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Finding Light in the Darkness

As a child, I was never afraid of the dark. The Things-That-Go-Bump-In-The-Night didn’t scare me. I was too in love with the magic and the mystery of the darkness. Something utterly impossible in the light of day—like seeing the stars sparkle or experiencing a fantastical dream—was miraculously possible under the cover of darkness. 

But now, as an adult, I’ve come to fear the darkness. Not a literal lack-of-light darkness. But the inescapable darkness I feel unrelentingly descending upon us. The darkness of cruelty and callousness. The darkness of anonymity and injustice. The darkness that smothers any possibility of hope. This darkness is much more terrifying than a fictional monster hiding under the bed. 

How do we muster the courage and strength to persevere even in these moments of overwhelming darkness? 

The rabbis tell us that the primordial light created on the first day of Creation is not like any light that human beings have experienced. Unlike the light emanating from the sun or a flame, this first light has the capacity to be hidden even within darkness. This primordial Hidden Light, Or HaGanuz, is more than the light we are accustomed to in our daily lives, it is a defiant protest against the darkness of despair, a reassurance that we can find hope and joy even in the bleakest of circumstances. 

The 19th-century hassidic master Rebbe Yehuda Leib Alter of Ger, also known as the Sefat Emet, acknowledges this when he writes, “Through the lights [of Hanukkah] we can find the Hidden Light in these [dark] days…” He continues to add that the Hanukkah candles aren’t the only means through which we can access the Hidden Light. He writes, “This is the purpose of the mitzvot [sacred obligations]: to illuminate, to find through them the Hidden Light in this world.” The lights of Hanukkah do more than commemorate a miracle—they awaken us to a greater Hidden Light, one that exists within the world, and within us, waiting to be revealed. By performing mitzvot—acts of connection, kindness, and justice—we participate in uncovering this hidden brilliance. Each mitzvah is like striking a match, revealing sparks of divine light concealed in the fabric of our world.

The lyrics of the Hanukkah song “Banu Hoshekh” beautifully echo this teaching. We sing, “We came to drive out the darkness, light and fire is in our hands. Each one of us is a small light, but together our light is strong.” Hanukkah reminds us that while darkness may seem vast and impenetrable, even the smallest flame has the power to push it back. A single candle is fragile, barely enough to illuminate a room. Yet, when we gather our individual sparks—our small lights—the effect is radiant, strong, and unshakable. Together, our collective light transforms the world around us.

In this way, we are not merely spectators of Hanukkah’s miracle but active participants in driving out darkness. Through our actions—standing up for justice, supporting one another, spreading kindness—we bring our light into the world. Alone, we may feel small, our efforts insignificant, but when we join with others, our light becomes a force that cannot be ignored.

This is the essence of Hanukkah. The story of the Maccabees teaches that even in the face of overwhelming odds, light can prevail over darkness, hope over despair. When the Temple was desecrated, the Maccabees lit one small flame. That flame became the miracle of Hanukkah, growing and enduring far beyond what seemed possible. Today, we carry that same potential within us. Our light—our capacity to do good, to bring holiness into the world—is the Hidden Light waiting to be found and shared. Together, our flames illuminate the path toward a brighter, more just world. May our hidden light shine brightly during this time of darkness. 

Shabbat Shalom and Hag Urim Sameah.