Nechama Leibowitz, in her analysis of Yosef's interaction with Potiphar's wife, notes that there are two types of situations which might lead to the erosion of a person's bond to God. One is the type in which we find Yosef at the beginning of this week's parsha -- that of the poor, downtrodden soul who has been exiled from his land and unjustly persecuted. Yet equally dangerous is the plight of one who, though enslaved, enjoys the favor of his masters and has advanced to a high position among them. In the house of Potiphar, we find Yosef on the brink of spiritual disaster. He is only seconds away from allowing the temptation of Potiphar's wife to completely eclipse his loyalty to the faith and lifestyle of Avraham. Yosef manages to preserve the last vestige of his integrity, according to our Sages, by looking up to see the image of his father hovering before him. Somehow, even in the darkness of his exile (which, by that time, was both physical and spiritual), Yosef still cherished the memories of his father's tradition; thus he was saved from complete collapse. At the end of her analysis, Leibowitz asks an important question: What about those Jews who only have a second- or third-hand glimpse of their ancestors' tradition? Do they have any hope of being rescued from the darkness of their current exile?
One answer to her question seems to appear in the meaning of Chanukah. Reb Shlomo Carlebach, in the name of the Baal Shem Tov, teaches that the highest level of teshuva that a Jew can attain on Yom Kippur is nothing compared to the holiness that even the lowliest Jew can reach on Chanukah. The light of Chanukah is the pure, eternal point of holiness found in every Jewish soul; when accessed, it has the power to cause radical transformations. Reb Shlomo teaches that the reason we say the bracha "l'hadlik ner chanukah" (to light the Chanukah candle) and not "l'hadlik ner b'chanuka" (to light the candle on Chanukah) is that the light of Chanukah is present all the time, just waiting to be revealed by our lighting of the candles. It is the same holy light that existed for our grandparents and theirs before them, for the Maccabees, for King David, for Moses, for Rachel and Leah.
In last week's parsha, Rashi brings a Midrash which explains that Yaakov remained behind in order to go back to get "pachim k'tanim." Another Midrash explains that these small vessels contained pure oil from the olive brought to Noah by the dove to signify the end of the flood. Reb Shlomo says that Yaakov was really going back to get those Jews who were so caught up Lavan's world that they didn't have the strength to make it out on their own. A related idea is found in the Ramban, who writes that the incident with the angel is an allusion to Chanukah. Yaakov's hip injury represents the future inability of the Jews to stand up to Hellenistic assimilation. But Yaakov, though he limps for he rest of his life, also represents the victory over assimilation. He wasn't willing to leave anyone behind, even the weakest, smallest soul. It is no surprise that his is the face that appeared before Yosef at the moment when he risked being swallowed by the temptations of Egypt.
In our community, where many of us are just beginning to return to our Jewish selves, we may not always have a direct line from our immediate ancestors to grab onto in times of spiritual crisis. But we all maintain an untouched point of purity inside which may be called upon to shed light on the illusions of our lives. May we be blessed, as we light the oil of Chanukah, to tap into our awareness of God as it was in Gan Eden, before sin and exile. And Hashem allow us to share that light with each other, with those still stuck in darkness and with our future generations.