"Mai Chanukah"—"What is Chanukah?"

The question, posed in such simple language by the Talmud (Shabbat 21b), is at once familiar and jarring. Is the answer not self-evident? By the time the Talmud was redacted, Chanukah had been observed for centuries. Jews had kindled lights in their doorways, recited hallel in their synagogues, and added Al Ha-Nisim to their prayers for generations. The historical record was clear; the customs were entrenched. What, then, does the Talmud mean to ask?

Rashi pauses over the question to explain that it is asking "upon which miracle was the festival established?" Chanukah commemorates many things: a military victory against impossible odds, the rededication of the Temple, the restoration of Jewish sovereignty, the defiance of a culture that sought to extinguish Jewish practice. Yet when the Talmud asks what Chanukah is, this is the tale it offers:

"On the twenty-fifth of Kislev begin the days of Chanukah, which are eight, during which lamentation and fasting are forbidden. For when the Greeks entered the Sanctuary, they defiled all the oils therein. When the Hasmonean dynasty prevailed and defeated them, they searched and found only one flask of oil, sealed with the seal of the High Priest. It contained only enough to light for one day. A miracle occurred with it, and they lit from it for eight days. The following year, they established these days and made them holidays of hallel and thanksgiving."

The passage is spare, almost austere. No description of the war, no record of the rebellion, no trace of triumph or pageantry. Only a sealed flask, a brief act of faith, and a light that endured beyond its measure.

Maimonides (Hil. Chanukah 3:1-2) provides a fuller historical account (quoted almost verbatim by the Mishnah Berurah 670:1): the Greek kings issued decrees against Israel, abolishing their religion and forbidding Torah and mitzvot. They seized their property and their daughters, entered the Sanctuary and breached it, defiled what was pure. Israel suffered greatly until the God of their fathers had mercy upon them. The sons of the Hasmonean High Priests rose, defeated their oppressors, and redeemed Israel. Sovereignty returned for more than two hundred years. When Israel prevailed—on the twenty-fifth of Kislev—they entered the Sanctuary and found no pure oil except one flask, sealed with the seal of the High Priest, containing enough to burn for only one day. They kindled from it the lamps of the Menorah for eight days, until olives could be pressed and new oil extracted.

The Greek decrees were not political but theological, striking at the very core of Jewish faith. They sought not merely to conquer the land but to extinguish the covenant—to erase Torah, desecrate holiness, and dissolve the distinctiveness of the Jewish soul into the currents of Hellenism. The Hasmonean uprising was therefore not a political rebellion but a battle for spiritual survival. It was faith, not freedom, that was at stake.

When the dust of battle settled, it was not yet time to revel in miraculous military salvation. The fighting may have ceased, but the struggle for the soul of the nation was far from over. The Temple, where Heaven meets Earth, still stood in eerie stillness, its defiled state echoing the spiritual desolation the Greeks had left in their wake.

From this perspective, the military victory alone was not the true miracle but its prelude. The lighting of the Menorah was not a consequence of the military victory but the reason for it. The oil that should have burned for one night and endured for eight was not only a human triumph of faith but a Divine gesture of reconciliation. The persistence of the flame became the answer to the Hellenistic challenge, the proof that sanctity could outlast empire, that Divine presence would not reject a nation who refused to let it go.

Thus the question about the curious absence of the war miracle in the early sources begins to answer itself. It was not strength that restored Israel, but light.

The Relationship Between the Two Miracles

And yet a question presses itself. The military triumph was, by any measure, the greater deliverance. The liturgy of Al Ha-Nisim speaks of nothing but this victory—"You delivered the mighty into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few"—and makes no mention of oil at all. Why, then, does the Talmud locate the festival's meaning in a miracle that seems, by comparison, almost incidental?

The Darkei Moshe (670:1) raises this tension. The Mordechai HaAruch records that according to Megillat Ta'anit, Chanukah was first instituted to celebrate the rededication of the altar. Yet the Talmud explicitly roots the holiday in the miracle of the oil. R. Avraham of Prague resolves the dissonance by distinguishing between two forms of celebration: the rededication of the altar inspired days of feasting and rejoicing, while hallel and thanksgiving were established specifically in response to the miracle of the oil.

The Kuntres Chanukah U'Megillah cites Rabbenu Yonah (Berachot 21a in Rif's pagination), who offers a profound interpretation of the verse, "Truly, You are a God who conceals Himself, O God of Israel, the Savior" (Isaiah 45:15). Though the Holy One remains invisible to the eye, He becomes manifest through His mighty deeds and wonders. Through His acts of salvation, people perceive His presence and come to recognize Him. The miracle of the oil thus becomes a moment of divine self-disclosure, a radiance through which Israel could once again perceive God's nearness.

Rabbi Yonatan HaKohen of Luneil, in his commentary to Shabbat 21b, adds another dimension: the eight-day span was established to mark an unprecedented persecution—never before had a foreign power sought to erase mitzvot entirely. The Sages instituted an eight-day commemoration matching Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret. The festival would have existed without the oil; the oil gave it its distinctive ritual form.

Birchat Mo'adekha develops this further. Chanukah was founded primarily to commemorate the salvation of war. The eight days would have been observed in any case, in thanksgiving for national deliverance. What the oil introduced was not the holiday itself but the menorah as its symbol. He notes that this connection between Chanukah and Sukkot is already recorded in the Second Book of Maccabees (chapter 1), where the festival is called "the Sukkot of the month of Kislev." The previous Sukkot, the people had been driven to hide in caves and mountains. Now liberated, they celebrated with the branches and fronds they had been denied, offering thanksgiving to God for enabling them to purify His sanctuary.

The Oil as Authentication

The Taz (670:3) contrasts Chanukah with Purim, two salvations that seem cut of different cloth. Purim commemorates an openly miraculous salvation of lives, warranting physical celebration. Chanukah commemorates what is primarily a spiritual salvation; celebrates a military victory that, while divinely orchestrated, could appear to skeptics as a natural occurrence—the product of strategy, courage, or fortune. Only through the unmistakable miracle of the oil was the supernatural character of the deliverance made manifest. Therefore, the Sages established Chanukah primarily as a festival of hallel and thanksgiving rather than feasting, focusing on the clearly miraculous aspect—the oil—which demanded spiritual acknowledgment through liturgical praise.

The Mateh Moshe (§977) makes this explicit. Military victories always leave room for denial. They belong to the realm of probability, however small. But a flask of oil sufficient for one night that burns for eight lies beyond any natural calculus. It cannot be rationalized; it can only be witnessed. In that flickering light, skepticism has no foothold. It is the world's quietest refutation—the moment when Israel could say, without hesitation or apology, "This is from God; it is wondrous in our eyes."

The two miracles are not separate; they are one. The victory delivered the Temple into Jewish hands; the oil confirmed that Heaven had delivered it too.

The Necessity of the Miracle

The Pnei Yehoshua and Chacham Tzvi (§87) ask: since the Hasmoneans had found plenty of impure oil, what need was there for a miracle? There is a halakhic principle that communal offerings may be brought even in a state of ritual impurity when no pure alternative exists. If so, the menorah could have been kindled with defiled oil. Why did Heaven intervene?

The supreme purpose of the Chanukah miracles was the restoration of Israel's ability to perform God's will with perfection. True, the mitzvah could have been fulfilled with impure oil, but the miracle enabled them to fulfill it with hiddur, aesthetic and spiritual beautification. The Pnei Yehoshua and Beit Ha-Levi note that even within natural means, the Hasmoneans could have rationed the oil or used thinner wicks. Yet after years of desecration, it was not enough merely to serve God again—the nation wished to serve Him perfectly.

This understanding hearkens to the language of Al Ha-Nisim: "the impure into the hands of the pure, the wicked into the hands of the righteous." The essence of the miracles was not merely physical survival but the restoration of sovereignty to a righteous, pure people devoted to Torah, enabling them to serve God with complete purity.

The Maharetz Chayot (Shabbat 21b), quotes Megillat Ta’anit (ch. 9) that the eight days correspond to the labor of rebuilding the altar and restoring vessels; and to “eight iron spits” set in place and kindled as makeshift menorahs. Before there was a miracle of oil, there was a miracle of resolve.

R. Ya’akov Emden, in Mor U’Ketziah, reverses the hierarchy. The primary miracle is deliverance itself: a spiritually targeted nation rescued from decrees meant to sever it from Torah, and a handful prevailing against many in providential fashion. The day is Chanukah, dedication, because the victory’s point was restoration of the Temple and its service. The oil miracle becomes Heaven’s confirming signature, forcing the eye to see the whole sequence differently, and responding measure-for-measure to the refusal to settle for the minimum when holiness was at stake.

R. Emden notices the human component that invited this divine completion. The community could have relied on the halakhic allowance of communal impurity; they did not. They searched for sealed, undefiled oil, refusing to settle for the minimum when holiness was at stake. The miracle responds measure-for-measure: when Israel reaches for purity beyond the easiest path, God sustains that pursuit beyond what nature would permit.

The Question of the Beit Yosef

The question of the Beit Yosef (O.C. §670) has occupied commentators for centuries: if the oil in the discovered flask was sufficient to burn for one night, then the miracle extended only seven additional days. Why then do we celebrate eight?

The Beit Yosef suggests three possibilities. First, the Hasmoneans divided the flask into eight equal portions, lighting one part each night. Though naturally insufficient, each fraction miraculously endured until dawn. Human initiative precedes Divine amplification.

Second, after filling the Menorah with the proper measure on the first night, the flask miraculously remained full. The miracle is evident already from the first night.

Third, they may have poured all the oil into the lamps on the first night, which burned throughout, yet by morning the lamps were found full again.

The Meiri had anticipated the first answer, envisioning the division of oil as a deliberate act of faith. Later authorities, including the Pri Chadash, object: Judaism does not permit reliance on miracles ab initio.

R. Asher Weiss (Minchat Asher on Emunah u'Bitachon, §27) reframes the discussion entirely. For him, the miracle begins not with the flame but with the finding. The Greeks had ravaged the sanctuary, defiled every vessel, polluted every flask. To discover a single vial, sealed with the mark of the High Priest, was already to encounter the supernatural. That survival itself was a Divine signal. Once Heaven had revealed its hand so unmistakably, relying upon that sign was not presumption but devotion.

The Taz (O.C. §670:1) remains unsatisfied with all the Beit Yosef's suggestions. He invokes a principle from the Zohar: divine blessing multiplies only what already exists. Had the Hasmoneans consumed the entire flask's contents on the first night, no substance would have remained for miraculous multiplication. Therefore, even on the first night, they must have reserved a portion. It was upon this remainder that Divine blessing rested. The Megillat Sefer (§2) strengthens this approach, finding support in Ma'oz Tzur, which describes the miracle as originating "from the remnant of the flasks."

Other commentators suggest the premise is mistaken—the miracle was never primarily about the oil's endurance, but the eight-day duration was instituted to parallel Sukkot, as the Book of Maccabees confirms. (See Aruch HaShulchan (O.C. §670:5)and Birchat Mo'adecha.)

The Meiri (Shabbat 21b) explains that full hallel is recited each day because the miracle itself renewed each night. Unlike the Exodus, where redemption occurred in a single moment and full hallel is recited only on the first day, Chanukah was a miracle that unfolded gradually. On each subsequent night, blessings were recited as the miracle continued, day after day, night after night.

Some authorities suggest the flask itself was empty, and the very act of lighting called the miracle into being. The Ner Ish U'Beito adds that the flask was so small it could not have contained even one day's supply—the miracle began from the very first moment.

The Responsa Binyan Shlomo (§53) adds a functional point: according to Maimonides, the Menorah required lighting in the morning as well; one night’s supply would not cover both, and thus even the first day demanded miracle.

The Avnei Pinah (§22) advances a functional understanding. The eight-day duration was essential—precisely the time required to produce new pure oil. Had the miracle lasted fewer days, the Hasmoneans would ultimately have been forced to resort to defiled oil. Only an eight-day span ensured uninterrupted service in purity. From this perspective, the eight days are not discrete units but components of a single continuous miracle—the discovery, initial lighting, and sustained burning together constitute one unbroken act of Divine providence.

The Distinction of Days

The Talmud (Arachin 10a–10b) teaches: there are eighteen days in the year on which full Hallel is recited—eight days of Sukkot, eight of Chanukah, the first day of Pesach, and Shavuot. Sukkot warrants full Hallel each day because its offerings differ daily; Pesach does not, because its offerings remain uniform.

Building on this principle, the Shibbolei HaLeket asks why Chanukah merits full Hallel each day (Laws of Rosh Chodesh §174). Rashi explains that the progressive increase in candles distinguishes one day from the next. R. Binyamin proposes instead that the miracle renewed daily.

The Ner Ish U’Beito (§36) reads these views as a disagreement about the miracle’s nature: a single continuous miracle, or daily replenishment. He connects this to Shabbat 23a: why recite she-asah nisim every night, but shehecheyanu only once? “Because the miracle exists each day”. The same divergence may underlie Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai’s dispute: begin with one and increase, or begin with eight and decrease (Shabbat 21b).

Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik suggested that Beit Hillel sees gratitude growing with revealed goodness; Beit Shammai sees thanksgiving corresponding to deliverance from danger, greatest at the outset and diminishing with each passing day.

The Distinctive Nature of Chanukah's Oil Miracle

Throughout Jewish history, there have been numerous miraculous events involving oil and light. What rendered the Chanukah miracle singular?

The Chiddushei HaRim (Vayeshev) explains its distinction lay in its public revelation. Unlike private miracles granted to individuals, this miracle unfolded before the entire nation. Its illumination was not only physical but collective—an open manifestation of Divine favor visible to all. The Me'orot Natan adds that the miracle expressed God's exceptional affection for His people, granting them purity even where the law would have permitted impurity.

Viewed through the framework established above, the holiday’s essence emerges with greater clarity. Chanukah commemorates not the miracle in isolation but its function within the broader arc of redemption. The victory and the oil are not parallel wonders but interwoven expressions of a single Divine movement. On one level, the discovery of the sealed flask served as proof that the military triumph was not a product of human valor but of Divine design. On the other, both miracles share a unified purpose of the restoration of Israel’s service to God in purity and light.

Conclusion

What was it about those eight days that altered the rhythm between Heaven and earth? This is the question of "mai Chanukah" that the commentaries circle across the centuries, tracing the flicker of meaning hidden within the flame.

What they describe is not a chain of theories but a single unfolding—that the miracle was never merely in the oil, but in the dialogue it revealed. The hand that lit became the channel through which the Divine reentered the world. The flame did not descend from above but rose from below. In a Jerusalem whose prophets had long since lay silent, revelation was invited by human hands.

The Hasmonean uprising was not a political rebellion but a battle for spiritual survival. It was faith, not freedom, that was at stake.

From this perspective, the military victory alone was not the true miracle but its prelude. The lighting of the menorah was not a consequence of the military victory but the reason for it. The oil that should have burned for one night and endured for eight was not only a human triumph of faith but a Divine gesture of reconciliation. The persistence of the flame became the answer to the Hellenistic challenge, the proof that sanctity could outlast empire, that Divine presence would not reject a nation who refused to let it go.

From that moment forward, Chanukah ceased to be the story of conquest and became a story of covenant—of a people who kept burning when they should have gone dark, and of Heaven who kept their light alive.

The menorah then is less a commemorative ritual than a reenactment of a covenantal moment—a people reaching upward, and a Divine Presence meeting them in the flame.

This is Chanukah.

(Excerpted from the soon forthcoming “Generations of Light”. Thanks to Adina Feldman for editing.)