Adapted from: Around the Year with Reb Meilech by Yisroel Besser

Chazal say that the Yevanim wanted to eradicate two mitzvos — that of bikkurim, and that of preparing the atzei hamaarachah, the wood used for the fire on the Mizbei’ach. These are important mitzvos, for sure, but what about them is unique enough to have provoked the Yevanim? Why these two mitzvos? 

Bikkurim was a mitzvah performed with great joy. It was a matzav! The new crop was starting to grow after months of prayer and toil, and the farmers would travel to Yerushalayim amid singing and dancing, joining with other laborers as they ascended as one, a joyous group, to the Holy City.

The Gemara describes the great joy of those involved in cutting and preparing the wood that would be used on the fires of the Mizbei’ach. 

Yavan saw that. It wasn’t the performance of the mitzvah that infuriated them, but the inherent joy, and they went to war against that feeling. 

The Rambam calls these days yemei simchah v’hallel, days of joy and praise. The Chavos Yair writes that the ikkar, the main thing, is to be joyous during these days. 

That’s how we triumph over Yavan. They knew that this would lead us to victory, and they tried to resist it. But we win, we win by being joyous when we perform the mitzvos. 

Someone once quipped that there are so many beautiful niggunim for the words of Yevanim nikbetzu alai that we sing after hadlakas neiros; you can choose, Boyan or Vizhnitz or Ger or Chevron, but you know what Yavan wants you to sing? 

Yavan wants you to sing with no real heart or energy, just being yotzei. 

Reb Meilech leans forward, as if nodding off, and mumbles the words, “Yevanim, yevanim.” 

No, that’s not the way! Sing Yevanim! Sing it with simchah and enthusiasm, with the realization that these lechtelach, the flames you light tonight, have never before been in the world and will never be here again. They’re new, your mitzvah, and this is your moment — so sing! 

Chazal teach that “al korchacha, against your will, you will have to give a din v’cheshbon, a final reckoning” (Avos 4:29). Tzaddikim explain that this means we will have to give an accounting of why we performed mitzvos with the attitude of “al korchacha,” as if we were forced: I have to go daven, I have to go learn… There is no greater delight, and this mitzvah, hadlakas ner Chanukah, calls for special joyfulness. 

When Chazal make a promise, that’s a guarantee. They tell us (Shabbos 23b) that someone who is careful with the ner — which Rashi says means not just ner Shabbos, but also neiros Chanukah — will merit learned children. Now, everyone lights Chanukah lecht, so where are all the geonim? Where are all those accomplished children? What happened? 

The Meiri on that Gemara adds a few words. “One who lights the candles, derech chibuv mitzvah v’he’arah mefursemes, with love and obvious passion.” He needs to make a matzav. He needs to celebrate and show that he’s celebrating — then we have a guarantee! 

Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski was visiting Krakow and went to a tailor to repair his jacket. It was after shekiah, and Rav Chaim Ozer had already lit the Chanukah candles, but the tailor, a chassid, excused himself to light. After that, he said, he would fix the garment. 

As Rav Chaim Ozer waited, this tailor went to change his work clothing for Shabbos clothes, and then gathered his family around him with great excitement. The berachos were said with obvious feeling, the actual lighting treated like a major event. Rav Chaim Ozer looked on, then remarked that he now understood how it was that the Yidden of Krakow had produced so many great talmidei chachamim. 

Torah came forth from this Polish city because simple Jews remembered precisely that which Yavan wanted them to forget, that the simchah is part of the goal — and the best way to merit the fulfillment of Chazal’s promise. 

Lichtige, heilige doros, blessed children.