More than the Oil

The True Meaning of Chanukah

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

Chanukah is usually told as the story of a jar of oil. A single day’s supply—pure, undefiled—somehow burned for eight days until new oil could be procured. That image has shaped two thousand years of celebration: menorahs in windows, songs around the candles, gifts, latkes, and sufganiyot fried in bubbling oil.

Yet the oil miracle, beautiful as it is, appears only in the Talmud—recorded centuries after the Maccabean revolt. If we look more closely at the earliest sources, something surprising emerges. Chanukah was once focused not on the menorah, but on the altar.

There is a hint to this in the song Maoz Tzur—Rock of Ages. The hymn begins with triumph, praising God as the Fortress who saves Israel. But the final line shifts our attention:

אָז אֶגְמֹר בְּשִׁיר מִזְמוֹר חֲנֻכַּת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ 

Az egmor b’shir mizmor, chanukat ha-mizbeach. “Then I shall complete with a song of praise the dedication of the altar.”

The altar. Not the menorah.

Even the Torah readings during Chanukah revolve around the dedication of the Mishkan, the Temple, and its altar by Moses and the tribal leaders. Our liturgy has been quietly reminding us every year that Chanukah is, at its core, about rededication—not of the lampstand—but of the place of sacrifice.

So how did the menorah become the center?

To answer that, we have to return to the original story.

Antiochus IV did not simply oppress the Jewish people—he attempted to eradicate Judaism itself. On the 15th of Kislev, he erected an idol in the Temple. On the 25th of Kislev, he defiled the altar with pagan sacrifices. 

The Maccabees were a family of Jewish priests and the leaders of the successful revolt against him. They were led by the priest Mattathias and his son, Judas Maccabeus (whose nickname means "The Hammer"), a brilliant military strategist..

When the Maccabees reclaimed the Temple, they intentionally waited until that same date—25 Kislev—to rededicate it, reversing Antiochus’s desecration.

The Book of Maccabees (1 Maccabees 4:47, 50, and 52-53) describes their work in detail:

They took uncut stones, according to the Torah, and built a new altar like the former one. . . . They lighted the lamps on the lampstand, and these illuminated the Temple. . . . They rose early on the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month… and offered sacrifice according to the law on the new altar.

This was an altar-centered festival. But why choose eight days?

In Jewish history, eight-day dedications are not new.

• Moses dedicated the Mishkan over eight days. (Leviticus 8:33, 35; 9:1)

• Solomon dedicated the First Temple over eight days—timed with Sukkot. (2 Chronicles 7:9-10)

• Sukkot itself is an eight-day festival, originally tied to the autumn harvest and later to Israel’s wilderness journey. (Leviticus 23:36)

The Maccabees had not been able to celebrate Sukkot during the war. Once victorious, they rededicated the Temple and celebrated a delayed Sukkot.

A letter preserved in 2 Maccabees 1:18 makes this explicit:

We shall be celebrating the purification of the Temple on the twenty-fifth of Kislev . . . that you too may celebrate the Feast of Booths and of the fire that appeared in the days of Nehemiah.

Which brings us to another thread in this tapestry.

2 Maccabees 1:19-23 relates that before the destruction of the First Temple, the priests hid the sacred altar fire in a stone cistern, hoping it might someday be restored. When the returnees from Babylon sought it in Nehemiah’s day, they found only an oily residue. Nehemiah poured it onto the sacrifice—and as the sun rose, the fire leapt to life. The continuity of God’s presence was reaffirmed. 

Chanukah’s original focus on the altar fits neatly into this long arc of memory: fire preserved, found, renewed.

So why did the focus shift to oil?

One theory is elegantly simple.

Temple sacrifices can occur only at the Temple. After the destruction of the Second Temple, Jews could no longer reenact the altar’s dedication. But a menorah can be lit anywhere—even in exile.

The rabbis gave the people a way to celebrate at home. The candles symbolized the altar’s fire. The miracle story of the oil emerged later, reframing the holiday around light rather than sacrifice, devotion rather than bloodshed, hope rather than revolt.

For us Messianic Jews, Chanukah has an added resonance. It falls near the season when our Christian neighbors remember the birth of Yeshua. As we light our candles, we can recall that Messiah Yeshua is the Light of the World, the Light of Torah (John 10).

Our menorahs, however, point not only to the Temple lampstand, but also to Nehemiah’s pouring the residual oil on the altar; to sacrifice, not just light. 

Since Chanukah originally centered on the altar, another connection emerges. Yeshua is not only Light—He is also the sacrifice upon the altar, the offering whose power overcame death itself.

Just as Antiochus sought to extinguish the Jewish people, the forces of evil sought to extinguish Yeshua’s mission. Both failed. Through the resurrection, God vindicated His Son just as He restored His Temple.

In the church that our congregation used to rent from, during the Christmas season they had a cross and a manger on either side of the stage. They were proclaiming a profound truth: His birth is bound to His sacrifice. His life is one continual dedication—a personal Chanukah.

When we kindle our menorahs this year, we join a vast story stretching across millennia:

• Moses’ dedication of the Mishkan.

• Solomon’s dedication of the First Temple.

• Nehemiah’s restoration of the sacred fire.

• The Maccabees’ rededication of the altar after Antiochus’s desecration.

• Generations of Jews carrying light into exile.

• And Messiah Yeshua, whose life and death embody the ultimate dedication to God’s will.

The light we kindle is not only about the oil that burned beyond its natural limit. It is about the fire that has never gone out—not in our history, not in our Scriptures, not in the heart of God.

As we light our menorahs, we rededicate ourselves as well.

We remember our calling to bring the light of Torah into the world.

We remember Yeshua as both Light and Sacrifice.

And we remember Rav Shaul’s call that we be “living sacrifices” (Romans 12:1) — our own lives becoming small altars upon which we offer ourselves to God.

May we ponder these things in this season.

May we give thanks to the One who continues to save us in myriad ways—especially through the great salvation wrought through His Son.

And may we rededicate ourselves to His Torah, becoming not only light-bearers, but living offerings, devoted to the One who renews the altar of our hearts.