By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — Parsha Mikeitz almost always coincides with Chanukah. Although the Torah never mentions Chanukah, the themes of the parsha and the holiday illuminate one another. Last week in Vayeishev, Joseph was cast into a pit and cried out to Hashem. This week, we witness his dramatic rise, his prayers answered, his destiny unfolding, and his faith unshaken. His story reminds us that Jewish endurance does not rest primarily on military strength or political savvy, but on spiritual clarity, perseverance, and trust in Hashem. That is precisely the message of Chanukah.
Chanukah commemorates two intertwined events: the military victory of the Maccabees in 165 B.C.E. and the miracle of the cruse of oil that burned for eight days in the rededicated Temple. The Sages emphasized the miracle of the oil over the battlefield triumph, teaching that the essence of the holiday is pirsuma d’nisa, publicizing the miracle. Candle lighting and Hallel are therefore central mitzvot, announcing that Hashem is present in history and that His light endures.
Joseph models this same principle. When he interprets Pharaoh’s dreams, he attributes his insight unequivocally to Hashem: the plan to save Egypt is “a matter determined by Hashem, and He will carry it out” (Gen. 41:32). Joseph lives with an awareness that the physical and spiritual are deeply connected. We, too, place a menorah in our windows and declare that our blessings, talents, and very resilience come from a higher source.
Yet spreading light is not always simple. Our world contains hatred, violence, rising antisemitism, and declining faith. In such times, pirsuma d’nisa feels more like an act of courage than a ritual observance. Perhaps this is precisely the miracle we are invited to embrace: to understand what Hashem meant by “Vayehi or,” “let there be light,” and to believe that even in moments that feel like the worst of times, there is a hidden best we are called to reveal.
The Rambam underscores the importance of this mitzvah: “Even if one has no food, he must borrow or sell his clothing to buy oil for Chanukah lights.” The Maggid Mishneh explains that if we are required to borrow money for the four cups of Pesach, how much more so for Chanukah lights, which directly publicize Hashem’s miracles.
The Shlah, Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, teaches that the 36 Chanukah flames correspond to the 36 hours Adam and Chavah experienced pure divine light in Eden. By lighting these candles, which are designated solely for holiness, we connect ourselves to creation and to generations who sought to reveal Hashem’s presence in the world.
The Haftarah for Miketz, from Zechariah, describes a vision of a self-sustaining golden menorah surrounded by olive trees, symbolizing that Hashem continuously provides the spiritual nourishment we need. As we sing in Maoz Tzur: “Furious they assailed us, but Thine armor veiled us.” When our strength falters, His sustains us.
The menorah itself also symbolizes the Oral Torah. Just as its light illuminates the Holy of Holies, the place of the written law, the Oral Torah illuminates and gives life to the written word. The self-sacrifice (mesirat nefesh) of the Chashmonaim to preserve Jewish life and learning reflects this same devotion.
Chanukah calls us to be “candle lighters,” not only literally but spiritually. It is an opportunity to pause, to rekindle our inner Ner Tamid, and to refresh the light we bring to others. Even the dreidel hints at faith: one turn from Hashem can transform adversity into blessing. Placing the menorah at our doorway reminds us that our light is not meant to remain private. We are tasked with shining outward, thinking of others, and aspiring to be “a light unto the nations.”
Reb Nachman taught that despair is a sin, for it reflects a loss of emunah and bitachon. In a popular homiletic teaching, which works as a midrashic insight, if not a linguistic claim, the Hebrew word for worry, דְּאָגָה (de·a·gah) contains nearly consecutive letters of the alphabet except for “ב,” the letter that begins bitachon, trust. When trust is missing, worry fills the space. But we are meant to be repairers of the world; despair paralyzes, while trust empowers us to heal what is broken. We view despair (yei’ush) as spiritually deadening, while emunah and bitachon activate responsibility and hope.
Joseph exemplifies what it means to maintain a constant relationship with Hashem, not stored away like an app we open only in crisis, but present in daily life. Chanukah invites us to let Torah and spirituality be the light we publicize. In the words of Rabbi Nechemia Schusterman, adapting President John F. Kennedy: “Ask not what your lights will do for you, but what your lights will do for others.”
A story from the Talmud reinforces this faith. Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa’s daughter mistakenly filled the Shabbat lamp with vinegar instead of oil. When she feared it would not light, he reassured her that the same Hashem who makes oil burn can make vinegar burn and it did, lasting through Havdalah. Mussar interprets oil as representing the committed, observant Jews and vinegar as the more assimilated. The miracle whispers that ultimately all Jews will be united through light.
Today, too, we are called to defend our faith and people, often under intense pressure. But history shows that those who guard Jewish identity with courage are ultimately rewarded with resilience and hope. The Maccabees lit the oil even when it appeared hopeless, and the light endured far beyond expectation.
I believe parsha Mikeitz offers one of our Torah’s most powerful portraits of psychological growth. When the narrative opens, Joseph has spent years in a place of silence and obscurity. Yet it is precisely during those hidden years that he develops the inner strength and emotional maturity that later allow him to stand with confidence before Pharaoh. Mikeitz reminds us that real self-improvement is often slow and invisible, as I said, even when it appears hopeless. The most important growth happens not in moments of spotlight, but in seasons of struggle, waiting, and quiet internal work.
When Joseph finally emerges, he is no longer the impulsive, self-absorbed youth we met earlier. He has learned to regulate his emotions, to listen deeply, and to respond with wisdom rather than reactivity. His ability to interpret dreams reflects a psychological talent, not a mystical one. Joseph knows how to listen beneath the surface, to discern fears, impulses, and hopes that others cannot yet articulate. Self-improvement begins here: with the courage to examine our inner world and understand the narratives driving us, having the courage to dispute, challenge and replace though stories that do not serve us or align with our true values.
In that light, perhaps Joseph’s most remarkable transformation is his capacity to reframe his story. Instead of seeing himself as a victim of betrayal and abandonment, he chooses to view his journey as purposeful. This reframing doesn’t erase his pain; it integrates it. His children’s names, Menashe and Ephraim, reveal a man who has learned to hold both hardship and blessing, past wounds and present growth. Menasha, “Hashem made me forget my hardship,” and Ephraim, “Hashem made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.” Healing means transforming suffering into wisdom.
Finally, Joseph models how to face crisis without panic. Confronted with Pharaoh’s dreams of famine, he responds not with fear but with clarity, strategy, and emotional steadiness. Self-improvement, Mikeitz teaches, is about learning how to lead ourselves, and others, through adversity with resilience and foresight.
In all of this, Mikeitz becomes a guide to inner transformation. Joseph shows us that growth is possible, that wounds can become sources of insight, and that with patience, humility, and deeper self-awareness, each of us can rise into our fullest, most purposeful selves.
As we light our candles this year, may we pause and ask: How am I building resilience, equanimity, and strength? How am I carrying Joseph’s clarity, the Maccabees’ courage, and Hashem’s light into my part of the world?
The world is watching how our generation responds. Let us answer with light.
Shabbat Shalom…Chag Chanukah Sameach
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.