The story of Joseph and the story of Chanukah demonstrate the destructive power of forgetting, along with a silver lining to that destruction. In Joseph’s story, when Pharaoh’s cup-bearer returns to the palace, he forgets the incredible dream-interpreter suffering in prison. Years later, after Joseph’s family has settled in Egypt, a new Pharaoh forgets Joseph and proceeds to enslave and cruelly oppress the Children of Israel. These acts of forgetting both have “happy endings”: Joseph emerges from prison to a powerful political position, and the exodus from Pharaoh’s slavery becomes the ultimate paradigm of redemption.
The fascinating thinker Rav Yitzchak Hutner describes the destructive forgetting in the Chanukah story: We forgot the Torah. (Pachad Yitzchak Chanukah, Essay 3) He argues that, unlike the other redemptions we experienced — like the exodus — the effects of the Chanukah story’s Greek persecution were never resolved: We still feel their effects today. He notes that according to the Rabbis’ self-conception, the Hellenist occupation “darkened our eyes to our laws.” Even after the “happy ending” of the Chanukah story, the Torah remained forgotten. We know that something fundamentally changed because the first halakhic makhloket (legal disagreement) appears during this time.
Up until that point, we remembered the teachings from Moses because they were passed down for generations in a direct chain from Sinai. We did not need to argue about halakhah because the halakhah was always clear. However, through the events of the Chanukah story, there was a seismic shift in our relationship to our inherited truths: We forgot the Torah and had to try to recover it. And, in this recovery process, we realized we disagreed about what we had tried to remember. We argued whether something was pure or impure, whether a person was liable for punishment or was innocent, and whether an action was permitted or forbidden. To this day, makhloket is a defining feature of how we engage with Torah and one another.
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The loss of forgetting the Torah also has a silver lining. Citing a passage in Eruvin 54a, Rav Hutner argues that just like God commended Moses for breaking the first tablets, sometimes destroying Torah is actually a fulfillment of Torah. Here in the Chanukah story, forgetting the Torah led to the expansion of Torah.
Once there were halakhic disagreements, suddenly, instead of one teaching, there were two. After Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai argued bitterly for years, a heavenly voice announced: “These and these are the words of the living God.” (Eruvin 13b) Even if we follow Beit Hillel’s opinion, Beit Shammai’s opinion is still part of Torah, still holy. Although makhlokot stem from forgetting the Torah, Torah thrives and expands as we argue, trying to uncover its truths. When we have different truths, we increase the Torah in the world, and thus beautify it.Whether we are lighting one candle each night or many, the Chanukah lights are intended for people on the “outside” — those on the margins. The internal practice of Chanukah is to turn outward and examine how we help illuminate God’s holiness for people on the outside of our society.
I am generally skeptical of silver linings. Even the redemptions of Joseph and Chanukah leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Redemption does not take away the years of cruel suffering in Egypt. I adore our fraught and makhloket-filled Torah that is a product of the time of Chanukah, but I also see how our arguments can make us internally cruel.
Today in America, we are living through another painful period of destructive forgetting, which, God-willing, will end with its own sort of redemption. However, I am skeptical of our ability to find a silver lining in the destructive forgetting in American politics today. While America has never fully lived up to its own dream of equality and justice for all, the current administration has erased our aspirations toward increased diversity, equity, and inclusion. They have torn down lifesaving institutions and cut off funding for innumerable programs working to make our world a better place.
My community in Washington is experiencing so much pain. Many of my constituents and loved ones have lost their jobs in the wake of federal job cuts. Even for federal workers who were able to keep their jobs, the current administration has fundamentally corrupted the institutions where they work.
Eventually, this time of destruction will pass, and I pray that it does so soon. I do not think anything will be able to justify the suffering and loss of life caused by today’s politics. However, I hope that we can experience a hint of the redemption in Joseph’s story. I hope that, like the story of Chanukah, some aspects of this destruction might be generative if we attend to our values with care. When so much has been torn down, perhaps we will have the opportunity to imagine new futures, which, like the Torah, become more joyful, multivocal, and expansive than we ever thought possible.
Rabbi Atara Cohen (she/her) is the director of Jewish life and learning at the Edlavitch DCJCC. Trained in traditional Yeshiva contexts, she is dedicated to translating the complexity of Torah into the complexity of contemporary life. You can follow her on Instagram @rav_atara.