The Chanukah Menorah, with its eight lights and additional “shamash” from which we light the others, is an extremely common Jewish symbol. In Jewish homes across America, in public squares, even on television or Internet, we see how it is used: on the first night, we light only one light (in addition to the shamash), adding an additional light each night until we light eight one week later.
In Jewish law, what we do is called “Hiddur Mitzvah,” beautifying the Mitzvah. The basic requirement for Chanukah is merely to light a single light during each of the eight nights of the holiday. If a person does not have enough oil (or candles) on the 8th night for eight lights, he or she lights only one. This is sufficient to fulfill the Mitzvah. But today it is quite universal to perform this “Hiddur.”
Imagine, then, the following situation: you have precisely enough lights to last you through the holiday. Your friend, however, has no oil at all. If you give him or her oil, then you will lose the opportunity to beautify the Mitzvah on the 8th and even the 7th day. What should you do?
Answer: Jewish law requires you to share your oil. Helping another person to fulfill the Mitzvah itself takes precedence over your own opportunity to beautify the Mitzvah.
In the Torah, Parshas Noach, we learn that Noach had three sons: Shem, Cham, and Yafes. Noach blesses Yafes by saying “may G-d grow Yafes, and he will dwell in the Tents of Shem.” Yafes was the “father” of the arts, of beauty (from the same root as “yaffa,” beautiful). Our Sages interpret this blessing as saying, he and his talents should grow, but they should be used within the tents of Shem.
Shem, from whom the Jewish people descend, was the scholar of the three. His name literally means “name” — and the Sages teach that the Hebrew name of a thing defines its essence (“…and G-d brought [the creatures] to Adam to see what he would call them, and anything that Adam called a creature, that is its name” [Gen. 2:19]). Beauty, aesthetics have a purpose, when they dwell within and are subservient to the essence.
Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb points out that questions of beauty have no relevance when factual questions, truth and falsehood, are at stake. If I enjoy looking at the Mona Lisa and you do not, neither of us is wrong. If we are solving a mathematical equation, however, then — because there is, in fact, one correct answer — one of us (or both) may be wrong. No matter how beautiful or elegant we may find the statement “two plus two equals five,” it’s not the right answer. We cannot give dosages of medicine based upon the relative beauty of the numbers or equations involved. The design of an aircraft or car can be beautiful, but it first must be able to travel in order to be a viable candidate for purchase. If a “car” is a vehicle able to carry you around, you will first want to know that it can move before considering the aesthetics of the metal and paint job.
The Greeks represented the pinnacle of philosophy and art in their day, but they elevated art to an end in itself, to a supreme value. They considered the human body an object of beauty (the original Olympics were run in the nude), and for this reason considered circumcision a disgrace. Divine Wisdom was subjugated to beauty. The war of the Chashmonaim against the Greeks was a war between Truth and Beauty as absolute values.
The truth of the matter is that this battle has not ended. I do not understand those who suggest looking at the Jewish Mitzvos, or Commandments, and asking, “do I feel Commanded by this Mitzvah?” If it is indeed a Commandment, then my feelings cannot be the issue. “Sergeant, I know you told us to hike five miles, but I didn’t feel commanded by that.” “Sorry officer, but I don’t really feel Commanded by the speed limits.” We do not live our lives looking at the aesthetics of laws and orders — human laws we try to change, but we encourage civil disobedience only when we believe that a law is unjust in absolute terms, not simply because we don’t appreciate its beauty. So why do people look at Jewish law differently?
The answer is that people have simply set aside the “truth” question in favor of beauty (see also Eytan Kobre’s “Suddenly Sinai” on our web site, as linked above). This is very unfortunate.
The “truth” is that Judaism is indeed beautiful. And it is beautiful precisely because it functions within the bounds of absolute principles. I cannot be selfishly concerned only with my own mitzvah — I must be concerned about my friend’s mitzvah as well. I must, in fact, sacrifice the beauty of my mitzvah in order to enable my friend to perform the mitzvah itself.
And that, of course, is the greatest beauty of all.