We can curse the darkness, or we can light a light, and as the Hassidim say, a little light drives out much darkness. May we all help light up the world.
—Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

For the past several years, excepting the period of Covid, my extended Israeli family has managed to get together for a family Chanuka party. Each year, we would gather together, somewhere, eat chocolate cake and stuffed mushrooms, latkes and zaatar flavoured crackers, all on the same plate. Every year, we would count how many more of us than there were than in the previous year, new members having been added either by marriage, or having babies, or aliya – more family who had moved to the HolyLand. And every year, we celebrated our miracles: that we were here, in the Land, together, lighting candles that symbolize miracles of long-ago (as the song goes), but which, in reality, reoccur every year.

This year, even though the weather is truly lovely, and even though there are so many beautiful parks available for a picnic-party; and even though several new members have joined us this year with several more babies having been born (Mazal Tov!!!); and even though we all haven’t been together as a group since last year’s Chanuka event; and even though the bakeries are awash with Soofganiyot, this year, sadly, we will not be gathering together.

Israel’s parks recently reopened after having been closed for about six weeks. The IDF home front command had ordered them closed because there are no shelters in most parks—no place to be safe from incoming rockets. The rockets have since lessened due to the heroics of the IDF, so the parks have reopened, but those pesky rockets have not stopped altogether, and large groups are discouraged from gathering together.

And while we have new babies to celebrate, we’d be missing several others who are, even as I type, wearing green and carrying guns.

In any case, how can we celebrate when not all of our murdered have been identified; when funerals are still taking place daily; when our children and brothers and sisters are still being tortured in the tunnels of Gaza; when our sons and daughters are risking their lives to protect us from a bloodthirsty, barbaric, savage, immoral enemy.
When we are still grieving.

How do we make room for joy?

The question is can we ever celebrate again?

The Festival of Chanuka celebrates the victory of Light over Darkness, of the few over the many, of God over paganism.

The wars between the Maccabees and the Greeks were, in fact, wars between a group of Jews who revolted against the anti-Jewish laws of the Hellenists, and the Seleucids – the followers of Hellenism – who ruled in what is today Syria and were assisted by other Jews who enjoyed the Hellenistic way of life.

The wars lasted over 30 years, and, of the five sons of Mattityahu, only one, Simon, survived. Thousands of Jews were killed in these wars. The purification of the Temple, upon which the celebration of Chanuka is based, took place in the third year of the war, but the festival was not actually implemented until after the wars ended, some thirty years later, and a certain level of autonomy was reached.
Though autonomy was short-lived, the festival of Chanuka, celebrating Jewish independence in the Jewish Homeland and Jewish values according to Jewish Law, has been observed ever since. Despite the horrors of war, despite the eventual loss of our Homeland, Chanuka came to symbolize Jewish resilience, Jewish pride, Jewish Nationhood.

Today we are experiencing horror, grief, sorrow, rage, and anguish. So we will postpone our celebration, as the Maccabees did.
But we are also experiencing pride, resilience, unity, honour, dignity, joy, and so much love.
And that is our miracle.  

At this pivotal time in history, the Jewish world is surrounded by darkness. Yet each small candle we light can light another and another, and yet another.

Even in our grief and pain, we stand resilient and proud. Each act – no matter how seemingly small – of kindness, of thoughtfulness, of generosity – spreads another ray of light.

And the time will come, speedily and in our days, when the world will be filled with our light again.