Twenty-four hours before I was scheduled to speak at a recent interfaith conference in Pompton Plains, I had undergone fairly substantial nasal surgery. My surgeon (a Christian from India, by the way) was quite horrified that I went at all, but I had participated in this particular interfaith conference last year, and I knew it would be worth it.

Brought together by the New Jersey chapter of the Worldwide Ahmadiyya Muslim Association in Clifton were clergy representing Sikhism, Jainism, Judaism, Catholicism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and Protestantism. My clerical colleagues and I had a substantial audience, divided in two sections, with Muslim women separated by screen barriers from a gender-mixed crowd of the other faiths.

As we began speaking about the question posed by the meeting's organizers — "Is a divine reformer the need of the hour?" — all I could think about was Hanukka.

This week we begin celebrating the "miracle of the oil," but in many ways the "back story" of Hanukka is more challenging (and for me, I confess, more interesting). The Maccabees were undeniably reformers, but there is some question as to where they directed most of their reforming energy. Was it directed at fighting their Greek oppressors, or at resisting Jews who were enamored of Greek culture, language, and practices, as exemplified by gymnasiums where, quite heretically, the human body was the focus? Jews appeared to be assimilating into Greek society at an alarming rate, and the Maccabees felt it was their mission to halt that slide by whatever means necessary.

In any case, I didn't talk about any of that at the conference. I talked about how Jews are, at best, ambivalent about "divine reformers." On the one hand, we dedicate no small amount of our liturgical and theological energy to yearning for the Messiah to arrive and redeem the world from the problems of violence, hatred, war, poverty, suffering, etc. — that is, from the human condition as it is. Coexisting with that deep yearning, though, is an equally deep ambivalence about the whole notion of "divine reformers." Who will they be? How will we recognize them? Will they be male or female? Democratic or Republican? One hundred percent glatt human or maybe something/someone Divine-ish?

As a people, I think we are quietly very anxious that when the Meshiach (Messiah) comes we might throw him or her in jail. How many times can you read about a David Koresh or Jim Jones without wondering how the heck we are going to pick the Messiah out of the crowd with any accuracy?

Our other ambivalence, I think, might be closer to the heart of the matter: We have a sense in our daily understanding and practice that what really matters is for us to strive toward more common good. Our tradition emphasizes that we have a divine obligation (mitzva) to engage in tikun olam (to repair and heal the brokenness in this world). It is that movement toward the good — or at least toward the better — that God really wants from us.

In that context, the notion of Meshiach's arrival is, by definition, a spiritual conversation stopper: game over, all of humanity wins. But in the interim, we know that there is something very important about lumbering around the playing field as best as we can, improving our game, crafting strategies toward ultimate spiritual success, and even propping each other up as we stagger and stumble toward the goal line. In our heart of hearts, we wonder whether it is the playing itself — not the victory — that constitutes living a spiritual life.

As we light the lights of the hanukkia (menora) this year, we should not stop thinking about our spiritual endgame. But let's also spend time reflecting on the nature of our daily, individual play. Are we focused, intentional and, most of all, headed in the right direction for the right reasons?

Chag Urim Sameach: May this Hanukka be filled with light and joy for all.