through the prism of spirituality, but only in terms of earthly profit, then there is no common language and there can be no conversation. It was because of this materialistic orientation that Malachi’s generation concluded, “So now we will praise the wicked. Evildoers will be built up; they have even tested God and escaped.” (ibid. 15). If immediate material success is the only gauge by which to evaluate the world, the conclusion is inescapable.

Sefer ha-Makavim I paints a picture of the Jews in the pre-Hasmonean period, which echoes the words of Malachi: “In those days there came forth out of Israel, lawless men and persuaded many, saying, ‘Let us go and make a covenant with the nations that are around us; for since we separated ourselves from them many evils have come upon us.’”^[14]Sefer ha-Makavim 1:11 The author of Sefer ha-Makavim concludes his preamble “And they joined themselves to the Gentiles, and sold themselves to do evil.”^[15]Ibid.1:15 It is possible that Malachi was not speaking only to his generation, but prophetically, to the future generations of Hellenizers who would arrive on the scene only a short time after Malachi’s time.^[16]Shem mi-Shemuel, Chanukah 5678, Leil 4 sees a causal and somewhat mystical connection between the attitude of the Jews of Malachi’s generation and the rise of Hellenism. The main motivation behind the process of Hellenization amongst all the peoples of the East, including the Jews of that period, was the advancement of economic and social status.^[17]“It can be said that the initiative towards Hellenization, that is, for partial or total adoption of the Greek way of life, originated unilaterally from the Semitic and Egyptian natives who … Continue reading The Jewish assimilationists cared little for the unique and eternal destiny of the Jewish nation because their only value system was “mah betza.”

To a great degree, the Jews under Hellenist rule were simply absorbing the materialistic culture around them. The Cambridge History of Judaism reports that, in general, religion was in decline during this time: “The most encouraged religion of this period was the pseudo-religion of ruler worship, the divinization of the ‘superman’ endowed by Tyche [the goddess of luck] with success.”^[18]Cambridge History of Judaism v.2, Cambridge, 1989, p.181 This is a description of materialism raised up as a deity. It is unsurprising that the author of Sefer ha-Makavim, drawing a contrast between the cynical materialism of the Hellenists and the idealism of the Chashmona’im, describes the beginning of the revolt against the Greeks with these words: “And Matityahu cried out with a loud voice in the city saying, ‘All who are zealous for the Torah and stand firm with the covenant – let them follow after me!’ And he and his sons fled into the mountains, and left all that they possessed in the city.”^[19]Sefer ha-Makavim 2:27-28. Matityahu and his sons gave no thought to their material possessions for the sake of God’s eternal law. Moreover, in doing so, they remained steadfast in viewing the world through the Torah’s cognitive-ethical lens.

The fundamental difference between the Judaic and Hellenic worldviews can already be seen in the character of their respective ancestors Shem and Yefet, the sons of Noach. The Torah recounts the post-flood scandal in which Noach became drunk and was found lying naked in his tent. His son Cham stared unabashedly and mocked the old man, but “Shem and Yefet took [va-yikach] a garment, laid it upon both their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and covered their father’s nakedness; their faces were turned away and they saw not their father’s nakedness” (Bereshit 9:23). One grammatical point that is glaring in the text is that while both Shem and Yefet performed this filial service, the verb used to describe their noble act is in the singular, with Shem as the antecedent. Rashi explains that Shem initiated the idea of covering up his father, whereas Yefet only acted after Shem. The Torah further contrasts the brothers in the sequel to this story. Upon waking from his drunken stupor, Noach blessed his sons, “Yaft Elokim le-Yefet, ve-yishkon be-ohalei Shem” (Bereshit 9:27), which Rashi translates as “May God give beauty to Yefet but may His divine presence dwell in the tents of Shem.”

What is the exact difference between Shem and Yefet and how were Noach’s blessings suitable to each brother? R. Solovetichik^[20]Rabbi Hershel Schachter, Nefesh HaRav, pp .272-273. explains that there are two categories that govern behavior: ethics and etiquette. Shem, the ancestor of the Jewish people, reacted to his father’s predicament based on a fundamental ethical principle. He did not care if anyone else was looking. He did not seek corroboration or approval from others. The ethical act is self-motivating and intrinsic. On the other hand, Yefet, the father of Greece, was a follower of etiquette, which is the practical expression of the aesthetic sense. Only after seeing what his brother Shem was doing and deciding that indifference would be ugly and participation, beautiful, did he join his brother in covering their father’s shame. The nature of the brothers’ rewards corresponded to their temperaments. The blessing of beauty, the aesthetic, was given to Yefet, but the source of morality, the divine presence was granted to the descendants of Shem.

Chanukah

Against this historical-anthropological backdrop we can understand one of the earliest moral instructions recorded in the Mishnah: “Antigonus, leader of Socho, received the Tradition from the Shimon the Righteous. He used to say: ‘Be not like servants who serve their master for the sake of receiving a reward; rather be like servants who serve their master not for the sake of receiving a reward. And let the awe of Heaven be upon you.’”^[21]Avot 1:3. Antigonus, bearing a Greek name and living during the early years of Hellenization in Israel, saw very clearly the materialistic nature of the Hellenists. He therefore sought to inculcate the Jewish people with the value of sincere worship and inoculate the nation against the influence of the mah betza culture. He preached that only the fear of Heaven should dictate behavior, not the hope of a reward. According to most commentators, Antigonus admonished against serving God even with the hope of a spiritual reward, a position that is contradicted by numerous statements throughout rabbinic literature.^[22]See Tosafot Yom Tov,loc cit. For this reason Abarbanel, in his commentary to the Mishnah, differentiates between serving God with the hope of a spiritual reward, which is consonant with the Jewish outlook, and worshiping with the anticipation of material compensation that turns the Torah into a coarse utilitarian tool. However, even if we accept that Antigonus censured serving God for a spiritual reward as well, perhaps he preached this extreme message in order to undermine the materialistic focus of his society. In another time or place, serving God to attain Olam ha-Ba might be virtuous indeed, but in Hellenist Palestine, such an approach to divine service would have been easily corrupted by the mah betza attitude that was everywhere in the air.

Understanding the zeitgeist that prevailed during and after Antigonus’ years helps to explain the strange and tragic story of two of his students, Tzadok and Baytus who transmitted their teacher’s instruction in a confused fashion so that their disciples drew erroneous conclusions: “They began to examine the words closely and demanded: ‘What did our Sages see to say such a thing? Is it possible that a laborer should work all day and not take a salary in the evening? Rather, if our Sages had known that there is another world and that there will be a resurrection of the dead they would not have said that.’ So they arose and abandoned the Torah and split into two sects…Tzadokim named after Tzadok and the Baytusim named after Baytus” (Avot de-Rabi Natan 5). How could they have so misconstrued Antigonus’ teachings as to lead them into complete heresy? If we keep in mind that these younger students had probably already imbibed the Hellenistic, materialistic perspective that was rampant throughout the culture around them, then it becomes much more understandable how they could make such an error. When the attitude of “what gain is there” is axiomatic, then to suggest serving without thinking of a reward is completely ludicrous. Their own preconceived impressions of the world left them little cognitive room to correctly understand Antignos’ lesson. So they concluded that religious service must promise no reward whatsoever.

The ideological battle between the Hellenists and the Chashmona’im was fought, therefore, not only in the open arena of ideas, but on an unseen, subtle level of axiological assumptions. The Hellenists viewed the world materialistically, predicating their actions on the answer to the question “what gain is there?” The heroes of Jewish history determined their behavior following an essentially cognitive-ethical model; doing what is right, simply because it is right. The Talmud (Shabbat 21b) records a debate amongst the Amorai’m as to whether one may derive benefit from the Chanukah candles. The Halacha follows the opinion of Rav that all benefit is prohibited.^[23]Shulchan Arukh Orach Chaim 673:1. This is the basis of the liturgical poem ha-Nerot Halalu, recited upon lighting the candles, in which we proclaim, “And during all eight days of Chanukah these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make use of them, only to look at them, in order to give thanks and praise to Your great name.” The medieval commentators debated the basis for the prohibition against making use of the light of the candles,^[24]See for example, Rashi loc. cit., s.v. ve-assur and Ran s.v. Hilkhot. See also Shu”t Binyan Shelomo 2:63 who discusses the different opinions, their practical ramifications and subtleties of … Continue reading however, the Chida writes,^[25]Devarim Achadim 32 as an additional suggestion, that the Chanukah candles serve as a model for the performance of all mitzvot: without regard to reward or benefit. Indeed, if the Chanukah candles symbolize the victory of the Torah’s worldview over that of the Hellenists, it is crucial that there should be no material gain from the candles.

The question mah betza appears three times in Tanakh: in the story of Yehudah, in Malachi and in the thirtieth chapter of Tehillim entitled “Mizmor Shir Chanukat ha-Bayit le-David” – “A psalm, a song for the inauguration of the Temple by David.” It is the custom of many communities to read this psalm during the week of Chanukah^[26]See Masekhet Soferim 18:2 and among the many themes of this psalm that make it relevant to this holiday is David’s plea to Hashem to spare his life: What gain [mah betza] is there in my death, in my descent to the pit? Will the dust acknowledge You? Will it declare Your truth?” (10-11). David does not seek material gain. He asks for his life, not for himself, but in order to spread the moral truth of the Torah and increase the glory of Heaven in this world. David’s mah betza is completely different from the selfish question posed by Malachi’s contemporaries and by Yehudah. We read this psalm on Chanukah, in part, because we are celebrating the rejection of the cynical, material betza of the Hellenists and their cohorts, for the selfless, spiritual betza of which David speaks and which is symbolized in the untouchable candles of the menorah.

Contemporary Lessons

The Chanukah candles remind us that the laws and moral values of the Torah are sacred because they are true. Truth is not what we want it to be, but what is actually true, and morality is not what looks or feels moral to our aesthetic sense, but what really is moral. Modern Western culture is rooted in a hedonistic, materialistic worldview and it is therefore unsurprising that moral judgments are often rendered by subjective, aesthetic preference, rather than by an objective divine moral standard. The tragedy of Jewish history is that the surrounding culture subtly and unconsciously influences our axiomatic assumptions, which in turn corrupts our ability to interpret and ultimately accept the Torah’s doctrines and code of conduct. The influence is insidious precisely because it is subtle, shifting our whole way of thinking about reality, so that the Torah’s worldview seems foreign and, often, chalilah, immoral.

Adam and Chava were driven from Paradise because they allowed the aesthetic sense to dominate the cognitive-moral one. Shem, son of Noach, merited the company of the divine presence because he asserted his ethical perception over the subjective and often whimsical system of etiquette favored by his brother, Yefet. In the persona of Yehudah, the fight between these two facets of human behavior is spread out across the riveting saga of Yosef and his brothers. And again and again throughout Jewish history, there have been some who have adopted the philosophy of Yefet against that of Shem and have sold Jewish destiny and holiness for the price of an elusive benefit in this world. The flickering of the Chanukah lights and the echo of Matityahu’s cry, “All who are zealous for the Torah and stand firm with the covenant – let them follow after me!” must strengthen us in our resolve to be true to God’s will and His moral and religious law.