Lighting Hanukkah Candles on the Internet (Column 350)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

This morning I found a question on the site dealing with posting Hanukkah candle lighting on the internet. Yesterday I received a link to a post by Racheli Deutsch on the same topic (which may have been the basis for the question). She also raises a more radical possibility: replacing the obligation to light candles (especially in the corona era, when sometimes there is no longer foot traffic in the marketplace) with publicizing the miracle in various online forms. These questions sharpen substantial issues touching the roots of halakha: to what extent we are bound by principles set long ago; what may be changed and in what ways; the role of purposive interpretation (ta‘ama dikra, or the reasons behind rabbinic enactments); and, of course, the ever-present question of authority.

The proposal for a virtual candle

For the conservatives among us, I’ll begin with Racheli’s words—if only to give them a chance to let off steam. She opens her column as follows:

The goal: publicizing the Hanukkah miracle. The means: lighting a hanukkiyah with candles corresponding to the days of the festival and placing it in the window so that passersby in the street will be reminded of the Hanukkah miracle as they pass your window. But what happens when there are no passersby due to the coronavirus crisis? Or, phrased more philosophically: does a hanukkiyah shine in the window if no one from outside looks at it? The Sages will say one thing, while Kant will focus the story in a somewhat different place.

There she discusses the Sages’ conception of time (which tied time to events and human behavior, as at the beginning of tractate Berakhot regarding the time for Shema) and grounds her proposal in the claim that time is subjective (in my view she did not interpret Kant correctly; moreover, to my mind her proposal does not in any way depend on Kantian notions of time and space). Beyond the philosophic background and arguments, she ultimately reaches the following proposal:

Publicizing the miracle does not take place between the living room and the kitchen; the commandment here is not an inward-facing, domestic-education mitzvah. The mitzvah of lighting Hanukkah candles turns outward, into the public sphere, to the marketplace, which is physically empty right now but has apparently moved into another, non-physical space where activity occurs at different hours. People do not stop gathering; they simply find new spaces in which to congregate—virtual spaces.

It is worthwhile to continue lighting the candle on the windowsill, if only for reasons of tradition; but then the question is—does a candle in the window suffice, or should we perhaps also upload it to a story? Might one of the changes of the corona era become a custom of turning the physical candle into a virtual—if not viral—one?

Beyond considerations of tradition and folklore, she proposes turning the essential candle into a virtual one—i.e., to perform the publicizing of the miracle by uploading a story instead of lighting a candle. It is not clear to me whether she means placing a virtual candle in our story (to my shame, I don’t know exactly what a “story” is), or filming the lighting of a real candle and uploading it to a story, or perhaps posting a story (=story, caption) that publicizes the miracle regardless of candles. There is a difference between these proposals, and I will return to it at the end of the column.

General preface: What is tradition?

In several essays, and in greater detail in my third book of the trilogy (Walking Among the Standers), I addressed the matter of legitimate and illegitimate changes in halakha. Precisely from the starting point that sees halakha as the essence of Jewish faith and commitment (see also Columns 336–339), I showed there that not only is it possible, it is even important to adapt halakha to the ever-renewing circumstances of each time and place.

Contrary to the prevailing approach that advocates ossification and absolute adherence to what has been accepted until now, halakha does not require that. The phenomenon called “Orthodoxy” is nothing but an excessive rigidity that arose as a reaction to Reform and the Haskalah. This leads people and decisors to entirely abandon the possibility of changing halakha and adapting it to new and different circumstances—even where there is no halakhic impediment to doing so. In this sense, the term “Orthodoxy” does not mean loyalty to halakha, but a very particular (and ossified) interpretation of that loyalty. Therefore the opposite of Orthodoxy in this sense is not Reform or Conservatism, but Modern Orthodoxy. At the foundation of this approach lies the conception that absolute loyalty to halakha not only permits changes but requires them.[1] Ossified Orthodoxy rests on what I called “plain conservatism” (clinging to halakha as-is), whereas Modern Orthodoxy cleaves to what halakha truly expects of us; its fundamental approach is “midrashic conservatism.” The halakha to which I am loyal and which I observe is a halakha that is constantly undergoing “midrashim,” i.e., interpretations and adaptations to changing circumstances.

To avoid misunderstandings, let me sharpen and note that there is no such thing in the world as a “pure plain conservative” in the full, pristine sense. “Plain conservatism” is an idealized ethos, not an approach actually practiced. There is no person or group in the world that observes halakha without assigning to it certain interpretations—and usually those interpretations are influenced in varied ways by the spirit of the times and by the circumstances in which one lives and acts. But there are people and groups who live with the consciousness that they are preserving halakha as given at Sinai (the ethos being that Moses our teacher wore a gartel and shtreimel and spoke Yiddish). Human beings are complicated and complex creatures; thus, alongside an awareness that this is not correct, they maintain a very strong ethos that the principled state of affairs is nonetheless such. This is the ethos of tradition as an “empty conduit,” meaning that our role is to transmit and preserve the Torah exactly as we received it from Moses at Sinai, without touching it.[2]

An example of such lack of awareness is Rabbi Eliezer’s statement about himself that he never said anything he had not heard from his teacher. It is hard for me to believe that R. Eliezer himself believed this. Rabbi Kook’s well-known question (in his assessment essay on the Sochatchover Rebbe) cites the midrash that says he uttered things “that no ear had ever heard.” It seems to me that this contradiction points to the dual levels I described above: R. Eliezer lived by the ethos of tradition in the sense of an “empty conduit” (or “plain conservatism”), but in practice it never existed and cannot exist. A person can think that he is merely transmitting his teacher’s Torah exactly as he heard it, yet in fact utter innovations “that no ear has ever heard.” This is a matter of awareness—and perhaps even if the awareness exists, only the ethos remains.

Our generation’s problem is our reflexivity—our awareness of the matter. We have ceased to be naïve, and today we are well aware that there is no tradition without interpretation, and that we too are not exempt from it. Among the Sages and in the writings of the sages of the generations, one can find quite a few sources and statements expressing this (such as the well-known midrash about Moses in Rabbi Akiva’s study hall, and more). But it seems that in our day—especially in the postmodern era of narratives and cultural relativism—awareness of this has greatly increased. This awareness leads people, and even decisors, to paralysis. Someone aware that the halakha he rules is in fact not the Torah of Moses but his own Torah may reach a state where he will not allow himself to rule. He will try as far as possible to adhere to precedents and not to exercise his own judgment. Even when he does so, of course he will not fully succeed; nevertheless, he will act feeling that his judgment is exercised within an ossified conservative ethos of this sort.

Alternatively, if indeed we are already aware of this, there is also a more reasonable possibility: not to flinch, and to make proud and conscious use of our interpretation. Just as all our predecessors did—some of them unconsciously—so we are called upon to do consciously today. This is, of course, very dangerous, since a person can insert his cravings and desires into his halakhic rulings and lose his commitment to the word of God. But we must not recoil—if only because we have no choice. We are well aware that the word of God is always mediated to us by people and, of course, by our own intellect, and is influenced by the circumstances within which we act (as in the essay “The Poet”: “Man is nothing but the form of his homeland’s landscape”). But the only alternative is to do nothing. Moreover, I contend that we are obligated to make such interpretations and adaptations; otherwise we do not fulfill the will of God. God’s will is always expressed in the world in which we live, and if we cling to ancient interpretations that are not relevant today, we deviate from His will (I have often called this “conservative criminality”).

The bathing-suit example

An example I have often used to illustrate this concerns a group of people who, together with their forebears, have been walking in the desert for many generations wearing bathing suits. That is their traditional dress. Then an era arrives in which the present generation reaches a colder region, and a dispute erupts regarding how they should conduct themselves. One group demands continuing to wear the same clothing out of loyalty to their ancestral tradition (“plain conservatism”). Another group says they are cold and unwilling to keep the tradition (these are the heretics). But there is a third group that maintains that there is an obligation, deriving from the tradition, to switch to warm clothing (“midrashic conservatism”). Note that in their view this is not the evil inclination at work, nor even a permissible leniency; it is an obligation emanating from the tradition itself, and in this they differ from the heretics (even if in practice the two groups look identical).

According to the “midrashic conservatives,” the tradition does not say that one must wear bathing suits. That may be its plain sense, but they apply a “midrash” that says the true obligation is to wear clothing suited to the climate. In the past, when they and their forebears lived in hot regions, the clothing suited to the climate was a bathing suit, hence their practice. But now that we are in a cold region, the obligation is to wear warm clothes. Note that, in their view, a “plain conservative” who—out of loyalty to the tradition—walks in a bathing suit in the cold regions where we live today is a transgressor who deviates from the tradition. This is an example of what I call “criminal conservatism.” Incidentally, the “plain conservative” may not be aware of it, but clearly he too is interpreting the tradition. The determination that the tradition mandates wearing bathing suits is itself one possible interpretation (=the peshat?…) he chooses. Cf. Rabbi Eliezer.

It is important to understand that the “midrashic conservative” is not using midrash to permit himself leniencies (even though here—and perhaps in many other places—the conclusion is more convenient and easier to carry out). One who uses such a midrash merely to permit things for himself without believing the midrash to be true is simply from the group of heretics (just hiding it). In the “midrashic conservative’s” eyes, his position is a direct outgrowth of commitment to the tradition; if he continues to wear bathing suits, he will not be fulfilling his obligation. In his view, if you want to do the will of God in the circumstances in which you act, you must switch to warm clothes. The tendency of many to see such midrashim as corner-cutting, lack of commitment and loyalty, or capitulation to the spirit of the times is a mistake—and at times a deliberate demagogic trick. Sometimes it really is that (the covert heretic), but there are many situations in which this is a hermeneutic dispute about the tradition (or halakha). The “midrashic conservative” is no less loyal to halakha than his colleague, the “plain conservative.” He simply disagrees about what halakha and loyalty to it demand.

After this necessary preface, we can move on to discuss candle lighting and adjacent issues.

The authority to innovate laws and ta‘ama dikra

In Column 275 I discussed Rabbi Yaakov Ariel’s position regarding the “smart home.” I argued there that even if the motivation to prohibit all “smart home” operations on Shabbat were acceptable to me, I do not accept the possibility of a contemporary decisor to prohibit it. We cannot innovate prohibitions on our own authority, since that authority is given only to the Great Court (Sanhedrin) and its ordained members. A sage in our day can only interpret the Torah-level and rabbinic laws that were accepted by authorized institutions—no more and no less.

In the Talmud, the Tannaim dispute whether we derive the reason behind the verse (ta‘ama dikra)—Rabbi Shimon—or not—Rabbi Yehudah; that is, whether purposive interpretation may be used in shaping halakha.[3] In practice, we rule like Rabbi Yehudah: we do not. Seemingly, every midrashic-conservative move relies on the reasons for the given halakha, and in that sense it cannot be used to interpret and shape it.

Thus, for example, various arguments arise regarding updating the sabbatical-year mitzvah in our generation, when there are almost no farmers. The claim is that in the past most of the public worked in agriculture; therefore halakha legislated shemitah regarding land. But in our day, when people engage in diverse professions, the sabbatical-year mitzvah should be updated: give people freedom from work, mandate broader redistribution of wealth from rich to poor, and so forth. Beyond the question of whether this is indeed the purpose of shemitah (I greatly doubt it), even if I accept this purposive analysis, two difficult problems truly arise in such cases: the question of authority, and the question of ta‘ama dikra. Such a purposive analysis of shemitah is a blatant application of ta‘ama dikra. Beyond that, is there in our day any authority empowered to make such a halakhic change?[4] I think not.

Therefore, with respect to shemitah I indeed tend to think that there is no reasonable halakhic way in our day to overcome these two problems (aside from my strong doubt that this is the true ta‘ama dikra—that is, whether this “midrashic conservative” analysis is even correct). But it is important to note that in the matter of lighting Hanukkah candles, the situation is entirely different.

A distinction between two kinds of proposals

As I already noted above, Racheli Deutsch’s contention can be presented in two forms:

1. The more appropriate way to celebrate Hanukkah today is to post stories on the internet. This publicizes the miracle in a far broader and more effective way than lighting candles; therefore, today the proper fulfillment of the Hanukkah mitzvah is to upload a story rather than to light candles.

For the sake of discussion, I will accept her premise that the goal of lighting is indeed publicizing the miracle, and that the way to do so online is more effective. Even so, the two problems I described above arise here: (a) There is currently no body with authority to change the Sages’ enactment to light Hanukkah candles. (b) We do not derive ta‘ama dikra (also regarding rabbinic enactments)—that is, we do not change a rabbinic enactment based on purposive interpretation. Thus, for example, even in the time of the Sages one could have thought of equally good ways to publicize the miracle: writing a large sign thanking God for the victory and salvation, and hanging it in the windows of homes; staging plays about the Hasmoneans and the Greeks; publishing books on the topic; and so on. None of these can substitute for fulfilling the original enactment—either because of authority or because we do not derive ta‘ama dikra. The act of the mitzvah as enacted obligates us. If we wish to increase the publicity of the miracle, we can do additional things—but not instead of the original enactment.

2. The Sages mandated lighting candles at the entrances of homes so they would be seen from the outside—until foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. Today the true meaning of “marketplace” (a geographic site) and of people’s “feet” is websites (the virtual site) and the users who pass through them.

Despite the resemblance, it is easy to see that there is a great difference between this proposal and the previous one. Here we are not dealing with changing the enactment, but with a truer implementation of the enactment itself in the circumstances of our present-day lives. Today the relevant marketplace is Facebook and the internet, and the people who pass through the marketplace are the users. Now we can see that this is not a “midrashic conservative” move that comes to change halakha and replace it with another halakha; rather, it is an updated interpretation of the concepts that underlay the original enactment. One who lights candles in the window when no one passes by simply does not fulfill the enactment. People today pass by on Facebook and in virtual spaces, not in our actual streets; therefore, lighting the candles so that they face the marketplace and those passing through it should be done online.

One implication of this difference concerns authority. A change in halakha requires authority: what the Great Court legislated can be changed only by the Great Court. But interpretation is entrusted to every individual and every sage in every place and time. If indeed this is the correct interpretation of the matter, then implementing the halakha is an obligation upon each person, and the prohibition against failing to act according to halakha applies to everyone. It does not depend on formal authority.

Changing the concepts of space

The proposal to write a Facebook story instead of lighting a candle in the window belongs to the first category. Here we are speaking about changing the original halakha and adopting another halakha in its place. This is a “midrashic conservative” move (what is required of us is to publicize the miracle, and this is how to publicize it best), but, as is typical of such a midrash, it seeks to change the halakha. By contrast, the second proposal does not say to change the halakha. It proposes doing the lighting that was originally enacted, but the location of the lighting need not be at the doorway of the home or in the window; rather, it should be in front of our webcam, which broadcasts the matter to the public domain of the web. As Racheli’s words suggest, our spatial concepts differ from those of the past, and we must adapt halakha’s concepts to ours.

According to this interpretation, the home in which one lights the candle (“a candle for each person and his household”) is my website (or Facebook page); the marketplace (“until foot traffic ceases from the marketplace”) is the public domain of the web; and the feet (that “cease from the marketplace”) are the hands of users tapping on keyboards and their eyes watching my site. Clearly, the times when people are present in the marketplace and when they “cease” from it are very different in our reality; but with respect to the time of lighting, many decisors have indeed written that there is room to adapt the enactment to our times (people are out in the marketplace until late hours). In this sense, there is no change to halakha here—only a translation of its spatial and temporal concepts into the reality of our time. In light of this interpretation, one who lights a candle at the doorway or window does not fulfill the enactment (this is criminal conservatism). Today it is obligatory to do it on the web, because that is the true public domain. This should be done with olive oil, the customary number of candles, and all the usual hiddurim from the physical world—but the claim is that all this should be streamed to the web. This is essentially a translation of the original enactment’s spatial concepts and their updated implementation in our reality.

Consider a more extreme reality in which people truly no longer walk in the streets at all. Would it be conceivable that we would continue lighting candles in the window and at the doorway merely because that was originally legislated? And what if an even more extreme situation arises—for example, one in which people do not notice lit candles at all? Would it be conceivable that we would continue lighting candles as before? (This is the well-known story of the broom of the Gerer Rebbe, also said regarding Hanukkah candle lighting; see Column 2.) Would it not be proper in such a case to think of other ways to publicize the miracle? In such a reality, I think there would be room to accept even proposals of type 1 and change the halakha. But even in our day, when the change in circumstances is not so extreme, proposal 2 is practically called for, since it does not change halakha but merely applies it to the reality of our time. My claim is not only that it is permissible to do so, but that one who does not might, in principle, be considered a transgressor. In our day this is not the case, of course, since people still walk in the street and see lit candles; but clearly even today this is at least a legitimate halakhic path—if not a preferable one (especially in the corona era).

Note that I am more lenient than Racheli, since I argue that there is no need at all to light a candle in the window. That may have cultural and traditional importance, but not halakhic. The halakha can be fulfilled even if one lights only on the internet. On the other hand, I do think one must light a candle according to all the rules and not perform some other form of pirsumei nisa. In this sense, I may be stricter than she is (though I am not sure I understood her intent).

The line between these two proposals is not sharp. Consider what we would say about a simulation of a candle (an animated film) instead of a real candle. Can this be seen as a translation of the concept “candle” into our time? It seems to me not. Most of us do not see a drawing of a candle as a substitute for a candle—unlike a website, which is entirely a substitute for a geographical site in all essential respects. Therefore there are things that cannot be considered conceptual translations; in such cases we are dealing with a substantive change of halakha that requires purposive reasoning, justification, and authority.

Joining a minyan in the corona era

In several places in the past (see here and here) I wrote that, in my opinion, during corona times a Zoom minyan is possible—that is, ten people joining a Zoom meeting can be considered a minyan. In my view this is even better than “balcony minyanim,” which rely on certain opinions among the decisors. If the virtual space is, in our day, a space in every respect, then whatever is said about combining to form a minyan can be said about it as well. And again, here too we are not changing halakha, but translating halakha’s spatial concepts into the language of our time. The “site” on the internet is a site in every respect, even if contemporary decisors who do not live this reality (and certainly decisors of the past, who could not have known it) do not understand this and therefore do not approve it. Moreover, their considerations usually take into account slippery-slope concerns, conservatism, communal consequences, etc.

In light of what I have written here, it seems to me that such combination constitutes an entirely lekhatchilah (ideal) arrangement, not merely a dispensation in exigent circumstances stated for the corona period. It is a correct translation (even if not the only one, of course) of the concepts of place and space in the circumstances of our time, and therefore does not constitute a change of halakha—only its translation into the reality of our lives.

[1] See this in the classes on Walking Among the Standers and in the Q&A on the site here.

[2] See this in the prologue to the third book, and in my lecture series this year at the Institute for Advanced Torah Studies, Topics in the Philosophy of Halakha.

[3] See my article on the fourth root in the book He Shall Send Forth His Roots.

[4] Rabbi Kook, in his book To the Perplexed of the Generation, wrote that when a Sanhedrin is established it will be able to change even the very rule that we do not derive ta‘ama dikra.