It was the first night of Chanukah. The single light of the menorah gleamed with a strange radiance. Its light came neither from wax nor oil. This was a very special menorah. It was made from an old wooden clog. And the oil was boot polish. This was Chanukah in Bergen Belsen.

The Bluzhever Rav chanted the first two blessings in the customary festive tune. He was about to make the third blessing but then he stopped. He paused for what seemed like a long time. He looked around the room at all the faces in front of him. And then, with a voice filled with strength, he said: “Blessed are You, Hashem, our G-d and G-d of our fathers, Who has kept us alive and preserved us and brought us to this time.” “Amein” was the whispered reply from the huddled throng. Later, one of the men came over to the Bluzhever Rav and he said, “Can I ask the Rabbi a question?” “What is your question?” said the Rav. “How can you possibly make a blessing thanking G-d for bringing us to this time? Should we thank Him for bringing us to Bergen-Belsen? For bringing us to a time like this?”

“You know,” said the Bluzhever Rav, “I had exactly the same thought as you. That’s why I stopped in the middle. I was about to ask the Rabbi of Zaner and some of my other colleagues if I could really make that blessing, and then I caught sight of all the faces looking so intently at that wooden clog, filled with black camp shoe polish. I thought: Here we are in the depths, in the blackest darkness that could exist in this world. And here are some Jews lighting Chanukah candles. In spite of all the evil that those murderers are doing, we are lighting candles. And I thought to myself: Ribono shel ha’olam! Master of the world! Who is like your people Israel? Look how they stand with death staring them in the face and lovingly they hang onto every word — ‘Who did miracles for our ancestors in those days, at this time’ And I thought: If this is not the place to thank Hashem for bringing us to this time, then I don’t know when is! I have a sacred duty to say that blessing now.”

Chanukah is the only celebration in the Jewish calendar that spans two months. A month of light and a month of darkness. And despite the great light that was revealed on Chanukah, that light darkened in Tevet. On the Fast of the Tenth of Tevet we mourn three great tragedies: the translation of the Torah into Greek, the death of Ezra, which marked the end of prophecy, and, finally, the surrounding of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, which led to the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash. Tevet is a month of darkness.

The total number of candles that we light on Chanukah is 36 (excluding the shamesh). In the beginning of the Creation, a supernal light called the Ohr Haganuz shone. With it you could see from one end of the world to the other, meaning that you could see cause and effect. You could see why things happened. All was revealed. After 36 hours, Hashem hid it away so that it could not be used by those who are evil. That supernal light reappeared in the lamps of the Menorah in the Beit Hamikdash, and it can be found in the lights of our Chanukah menorahs to this very day. 36. If you count the number of days from the beginning of Chanukah until the end of Tevet, it also comes to 36. The light spreads into the darkness even though you cannot see it.