The Unbroken Cruse of Oil: Shani Louk, Rabbi Akiva, and the Indestructible Spirit of Am Yisrael

On October 7th the unbuilt Third Temple was destroyed—our women and children murdered and desecrated, our cities, lay sacked and smoldering, young and old snatched like trophies in a subhuman orgy of the grotesque.

In tribute to their memories, I imagine the 364 free spirited beautiful people who were gunned down in cold blood, dancing, as the innocent Cherubs atop the Ark of the Covenent. The Negev desert as the covering of the Ark, a sandy dance floor that stretched over the across the scrolls and fragments of the tablets of stone, themselves flush with the joy of just being feted, held aloft, hugged, smothered with a million kisses, swept into the vortex of wild celebratory circles heralding the poetic lyrics nestled within, peacefully asleep, themselves, gently encasing, Abraham, Miriam, Rachel and Jacob. Only Moses, cursed with his insistence on knowing the truth, was awake, drowning in a sea of tears, his flailing hands trembling with an ancient fury, as he cries out, "I know this wasn't you, the G-d whose Glory I sought." "Perhaps some of Ishmael's children, wayward bloodthirsty ones, heard, "seeking me in the gory."

Out of the corner of her eye, whose concealed inner side housed the the depths of her irrepressible exuberance, a generosity of spirit extended to encompass all those in her line of vision, Shani Louk noticed the stranger from long ago—isn't

that Akiva, the ruin dancer, she asked?"

"Yes my daughter it is I." "But where is the sheep for the offering she asked?"

The heavens were awash with fear. "Where can we find Solomon?" He will know what to do." "I'm right here, I arrived as quick as I could, but it's Rabbi Yochanon Ben Lakish who specializes in post destruction recovery."

It's really quite simple, says the son of Lakish, the only thing that cannot be terrorised is wisdom.

Ahhh, great. Then let us go to todays Yavneh, the college campuses with the humble disciples sitting awestruck at the feet of their professors, drinking thirstily from the fountains of their wisdom. Alas, when they arrived they discovered to their great dismay, that there was little that was pure that remained there. The seals of the containers of that wisdom were broken, the contents profaned along with all that might have once been pure.

And yet, here we are. Just two months later. And what are we doing? We are preparing to kindle the Menorah. So we must have found that one jar of oil with an unbroken seal. Otherwise we wouldn't be here to tell that story yet again. So where was it hidden, how did we find it, and how was it still there, after all this time? Is it perhaps so simple that it's looking right at us? Is that last source of oil found in the very irony of still being here, alive and open to the miracle of our collective EAGERNESS, to once again chant the words of the Chanukah Liturgy, "Al Hanisim,"—perhaps, it was discovered in the newly awakened heart of one of those, that will be celebrating this holiday for the first time in many years, and for some, the first time ever.

Is that it? What unspeakable powers lie therein?

Is it what lifted Hillel, my close friends son who was born here on the North Shore, back up off the floor, to rejoin the remnants of his Golani unit massing on the Gaza border?

His story.

His secular unit members had been almost all wiped out battling overwhelming odds. He wasn't with them only at their insistence that he return home to celebrate Simchat Torah with his family. They swore to one another that if anyone of them survived they would notify their families and friends that they had fought like lions, fearlessly and proud to die in defense of their Homeland. What is unbreakable about their and Hillels spirit you ask?

We don't know. All we know is that "Hanayros Hallalu Kodesh Haym." These are holy lights. The answer to what lies in there individually, that is pure and indestructible, is different for each of us.

I know this about my own self. I don't rush to conclusions, especially about the most important things, and I also know, that when I'm not aligned with my highest truth, I falter. But when I am in synch with my best truth, the one I recognise only by how badly it can hurt sometimes, I am fierce and unflinching. For ME, that's the Jack in MY box. This Chanukah, after Tisha Bav came early, we will/should be asking this question.

What collective superpower has this unleashed for us a Jewish community? Individually we must ask, what is the Excalibur that has been unsheathed. In what ironic twist of fate have we, with all our psychic brokenness, been the perfect spot, the "hiding in plain sight" spot, where no one suspected a wholeness and unbrokeness beyond the disguise of the outer brokenness" —and for that to be precisely the spot for that highly concentrated soulfulness?

Who could have known that just beyond the dysfunction of the high profile political and societal divide in Israeli society lay an unprecedented unity of unimaginable proportions that surfaced instantly post 10/7. Who could have thought, that WE were the unbroken Jug, that WE have been that indestructible container all along— preserved to be released, when needed the most, for THIS day. What new insight, what radically revelatory aspect of your life was hiding behind your shattered glass that said "break only in case of emergency?"

Perhaps, only the kindled lights will tell.

Much Love,

Rabbi Yossi