Few things are more beautiful in Judaism than its combination of high ideals and its honest acknowledgement of human weakness. We are what we are - frail, fallible, human, all too human - and yet the Torah consistently asks us to wrestle with who we are, striving to become what we ought to be.

We see this in the concept of shalom bayit, peace in the home. The prophets of Israel were the first people in history to see peace as an ideal. Isaiah foresaw the day when nations would beat their swords into ploughshares, and make war no more. Yet still, twenty-seven centuries later, we have not reached that destination. Why?

The Torah's profound answer is that violence is part of human nature, and must be fought, not just on the battlefield or by international diplomacy, but in the human heart. And it begins in the home. If there is shalom bayit, peace in the home, then we can begin to hope for peace in the world. But if within the home people seek to impose their will by force, then violence will continue to haunt us.

Before we can make peace with our enemies, we must make peace with ourselves. Who is strong? asked the rabbis. They answered, not one who conquers his enemies but hakovesh et yitzro, one who conquers the evil, and the violence, within himself.

Sadly, domestic violence still exists. In this coming week, 25th November has been designated as an International Day Against Violence Against Women, and we within the Jewish community must give it our support.

It is all too easy for us to pretend that this is not a Jewish problem. For the highest of reasons we carry an idealised image of the Jewish home as something special, sacrosanct, a place where violence and abuse do not happen. That, after all, is the Jewish ideal. But no less important than ideals is the courage to face problems honestly when they arise - and they do arise.

Not every marriage works. Not every relationship lasts. Not every husband and wife are able to work through their problems alone. The pressures and strains of contemporary life are immense, sometimes unbearable. When communication breaks down and words fail, violence begins. All too often, it begins at home.

That is why, in 1992, Jewish Women's Aid was set up in Britain, and why in 1997 it opened a refuge, a place where women suffering from violence could find safety and shelter for themselves and their children, in a Shabbat and kashrut-observing environment, whatever their own level of religious observance. More than a hundred women have found shelter there, some for a few weeks, others for several months - and for each it has been a lifeline, giving them the space and support to recover and move on.

Jewish Women's Aid does much more than this. It provides practical support for women in need: counselling, advice, guidance, a telephone helpline. It steers women to the specialist services they need. It gives them help in dealing with children who may have been traumatised by the stress of conflict. It deals with hundreds of calls every year. It is one of our great organisations, exemplifying chessed-in-action, and it deserves our highest support.

But not only our support: it needs our acknowledgement. It has been estimated that, on average, women are abused 35 times before they confide in anyone. There are enormous emotional difficulties to be overcome before they ask for help. They may not realise the extent of the danger. They may suffer from guilt, feeling that part of the problem lies with them. They may fear that if people intervene, their husbands will get angry and even more violent. They may be afraid for their children. Or they may simply feel ashamed.

When we don't talk about these problems openly and honestly, it makes it harder for people to call for help. And that is wrong, morally and spiritually. Faith is not denial. It is not seeing the world as we would like it to be. Faith is the courage to see things as they are, and the willingness to work together to make them more as we would wish them to be. Faith is the ability to hear someone's cry for help and to respond. We are approaching the festival of Hanukkah - and there is a law of Hanukkah that contains a remarkable lesson about domestic violence and its opposite, shalom bayit.

Hanukkah was perhaps the greatest single military victory in the history of Israel until modern times. A handful of dedicated Jews, committed to religious freedom, rose up against the mightiest army of their time, the Syrian-Greeks, part of the Alexandrian empire. In the course of three years, they won a momentous struggle, re-establishing Jewish independence, regaining control of Jerusalem and rededicating the Temple. The great symbol of that victory, then and now, was the menorah, the candelabrum that stood in the Temple, which the Maccabees relit, using the one cruse of oil that remained undefiled, and which miraculously burned for eight days. That is why we light candles for eight days.

The question, however, was asked: What if, on Friday afternoon, a person has only one candle. Should he or she light it in honour of Hanukkah or in honour of Shabbat? Which takes precedence?

We would expect the answer to be Hanukkah. After all, the Hanukkah light has special significance as a commemoration of that historic victory and miracle. Jewish law goes so far as to say that, even if you are poor, you should sell what you own, or borrow money from others to fulfil the mitzvah. It does not say this about Shabbat candles.

Yet the law is that if you have only one candle on Friday afternoon, you should light it as a Shabbat light, not a Hanukkah one. Why? Because, said the sages, the Shabbat light represents shalom bayit, peace in the home - and so great is the importance of peace in the home that G-d Himself (in the ordeal of the sotah, the woman suspected by her husband of adultery) "allowed His name to be blotted out for the sake of peace between husband and wife."

What an extraordinary law! What it means is that, in the Jewish scale of values, even the greatest victory in war counts less than a small victory for peace in the home. It is not too much to say that this explains one of the mysteries of Jewish survival. European civilization is based on two great cultures: ancient Greece and ancient Israel. Yet, shortly after the Maccabees won their victory more than two thousand years ago, Greece began its decline and fall, whereas the Jewish people - though it was defeated by the Romans and suffered twenty centuries of exile - survived. It survived because it cared more about the family than about military might and glory on the field of battle. Armies win wars, but families create peace - and it is civilisations that value peace that survive.

There is nothing shameful about admitting that a marriage isn't working; about seeking help, and even refuge when necessary. To the contrary, that is what kehillah - the Jewish community - is there for: to heed the cry, protect the vulnerable, create safe space, and give care and shelter to those who need it, so that the wounds, physical and emotional, can heal. That is what Jewish Women's Aid does, week after week, year after year. It has earned our admiration. Let us give it our support, so that it can support others and help them find shalom bayit, the domestic peace, they so badly lack and long for.

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