Here I Am: The Light and Legacy of Chanukah

Chanukah, a holiday of light and resilience, is upon us. As we step into this season, let us reflect on the rich tapestry of Chanukah’s meaning, may our hearts be filled with the glow of the candles, their flames a reminder of hope kindled anew.

Here in America, Chanukah often coincides with Christmas, leading to inevitable comparisons. It’s interesting to note how this juxtaposition has influenced our traditions. Historically, Jewish leaders in the late 1800s and early 1900s, many of whom were immigrants, embraced elements like gift-giving. They wanted their children to feel the joy of Chanukah amidst the broader festive atmosphere. My own mother would cover our coffee table in Chanukah gift wrap, a sight that might have bewildered our ancestors but speaks deeply to the joy and adaptability of Jewish tradition. This blending of practices tells us something profound: our rituals, rooted in the past, remain alive and responsive to the present.

Last night, my family added a new layer of meaning to our candle lighting. We joined a ritual created by the Hostages and Missing Families Forum, lighting a special candle in solidarity with those who are not free, keeping their lives central in our hearts. This act resonated deeply with the mitzvah of placing the menorah where it can be seen. The commandment of “pirsumei d’nisa,” publicizing the miracle, calls us to share our light boldly with the world. The world needs our light. Now, perhaps more than ever, it takes courage to illuminate the darkness and proclaim, “Hineni — here I am.”

In these dark months, we crave light and community and warmth, as a counterbalance to the season’s chill. And yet, our rituals also hold space for memory and mourning, yearning and struggle. These acts transform grief into resilience, reminding us of the constructive power of light.

We are not merely lighting candles; we are calling ourselves into the present and summoning the past. The bravery of the Maccabees, who lit the menorah despite insufficient oil, reminds us that faith often requires action in uncertainty. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel called this a “leap of action” — to step forward believing, for instance, that amidst fears of emotional or physical scarcity, we must assert sufficiency. We will have enough. We are enough. That first spark, born of courage and conviction, still illuminates our path.

Peter Yarrow’s song “Don’t Let the Light Go Out” feels especially poignant this year. His family’s recent announcement of his entry into hospice brings the song’s plea into sharper focus. “It’s lasted for so many years,” his famous lyrics say, echoing the endurance of our people, our faith, our light. Our tradition compels us to sustain this light, both physically and spiritually, through ritual and action.

This Chanukah, let us embrace the possibility of rededication. The glow of the menorah invites us to reimagine what is possible, to see ourselves as light-bringers. With every candle, we make a statement of hope and resilience. Despite and in the face of everything going on, let us place our channukiot proudly in our windows. We proclaim our Judaism with brilliance and beauty, affirming that joy itself is an act of resistance and courage.

Take a breath. Let your heart connect with the the joy of the candles and the resilience they represent. Let’s carry this light forward, remembering: Hope is kindled anew each night. May we feel its strength within us, radiating outward, making the world a little brighter. Amen.