God's Unlimited Abilities

Parshat Tzav 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 Having given all the instructions for the Kohanim, in Chapter 8 we see Moshe being given precise instructions to set the stage for Inauguration Day.

 In one of the most immediate cause and effect episodes in the Torah, Moshe is told to gather the people at the Ohel Moed (Gathering Tent, the Mishkan) in 8:3, and in 8:4, “the community was assembled at the entrance of the Ohel Moed.”

Was the entire community really there to watch Moshe vest his brother and nephews in their priestly vestments (8:6-13)?

Ibn Ezra says the “entire community” refers to the “leaders of the tribes and the elders.” That would be a little over 80 people. The Rosh is of the view that 600,000 people were able to gather in a relatively small space to witness this momentous occasion. And the point, explains Chizkuni (based on the Midrash), is that everyone should learn to conduct themselves in a holy manner with respect to and when relating to the priests.

In support of Ibn Ezra, the Torah Temimah reminds us of the passage in Sanhedrin 2a that a High Priest can only be appointed by the Sanhedrin of 71. And that the term used to describe the community, “Eidah” certainly refers to a Sanhedrin which passes judgments. Thus while leadership must be present, the entire nation need not bother with coming to watch the dressing ceremonies.

Rabbenu Bachaye describes the gathering  in 8:4 as a “miraculous occurrence” and he gives a number of examples where the population that gathered defied all logical explanations, because their reality entered the realm of the supernatural. One example is the 22,000 chariots of angels that were present at Revelation at the bottom of Sinai. Where did they all fit? Other examples include: that when all of Israel crossed the Jordan to enter the land, they walked between the poles of the Ark; during the time of Resurrection when all the good people through the history of the world will return the living, there will be enough room for everyone.

On a purely rational basis, it is hard to understand some of these passages, and even more difficult to explain the physics. Surely, as a believer, I can accept that something did happen or can happen in the future, but it is hard to visualize, even if I believe its possibility is real.

I think looking at this passage from the vantage point of Purim, which was celebrated on Thursday, we can appreciate how truly miraculous events just defy explanation.

We are all familiar with the efficiency of the Nazi killing machine. Yet despite its organization, and the sheer numbers of how at their height, they could be murdering over 10,000 people a day, it still took them over 5 years to kill 6 millions Jews, and they were, thank God, unable to complete their diabolical plans of the destruction of world Jewry.

And Haman, their spiritual ancestor, was hoping to achieve the same goal in one day? How could he even think such a task was possible.

It would seem that owing to his beliefs in his powers, honor, and supernatural abilities, he felt that his lottery showed that his goal was divinely ordained. And he believed that his charm and his charisma would gather enough volunteers and haters to get to every Jew in Achashveirosh’s kingdom in one day.

But the real world doesn’t work like that. In Shushan alone, Esther needed to ask for another day for the Jews to confront their enemies. On the 13th of Adar, 500 Shushanites died, and on the 14th of Adar 300 more Shushanites died in the skirmishes. Relatively small numbers, it would seem.

And therein lies the difference between the plans of the man and the works of God. Man can only achieve what is humanly possible. God – using man, when He wants it to be such – can achieve things that go beyond reason and viable explanation.

Will there be peace in the Land of Israel? Will the Arabs stop hating the Jewish people? Will anti-Semitism ever end? Will the Messiah come – when so many Jews in the world do not live a life of Torah, do not observe the Sabbath, and in some cases, don’t even know what it means to be a Jew, or that they are even Jewish? In the realm of human achievement and possibility, all of these are far-fetched possibilities. But in the realm of God, they are attainable.

Of course from Ibn Ezra’s and the Torah Temimah’s perspective, there was a respectable but manageable-size crowd at the dressing-ceremony. But the other view is not to be discounted. And it is the person of faith who learns from what happened at the inauguration of the Mishkan, when 600,000 people fit in to a small space, that when God wills it, the seemingly impossible becomes as simple as filling the universe with billions of billions of stars and having none of them touch each other.

Libsumei B'Puria

Understanding the Strange Obligation of "Getting Drunk" on Purim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Rava said, “A person has the obligation ‘libsumei b’puria’ until he does not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai.’” – Talmud Megilla 7b 

The Talmudic passage is very well known amongst observant Jews, and has even been made into several songs. Many people take it to understand that Rava is saying a person has an obligation to get drunk on Purim until he can not distinguish between which is better – cursing Haman and bringing about his downfall, or blessing Mordechai and bringing about his promotion.

Of course, one could argue that there is no difference. Were we to conduct a straw poll, I would imagine that there would be a fairly even split over which is better. Which would lend itself to mean that there is no difference to be found. Both are equally good.

In truth, both are essential (versus one possibly being better), because one without the other creates an incomplete picture. If Haman isn’t demoted, he remains in power even with a promoted Mordechai. If Mordechai isn’t promoted, he is powerless to overturn Haman’s decree, even with a demoted Haman.

But the real question is “what does ‘libsumei b’puria’ mean?”

Most of the commentaries on the Tur and on the Shulchan Arukh talk about the depravity and anti-Torah behavior that comes from drunkenness. The tale that follows Rava's statement in the Talmud, about Rabba getting drunk on Purim and killing Rabbi Zeira, many argue, is the antithesis of Rava’s statement, which goes to show what kind of horrific behavior can come from becoming drunk – even if Rabbi Zeira was revived in the morning after Rabba prayed for him. Perhaps in telling the tale the Talmud serves as counterpoint, suggesting that getting drunk on Purim is very very bad.

We are all well aware of what people under the influence of alcohol can do – even unintentionally – and when it is younger people who are less familiar with alcohol, control, and understanding limits, the results are at a minimum a desecration of God’s name (chillul Hashem), and can, at worst, lead to severe hospitalization and even untimely death.

The Ramban refers to getting drunk as being a “Naval Birshut Hatorah” – being disgusting with the Torah’s approval. In other words, as the Torah doesn’t forbid the consumption of wine, drinking wine in excess is not against the Torah. However, just because the Torah allows consuming wine does not meant the Torah condones the resulting behavior which comes from drunkenness. This, Ramban argues, is absolutely against the Torah.

If getting drunk is forbidden (as Maimonides, the Tur, Beit Yosef, etc all say it is), then how could the Talmud say it is an obligation on Purim to get drunk?

Maybe we are reading the Talmud incorrectly. The word “Puria” appears over twenty times in the Talmud. In most cases the word means either a bed or a couch. In the Talmudic passage in question, it seems strange that it should mean “Purim” because two lines later the word “Purim” itself is used to refer to the holiday! If within the same breath the Talmud can say “Purim,” why would it use the term “Puria” to refer to Purim?

The word “libsumei” appears four times in the Talmud, and every other time (aside from our Megillah 7b passage) it means pleasantness or sweetening, in the context of either a pleasant voice or a sweet voice.

So perhaps the phrase can be understood to mean that “a person is obligated to feel pleasant or sweet on a bed until the point that he does not know the difference between cursed is Haman and blessed is Mordechai.” How is this accomplished? Maimonides suggests that on Purim one should drink a little more than usual, to the point of falling asleep, because while sleeping a person doesn’t even think about the difference between cursing Haman or blessing Mordechai – both of which might be the same thing anyway (their numerical values (gematria) happen to be the same as well), or meaningless as one without the other.

So what does one do with the Talmudic story? The Meiri suggests that the word which is usually translated as “slaughtered” should be read with the letter “sin” instead of a “shin” to suggest that Rabba “squeezed” Rabbi Zeira. Thus it could follow that Rabbi Zeira may have lost consciousness, but may not have died. (The Talmud never said he died, but that he was revived afterwards.)

Perhaps, however, following along the line of our novel interpretation, the pleasantness which was achieved through their celebrating properly led them to fall asleep, and the resulting tale was merely a dream. Perhaps Rabbi Zeira had a harder time waking in the morning, prompting Rabba to pray for him. But all’s well that ends well because Rabbi Zeira was fine in the end.

So why did he opt out of celebrating with Rabba the following year? Being pressured by a friend to drink is never a pleasant experience. If indeed Rabbi Zeira had a severe hangover the following day, perhaps he thought another bout of such celebrating could be damaging to his health.

Rabbi Zeira had the strength and fortitude to resist the peer pressure of going to a party in which the drinking might get out of hand (he unfortunately learned this the hard way). May we be blessed to celebrate Purim with those who understand limits and how to properly celebrate ths special holiday of Purim.

Men, Women, and Megillah

[This is not as much a Purim dvar Torah, as much as it is a thought related to the title, using examples from Megillat Esther.]

Emotional vs Intellectual decision making

By Rabbi Avi Billet

I don’t care very much to compare women and men simply because I think the comparison isn't fair. Human we all are, but other than the obvious physical differences, I believe that the natural differences that come from being different genders make comparisons ill-conceived. It's almost like comparing a tennis player to a soccer player, wondering which is a better athlete.

I first heard the following generalization from one Rabbi W/Vunder who was one of the rabbis on the Heritage Tours trip to Poland that I participated in as a teenager, when I noticed Israeli girls weeping in Auschwitz while I was scribbling in my notebook and keeping my emotions to myself. He said, "That's the way it is. Girls are more emotional." The generalization is more supported in a simple Google search than the other way around, and it follows that males – in general, though by no means exclusively – make more decisions based on a rational or intellectual thought process, while females are (generally, though not exclusively) more prone to making decisions based on emotions.

            

With that in mind, I confess that this past week, in advance of one of my public speaking engagements, I happened to run some of the ideas past my wife, who told me that one of the thoughts I planned to share – though heavily sourced in a comment of Tosafos (Yoma 72a) as well as by many Rabbinic sources from the last several centuries – was anachronistic and inappropriate for the intended audience. 

Was her response emotional or highly thought out? It may have been both. But I can say with certainty that my defense was purely emotional. What's wrong with it, I argued! Every person who studied in yeshiva knows this! Yes, she responded, but your audience is not a bunch of yeshiva guys. I realized I was letting my emotions dictate what my intellect was telling me should be OK to share. The emotion versus intellect roles, it seems, had been reversed.

As luck would have it a rabbi I admire happened to approach me before I spoke. I quickly asked his advice to which he responded quoting Bereshit 21:12: "All that your wife Sarah has told you, listen to her voice!" And I did. They were both right.

With all this background, I think there are two very worthy points we can take from Megillat Esther which can play a significant role in the male-female relationship: the first for spouses and the second for those looking to find spouses.

The Megillah is full of characters who are impulsive, who make every decision based on their emotions. Arguably the only exceptions to this are Mordechai explaining to Esther how she can not shirk her opportunity to save her people (which causes Esther to change her emotional response to an intellectual response), and Haman's wife Zeresh who lays out for her husband a logistical plan for how to rid himself of the nuisance called Mordechai who literally ruins Haman's day every time he refuses to bow. She tells him, "Make a wood [gallows] 50 cubits high, and in the morning you will tell the king, Mordechai will be hanged, and you will come to [Esther's second] party happy." (Esther 5:14)

The king's insomnia may have uncovered his obligation to Mordechai for saving his life, but he may have chosen to honor Mordechai in a different way had Haman not shown up in the middle of the night and gotten tricked into playing into the king's "trap." Even if Mordechai had been otherwise rewarded that night, without a personal parade and Haman's disgrace, were Haman to come along in the morning to say, "Since saving your life, Mordechai has become a traitor!" there is a reasonable chance to say the king might have allowed the execution after he had paid his debt to the man.

But everything changed for Haman because of his problem; he did not listen to his wife! His wife said, "Sleep on it. Wait until the morning." But he had no patience. He let his emotions overtake him, and they told him, "You have to do this now." Intellectually it made sense, but the intellect was really driven by the emotion.

The moral of the story: If your wife gives you good, sound advice, take it and follow it.

The second lesson about relationships is based on a comment made by Rabbi Elijah Kramer, the Gaon of Vilna (Gra), when Achashveirosh crowns Esther queen. "Esther was brought to the king in the tenth month, Tevet, in the seventh year of his reign. And of all the women, the king loved Esther, for she found favor and kindness before him… and he placed the crown on her head, making her queen in place of Vashti." (Esther 2:16-17)

The Gra wrote, "He crowned her immediately, without waiting to see if there might be one more pleasing than she. He told himself there is none better than she."

One can argue that a man who has spent every day with a different woman for four years either knows everything about women, doesn't know what he's looking to find, or knows exactly what he is looking for in a woman.

In light of the Gra's interpretation, my vote is for the final possibility because I believe that the "Maybe there is someone better" attitude is one of the most destructive approaches to "shidduchim" out there. Too many people play games with others' time and lives because they don't really know what they are looking to find.

We can learn from Achashveirosh, however, to know what you're looking to find so that when it comes your way there need not be hesitation. Go for it. Work at it. Make it work. Lightning doesn't strike. Bells and whistles don't sound. You just know. You make a decision, a commitment, and then a "go" at a life together. And with God's help, it lasts a lifetime.

And when men listen to the sage voice of "all that Sarah says to you," (not that men don't have good advice, ideas, suggestions and encouragement to provide as well – it does take two to tango, after all) we can come out looking great for doing the right thing.

            

And our relationship is only strengthened as a result.

            

Kiddush Club Follow Up + a Pre-Purim Note

Around two months ago I wrote out a "shiur" about the problems with Kiddush Clubs in the middle of davening. My basic approach is that drinking in moderation is acceptable in the right time and place, and with the right behavior. But that time is not in shul, in the middle of davening.

Since then, the Wall Street Journal featured a front-page article about Kiddush Clubs (reproduced below) which you can either find entertaining, interesting, disturbing, revolting, or anything in between - all depending on your outlook with regard to hard alcohol, excess, and tremendous amounts of money and attention being given to "Kiddush" in synagogues: places of worship that are supposed to be avenues for the spirit, not spirits. [Yes, that is my father quoted in the article. He told me he had been contacted a few days after I had posted my thoughts on Kiddush Clubs - though the WSJ research timing was apparently coincidental to my posting about it.]

In advance of Purim, Rabbi Marc Angel has written a blog post about drinking entitled "Sobering Thoughts For Purim - And Every Day" which is worth the read.

I don't need to steal from Rabbi Angel's thunder, but in case you don't click on his piece, his point is that while there is certainly a concept or custom to drink some wine on Purim (note I said WINE), the "mitzvah to get drunk" is a horrible mistake. Drink a little more than you might normally drink (which in my case translates to very little to begin with as the only time I drink wine is at Shabbos and Yom Tov meals), and be RESPONSIBLE. There is no mitzvah that advocates putting yourself or anyone else in danger. Even when fasting on Yom Kippur, if your life is in danger from not eating, you are required to eat.

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From the WALL STREET JOURNAL, February 8, 2013

After These Jewish Prayer Services, Things Come 'To Life' at Open Bar

To Woo Worshippers, Synagogues Compete With Food and Booze; Hosting in the Hamptons

by Lucette Lagnado

Come Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, the atmosphere at Rabbi Sholom Lipskar's synagogue near Bal Harbour, Fla., turns festive. The eating and drinking start early.

Very early.

The synagogue, called The Shul, attracts anywhere from 500 to 800 people each week. Most attend services in the main sanctuary that start around 9 a.m. But some early birds show up for prayers that begin at 7:15 a.m. and conclude by 9:15. Then it is party time for the largely male crowd.

This elegant seaside place of worship is on the cutting edge of the Kiddush—a lavish repast that has helped transform the staid postservice fellowship hour to the kind of boozy, over-the-top spread synonymous with weddings.

Such affairs have become so de rigueur to luring congregants that Rabbi Lipskar has solicited donors for a special "Kiddush bank" to fund the pricey libations and epicurean fare that can cost anywhere from $1,800 to $3,600 per 

"It is perfect," says Rabbi Lipskar, whose synagogue is part of the Hasidic Lubavitch movement. "God didn't make the delicious stuff only for non-Jews." Those who want a shot of hard liquor—they don't say "let's have a drink," but "let's have a L'chaim," he says, referring to the traditional Jewish toast "to life."

"This is not a drinking fest," he adds. "The drinks are in small cups."

In the face of dwindling attendance at religious services, many rabbis have become similarly creative. At the Bal Harbour shul and other synagogues, the sumptuous food, fine wines and liquors are a way to help draw congregants.

As early as January, Rabbi Marc Schneier was already well into planning his synagogue's summer worship in New York's posh Hamptons community. He is lining up guest speakers, interviewing assistant rabbis—and considering ways to improve on the martini bar.

The "L'chaim" table of high-price spirits is the most popular feature of The Hampton Synagogue's Saturday summer service. "There is always vodka, an assortment of single malts, tequila," says Robert Fisher, a friend of the rabbi who serves as adviser on food and drink.

Rabbi Schneier notes that the fetes don't get overly boisterous. It is all about the "M-word," he insists—not martinis, but "moderation."

The same might not be said about the food. One weekend the entrees included pan-seared sesame salmon and sliced steak with horseradish cream. There is always seafood salad—the rabbi's favorite dish—albeit made with pollock and whiting since the congregation adheres to kosher laws banning shellfish. The "herring bar" features 12 different variations named after each of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.

Raising a glass during or after services isn't strictly an Orthodox phenomenon, says Rabbi Gerald Skolnik, who is president of the Rabbinical Assembly, the umbrella group of Conservative rabbis. Among both Conservative and Orthodox Jews, he has witnessed what he calls "the cult of alcohol on Sabbath morning in shul," which means men leaving even during prayers to have a drink with their buddies. As kosher certifications for wine and spirits have exploded, observant Jews have had access to finer wines—and they have 

"Finding a really good Kiddush—that's a blood sport in the Jewish community," says Rabbi Skolnik, who presides at the Forest Hills Jewish Center in Queens, New York City.

Lincoln Square Synagogue on Manhattan's West Side was a mob scene last Saturday as congregants gathered in the elegant new $50 million sanctuary to pray and then descended on the "Gala Kiddush"—an array of gourmet dishes piled high on different table—meant to help draw new members to the institution.

"It is very competitive," says Ora Hamelsdorf, one of two people assigned to oversee the Kiddush.

The Orthodox synagogue's newsletter announced the formation of its own "L'Chaim Club," asking members to contribute $100 for the purchase of liquor. In doing so, the bulletin added, a person can partake of the booze "guilt-free."

It wasn't always this way. Traditionally, Kiddush consisted of some "stale sponge cake and Tam-Tam crackers," with a smattering of herring, says Rabbi Schneier. It was a modest interlude, like its Christian counterpart, the church coffee hour.

"Once upon a time, some people went to synagogue to talk to God. Nowadays, more and more people come to see their friends," says Jonathan Sarna, a professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University. The prayers and sermons "are a distraction. Conviviality goes better with a drink."

Beth Jacob Congregation of Beverly Hills has six different Kiddushes on any given Saturday, corresponding with different services, including one for "young professionals." But the rabbi, Kalman Topp, says the growing trend is to have "breakaway Kiddushes" beyond synagogue walls. These are held in people's homes and typically are men-only, with liquor being a big attraction.

"It usually involves quality whiskey," says Rabbi Topp. "The perception is, the more expensive the bottle, the more prestigious the Kiddush."

In Westhampton, N.Y., Rabbi Schneier's synagogue has private sponsors each week who shell out $7,200 for food and $1,800 or more for the ever-changing bar—which may, incidentally, include rum-based mojitos, Champagne-infused Bellinis and the like. The L'chaim liquor table costs an additional $1,800—so the total can exceed $10,000 for a single Sabbath. Despite the steep cost, there are always eager sponsors, says the rabbi.

Last year in Bal Harbour, one donor made an unusual contribution. Each Friday afternoon, on the eve of the Sabbath, his driver appeared carrying a leather suitcase with a giant 1.75 liter bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue label tucked inside. At the Saturday Kiddush, a special volunteer handed out shot glasses of the $500 scotch. "It went pretty fast," Rabbi Lipskar says. 

Some of the faithful cast a cold eye on such excess. "It is very upsetting. It is not in keeping with Jewish standards of modesty," says Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinreb, executive vice president emeritus of the Orthodox Union, an umbrella organization for Orthodox congregations.

Neither does Rabbi Hershel Billet, of Woodmere, N.Y., approve of heavy drinking as a part of synagogue culture. He recalls how, a few years ago, men were getting up and leaving in the middle of his own services. "They'd return drunk, loud. It had to stop," he says.

While he himself likes a glass of fine wine, he decided to ban liquor in the synagogue several years ago. Some members left in protest.

Meanwhile, Kiddush in the Hamptons is shaping up to be more upscale than ever. On a recent evening, Rabbi Schneier and Mr. Fisher brainstormed about the season ahead, which starts on Mother's Day weekend and lasts till Thanksgiving.

"Do you think we could have a Kentucky Derby Kiddush?" Mr. Fisher muses. Some summer residents start the season early by coming to check on their homes. "We could serve mint juleps," he says. The women, he imagines, could don fancy hats.

Chanukah's Miracle: Jewish Soul Survival

Chanukah 5773

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Chanukah is very unlike Purim, the other major Rabbinic holiday. Purim has an entire tractate of the Talmud (Megillah) dedicated to it. An entire book of the Bible (Esther) tells the story behind the holiday. And it has 4 different commandments which nowadays take up a significant percentage of a person's one-day Purim experience.

 Chanukah has a few pages dedicated to it within Tractate Shabbos, with several brief references to it in other tractates. There are "hints" to the holiday in the Bible (see Chagai 2:18-23) , but the canon of the Bible was sealed close to 300 years before the Chanukah story. Chanukah has one commandment, which is repeated for eight nights, which takes up very little of one's Chanukah time – and one may not derive any benefit from its fulfillment!

 Other than the number of days of celebration being greater on Chanukah, the other factors would seem to indicate greater coverage in the Shulchan Arukh going to Purim. But Purim only has 12 Simanim (sections) compared to Chanukah's 16.

If we don't count the sections in both holidays that refer to customs of eulogizing and fasting, as well as the order of the davening, we are left with eleven Simanim dedicated to Chanukah's lights versus nine Simanim dedicated to Purim's mitzvos. Strangely, the final Siman in "The Laws of Chanukah" has more to do with Purim than Chanukah as it describes the 4 Parshas that surround Purim in the month of Adar - yet it's included in "Chanukah's Laws."

The numbers still don't compare in a way that makes sense. Why is so much more attention given to Chanukah's lights than to all of the mitzvos of Purim combined?

 While both holidays contain a strong element of what we call "Pirsumei Nisa" – publicizing the miracle – the difference between the methods is that Purim has an internal "Pirsum" through reading the Megillah in the synagogue, while Chanukah's "pirsum" is public – not just for "insiders." Most people put their candles in a place where they can be seen by passers-by, who have eight nights to notice the candles as they increase by one each night. Unlike in the shul, where only those who attend hear the Megillah, anyone - Jew or non-Jew - can see the Chanukah lights.

 Let the irony not be lost upon us. The miracle of the Purim story was the overcoming of the external plot to physically annihilate the Jewish people. We call the miracle a "nes nistar" – a hidden miracle that guided the "natural" chain of events that put Esther in a position of influence to save her people. Our "internal" publicizing of the miracle seems to reflect the hidden miracle of Esther's rise to prominence more than it reflects the public nature of the threat to our people.

 The Chanukah threat was more of a hidden threat. The Greeks had successfully assimilated many cultures into their own, and, according to our tradition, had been wildly successful doing the same with many Jews. The threat was to the souls of the Jewish people, to rid Judaism from the Jewish people. The miracle of the military victory, which is the primary focus of "Al Hanissim," was a public one – as the "many" fell to the might of the "few." As Purim's "publicizing of the miracle" takes its tone from the nature of the miracles (in that case internal), on Chanukah the method of "publicizing" seems to reflect the nature of Chanukah's miracle – the very out-in-the-open military victory, as opposed to the internal threat of spiritual annihilation that came under the guise of assimilation to Greek culture, paganism and hedonism.

 And yet, we can still debate which was a more important achievement – being saved from genocide or from spiritual annihilation.

 It's not my line, and I will surely not be the last to point out that the number of Jewish souls that have been lost since World War II has surpassed the number murdered by the Nazi Genocide Machine.

I don't want to be misunderstood. Both numbers are devastating. Yet while the comparison seems almost heretical, I tend to wonder which will be viewed as more of a loss one hundred years from now. Many who look back at the Holocaust say "we need to replace as many as Hitler took." How many look at the last sixty five years saying "We need to replace those who were lost to assimilation, whose children or grandchildren don't know they are Jewish, who support anti-Jewish and anti-Israel notions in the media, on college campuses and on the street…"?

Preventing genocide or spiritual deaths are both worthy of celebration. But survivors can rebuild after even the most devastating war. When your Jewish soul is dead, on the other hand, there's no survivor left who knows how to rebuild, or that something even needs rebuilding.

From this perspective, Chanukah needs a lot more time (8 days instead of 1), and a lot more coverage in the Shulchan Arukh than Purim needs. As we publicize the miracle of the preservation of the Yiddishe neshamas – correctly, following the minutest details of the Shulchan Arukh – through lighting candles for all to see, we pray that the souls who are lost or wandering can touch the spark that will bring them back to our people.

Only then we will be able to proclaim in our own times, "A great miracle happened here."