Finding Light in the Interregnum
I was at Shabbat dinner with some BJ members last week, and the conversation turned to the 20th-century anti-facist Italian philosopher, Antonio Gramsci. Gramsci is known for his concept of the “interregnum”—the period between the fall of one regime and the rise of another, where no single power is in control. An interregnum happens during times of social crisis or political transition, when the old order is clearly in decline but the new order has not yet taken shape. It’s a period of uncertainty, instability, and immense possibility.
Sound familiar? We are, it seems, living through such a time. With one presidency ending and another about to begin, it feels like the entire world is holding its breath. And this interregnum extends beyond our own country’s borders. Assad’s regime has fallen, but there’s no clear leadership in Syria yet. Hostages remain captive in Gaza. We’re caught in a moment of suspense, full of both potential and peril. What are we supposed to make of such an era?
To be honest, I’ve struggled a lot during this particular interregnum. It’s zapped me of my energy and my peace of mind. I find myself compulsively refreshing the New York Times and the Times of Israel for any scrap of news about Trump’s growing cabinet or the progress of ceasefire negotiations. I feel addicted to the headlines, desperate for clarity in a time defined by confusion. But that constant search for answers is starting to wear me down. I feel as disoriented by the drips of information as I am hooked on them.
Gramsci said that the key to living through an interregnum is to “live a life without illusions, while not becoming disillusioned.” To stay fully engaged with the world as it is, in all its messiness, without losing sight of how the world could be.
How fortunate we are, then, that Hanukkah comes to us in the middle of this very interregnum! In a time when the old world is crumbling and the new one is struggling to take shape, the light of the Hanukkah candles offers a gentle but steadfast reminder of resilience. As 2024 begins to fade and we are caught in the suspense of what comes next, our menorot will slowly fill the darkness, one candle at a time, each flame a small but significant act of defiance against the shadows. They don’t banish the darkness entirely; you can’t light up a whole room with one menorah. But that’s not its purpose. Our candles will stand firm in the darkness, quietly insisting that even the smallest light can push back against the void.
In an essay called “On Prayer,” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote the following:
the darkness is neither final nor complete. Our power is first in waiting for the end of darkness, for the defeat of evil; and our power is also in coming upon single sparks and occasional rays, upon moments full of God’s grace and radiance. We are called to bring together the sparks to preserve single moments of radiance and keep them alive in our lives, to defy absurdity and despair, and to wait for God to say again:
“Let there be light.”
And there will be light.
We can find our power during a time like this by having a little faith that the darkness and uncertainty will not last forever, and by inserting a tiny bit of our own light into the darkness. This Hanukkah, as we face the unknown of this interregnum together, may we each—individually and as a community—seek out those “single sparks and occasional rays.” May we nurture the light in each other when it flickers, and may we light an extra candle each night with the intention of increasingly affirming the version of the world in which we so fervently wish to live.
Shabbat shalom, and an early Hanukkah sameah.