Dear Friends,
Earlier this week, I drove to work on a snowy morning. The roads were blanketed in white, the sky stretched clear and vast above me, and the streets were empty. In the stillness of the moment, I was reminded of a Talmudic story I recently shared at our pre-Hanukkah gathering at the JCC.
The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 8a) tells of Adam’s experience during his first day on Earth. As daylight shortened and darkness fell, he feared the end of the world was upon him, believing his actions had caused this descent into chaos. Overcome with dread, he prayed for redemption. Yet, with the dawn, Adam realized the darkness was part of a natural rhythm—day and night, light and shadow, part of the world’s cycle. What he thought was final became a reminder of hope and renewal.
This story, nestled within discussions of winter and festivals, echoes the essence of Hanukkah. It reminds us that darkness—whether seasonal, emotional, or circumstantial—is not eternal. We light candles to affirm this truth, to declare that even in the darkest times, light will emerge.
For many, midwinter brings a seasonal gloom that weighs on the spirit. For others, it manifests as mental fog, an oppressive sense of being trapped. And for the 100 Israeli hostages still in captivity, this darkness is neither metaphorical nor seasonal—it is their harsh, unrelenting reality.
As we light the Hanukkah candles this year, the Israeli Hanukkah song Ba’anu Choshech Legaresh—“We Came to Expel the Darkness,” written by Sarah Levi-Tanai—rings in my mind: “We came to expel the darkness… Each of us is a small light, and together we are a great light.” This year, may we celebrate the light within each of us. As we add a new flame each night, may we find inspiration in this growing brightness and come together to bring hope and warmth to those in need, both near and far.
May this Hanukkah fill your home with light, joy, and togetherness, and may we all share our light with the world.
Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Moriah SimonHazani
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