Many tales are told about the unusual bravery and diligence needed to light Chanukah candles inside German concentration camps, but one tale that strikes close to the heart is about a 12 year old boy in Auschwitz whose bar mitzva was supposed to fall during the week of Chanukah. Since it was impossible to perform Mitzvos in the camps, this boy began to save potato peels and crumbs, and fashioned them into makeshift candles. When Chanukah arrived and he lit his “Menorah”, he wasn’t just celebrating the festival, but he was also celebrating his Bar Mitzvah through performing a mitzvah.

But during one of the eight nights, there was a surprise inspection, and before the Bar Mitzva boy knew it, a German in uniform ordered him to explain what these candles symbolized. The boy defiantly announced it was a festival of lights, and the guard ordered him to extinguish the candles.

The young boy, in a quiet voice, looked up and said “Sir, we don’t extinguish light. We bring light into the world.”

Surprisingly, instead of shooting the boy on the spot, the guard turned around and walked away.

Those lights the boy lit that Chanukah in the dark abyss of Auschwitz have turned – at least for me – an anonymous child into a heroic figure of our times. How a young boy could defy the German military machine is also unfathomable – and with what? Potato peels, crumbs!

Chanukah is actually the festival of anonymous heroes who quietly bring light into this world.

Think of it: the real hero of Chanukah was the anonymous priest who had originally saved a small cruse of oil.

We certainly don’t deny the role of Judah Maccabee who had the courage to challenge the Greek-Syrians, or the role of Mattathias who raised committed sons with the backbone to rouse the Jewish people.

Nor do we overlook how Judith daringly entered the tent of the Syrian general Holofernes, and acted utterly convincing as she gave him hot milk and latkes, until he fell into a heavy sleep and she severed his head, to save her people from Greek tyranny.

But the true hero of this festival may have been someone whose name was never recorded.

When the Greek-Syrians entered the Holy Temple in Jerusalem with the intention of not only destroying it, but defiling it with their idolatry, one priest grabbed a small cruse of pure olive oil and hid it so well that it wasn’t found until the Maccabees re-entered the temple, cleansing it of its impurities. But they couldn’t authentically rededicate the temple without lighting the menorah, for which they needed pure olive oil, stamped and sealed.

When the Greeks trooped away from the Holy Temple, they left destruction worse than an earthquake, because the carnage had been deliberate and thorough. Nothing was left, not even a cruse of oil, but then the discovery and the miracle: the cruse burned for eight days.

The miracle of Chanukah actually started when the priest grabbed the cruse of oil, in that moment expressing an act of faith which defies reason.

We certainly need the blatant bravery and daring of Judah Maccabee and Judith. But without the faith of that priest, our Chanukah would be different. The physical victory represented by Judah Maccabee is supplemented by the spiritual victory represented by the light of Chanukah. We don’t celebrate our victory over the Green-Syrians with parades and displays of military might and prowess, but with light, a seemingly simple act that stops the destructive forces of darkness.

Preoccupation with light is central to Judaism, evidenced by the very first utterance of the Creator: “Let there be light.” Not only Chanukah, but also the year round Friday night and holiday candles. The Chanukah festival of lights contains within its flames the full spectrum of Jewish life.