Summary by Channie Koplowitz Stein
Dedicated in Loving Memory of Bashya bat Yosef - zl
The world has only fairly recently come to recognize the physical benefits of extra virgin olive oil. The Torah, however, has long recognized the spiritual benefits of pure pressed virgin olive oil, for it was only the very first pressed, not the subsequent ground oil that the Torah permitted for use in lighting the Menorah in the Sanctuary. The oils extracted later were then used to mix the meal offerings, never as the source of light.
Why was this special, separate, arduous process necessary? Why could the priests not just grind out the “juice” of the olive and then remove whatever pulp or other sediment may have fallen in? The oil would then have become equally pure. Instead, the oil for the Menorah could be extracted only by the first crush upon the olive, not by the grinding of the millstones.
Further, is there also a connection between these laws and Parshat Zachor with which this Parsha reading is usually paired?
One must note that Torah is most often compared to light, and the light of the Menorah most specifically was identified with Torah, both lights spreading outward beyond their encompassing walls to enlighten the world. This idea forms the foundation not only for Rabbi Bick’s telling us that Torah wisdom is pure, never changing, never adulterated by outside influences as is often the case with secular “wisdom”, but the oil must also reflect the effort and pure motivation we must put into Torah study, as the Ohr Doniel points out. Both Torah and the oil for the Menorah can only be achieved through a difficult and meticulous process to extract their purest essence.
By reflecting on the symbolism of the two rites in the Sanctuary which used oil, the Ohr Doniel presents an interesting explanation as to why the oil for the Menorah required this unusual process while the oil for the meal offering used a more standard process. Lighting the Menorah represented keeping the flame of the spiritual Torah alive within our souls, while the meal offering represented the blessings of the physical world. Getting the essence of Torah study and spiritual connection requires each individual to put in his personal effort; he cannot inherit his learning from his father, like lighting the Menorah. On the other hand, the blessings of the mincha, the meal offering, can be passed from one generation to the next. They do not necessarily require one to start from “scratch” again, from the very first drop of extracted oil.
Rabbi Gamliel Rabinowitz in Tiv HaTorah offers a life lesson we can derive from the process of extracting the oil for the Menorah. This oil had to be not only zach, pure, but also katit, crushed. Only through this process was it deemed acceptable to create light. In a similar way, we may experience crushing blows in our lives, but we must find a way to use these experiences for growth and achieving the light of wisdom. We must not allow them to cause us to rest and give up, as mincha/menuchah, (meal offering, similar cognately to “rest”). Or, to put it another way, may the pressure forge light and strength, and make you, not break you.
Building on this idea, the Netivot Shalom explains that Bnei Yisroel is compared to an olive tree. Just as the olive is unique among the trees, so is Bnei Yisroel unique among the nations of the world. While all fruits can be crushed and their juices used for drink or other form of ingestion, only the juice of the olive can also be transformed to be used for a completely different purpose. Only the olive has buried within itself the power of illumination that must be released by pressing and grinding. So too does each Jew carry deep within himself a hidden Godly spark. This spark may be released through challenges, but it can also be released by probing within oneself, pushing away the darkness, and releasing that inner light.
This hidden light, continues the Netivot Shalom, is a part of the primal light of creation, concealed for the future after Adam’s sin. Where is it concealed? One of the places is within the Jewish soul. Just as Adam before the sin could see “from one end of the universe to the other” with the illumination of the primal light, so too does each embryo have that same vision within the womb. But once the baby emerges into the physical world, that light is buried deep within him, covered by layers of physical and material influences. We may need outside help to extract this precious light and release its power.
This light was also hidden in the Menorah, whose radiance impacted every Jew, even if he did not personally see the light itself. And Torah learning taps into that same light.
There is one other time when the energy of this primal light is palpable. That is on Shabbat. When God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, He was bestowing this primal light on the Shabbat. This formed the core of Hashem’s blessing of the day, and explains why some people greet each other with “a lichtigen Shabbos, a Shabbos filled with light.” The light is manifest on the countenances of those who observe the Shabbat, for we then keep ourselves apart from the distractions of the mundane and physical and concentrate on the spiritual spark within ourselves, and the light is reflected on our countenances.
Bur God created the world in balance. Just is there is the positive force of light, so there is also a negative force, an Amalek, battling for supremacy within each of us and within the world. It is these negative distractions that form the darkness of an Amalek within each of us and which we must battle against in every generation. Only by eliminating this darkness can we free the light within ourselves and bring down God’s light to the fullest extent.
The Sichot Hitchazkut continues this theme. Just as Yisroel is the firstborn of God, so is Amalek the first among the other nations of the world, according to Balaam’s prophecy. Amalek’s overriding characteristic is anger, immediately losing control over one’s thoughts and actions at any slight, great or small, believing in his own control over everything and refusing to see that Hashem is actually in control. A Jew, on the other hand, must be able to step back, see not only the immediate outer shell but more importantly the inner essence of God’s control within each situation. Anger was the character of Esau, and anger was the downfall of Haman.
In Avodat Avodah, the Tosher Rebbe develops this idea further. Haman was elated when his lottery picked the month of Adar. He knew this was the month in which Moshe Rabbenu had died. Moshe’s upraised hands, he felt, would no longer protect Bnei Yisroel as they did in the desert war against his ancestors. Moshe’s relationship with Hakodosh Boruch Hu was the closest of any human being. But what Haman neglected to take into account was that Moshe had inculcated some of this passion and love for Hakodosh Boruch Hu into every Jewish soul through his leadership and through the light that shone from his countenance. Amalek wanted to dispel that light with darkness, to bring calculated coldness into the ranks of our people to replace the passion of our relationship with the Creator – asher korcha baderech. They didn’t “happen” (mikre, kara) upon Bnei Yisroel; they brought coldness (kor) into your midst. This, continues Avodat Avodah, was the crux of Haman’s argument to King Ahashuerosh, “Yeshno am echod, there is one nation.” Not Yeshno, but Yoshnu, they do things by rote, as if asleep and in a state of stupor. They no longer have the fire and passion of Moshe, his connection to Hashem, reasoned Haman, for Moshe is dead.
But Moshe was also born in Adar. This chapter about the oil is all about this connection, about the light of Hashem’s countenance shining down upon us, and our uplifted eyes reflecting that love back to our Maker. On Purim, we must search deep within ourselves, uproot the dark Amalek within, and unblock the love and light of Hakodosh Boruch Hu in our lives. We must strive to perform the mitzvoth out of passion and love rather than out of duty. Don’t let the darkness mask the light. Let us crush that shell and release the pure oil within.
Rabbi Twerski makes an interesting related observation from nature. He relates that a lobster grows until it feels uncomfortable under the pressure of its constricting shell. It then must shed its shell and grow a larger one in order to continue to grow. So it is often the case with human beings. We too would remain complacent and stop growing if we did not feel uncomfortable. Just as the olive releases its best qualities, its oil, only under pressure, so too do humans usually achieve their greatest growth only through pain and discomfort.
Rav Pincus in Nefesh Shimshon reminds us that the Shabbos menorah in our homes forming our Mikdosh me’at, our small sanctuaries, parallels the Menorah in the Sanctuary. We are commanded to remember the Sabbath Day just as we are commanded to remember the attack of Amalek. Every Shabbat and especially on Shabbat Zachor we must counter the chill of Amalek’s attack by releasing our inner light, the pure love and devotion to Hakodosh Boruch Hu and the passion in learning His Torah and performing the mitzvoth.