the Ultimate Metaphor of G*d's Expression
Joy's Personal Chanukah Story
LIGHT
the Ultimate Metaphor of G*d's Expression
Joy's Personal Chanukah Story
- Joy Krauthammer
I feel sad. The Chanukah candles just went out. They
'died'.
I never had this sensation before, but then I have experienced
life (and death) differently this year.
My husband, Marcel, z”l, (of blessed memory) died this
year. This is my first Chanukah without Marcel standing next to me or
even lying in hospital beds as I stood next to him. (Not sharing candles as I
grew up doing, but each with "our own chanukiyah",
his Orthodox childhood custom, Marcel explained to me 36 years ago.) In the
hospitals we used my Velcroed quilted menorah, cloth candles and flames:
the hanging menorah -- a gift from the Russian family I had adopted. No candles
allowed in ICU's. I really tried to bring Chanukah to Marcel while in
hospitals, as did our daughter with her bride-groom. This year, because
of my dedicated advocacy on behalf of Jewish patients, our local (Catholic)
Northridge Hospital now has 15 individual electric menorahs for patients and a
large menorah in the lobby, and a Jewish Chaplain,
my Chabad Rabbi Eli Rivkin.
I released new energy into the world, when tonight, I said the
blessings and lit the Chanukah shamash and four candles. I was
co-creating with the Source of All BlesSings by kindling candles. But then
suddenly, I started over and I sang the blessings again because I realized that
I had said them quietly mostly to myself, and I needed to sing them more
cheerfully and out loud with alive energy, while inviting Marcel in to join me.
(I would do the same on Sukkot, inviting ushpizin, the
spiritual guests.) Maybe Marcel held my hand while I kindled. I opened the door
to my heart, my Tiferet space. That felt better. Then I sang
Marcel's favorite Chanukah song, "Maoz tzur yeshua-si, Lecha
na-eh li-sha-beyach..." O Rock of my salvation, with delight we
praise You.
I have not yet eaten a latke / potato pancake
or played dreidle, but I did have half a sufganiyot / jelly
donut and chocolate gelt (coins) at synagogue. I sent tzedakah
/ charity. I skipped all the Chanukah celebrations except at shul on Shabbat.
On the first night, I was somewhat sad in synagogue, but I loved seeing Rabbi
Debra Orenstein warmly bless the children by the menorah. At home, I did create
a computer artsy menorah, and in the zechut / merit, of my
husband's neshamah / soul, I sent it with Chanukah greetings
filled with teachings and meditations on ohr/ / light, to my
family and community. "The light represents the light of Divine
teachings," I am reminded of my teacher, Yosef ben Shlomo Hakohen's
words. "Torah is Light." (Proverbs 6:23)
Tonight I gazed at my candles. Meditating, I stood right next to
them peering into them. From the distance was not good enough; I wanted to see
the insides of the flames; their neshamahs / souls. (Could I
be inside the flame?) I was searching for meaning. I felt blank. I could not
feel the warmth, nor feel like a shamash myself. The ner
/ candle, consists of three parts, the ner itself,
the patil--the wick, and the shemen --oil. Ner,
Patil, Shemen: the first letters of the three parts of the candle spell
out Nefesh--soul.
I looked into each flame individually. They were related, almost
same size, height, width and dance. I was disappointed that within, they were
mostly bland without 'fiery' color except for the lower blue and wick. I
thought of Reb Shlomo Carlebach’s, z'l, teaching; that I could let
the Chanukah light shine into all areas of my darkness. I gazed at the light
knowing it is wondrously, the same Ohr Ha-Ganuz, primordial light,
already here from Creation, Temple days and miracle days. I brought the light
into my heart space yearning to experience my own soul at this moment. This
Chanukah, while alone, there have been more 'grieving' tears. What happens when
a tear meets a flame? (I observed my tears flowing into water while swimming
this summer.) Probably for the first time in my life, I placed my moist finger
into a flame, to feel its reality. I needed to do this.
Then facing the dark window on the other side of my menorah (I
rescued it from an antiques store just before being married), I gazed at the
dark illuminated reflection of me gazing at the barely dancing lit candles. I
liked seeing myself with the candles. It was a different experience. It was
dark 2D of me. I could see the outline of the flames more clearly than the ones
in front of my face. Strangely, it was easier to describe the light by it's
reflection, than by it's own full being. Try communicating a flame's form...
Revealed, the transcendent light is real, a paradox: does and does not have
substance of its own, or definable form, and yet allows us to experience higher
truth and G*d.
Are the Flames watching me? I am observer and maybe observee.
Maybe Marcel, z”l, is watching over me.
Toward the end, the candles were as if souls returning to the
Creator with their last breath. No longer reaching upwards in a dance between
heaven and earth, they were a fragment of their former selves, returning to
their grounding wick. Pure blue light while ending their life. No other
colors. Holding their own, I watched them each slowly die without even a
flicker. Just poof and gone to G*d. I tried feeling for a rising soul. OHR
(light), G*d's expression of existence, was no longer revealed to me.
Do flames have souls?
"Ner Hashem Nishmat Adam."
The flame of The Compassionate One is the human soul, says
Proverbs 20:27.
So, maybe I am not so far off.
Maybe G-d is closer than I am feeling.
Reprinted from:
.
OHR Flame painting by Joy Krauthammer
created following a meditation on the Holy Temple
MEMORY FLAME Card
+Joy.jpg)
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