Today is the first day of the eight-day festival of Chanukah. In commemoration of the miracle of the oil we kindle the Chanukah lights—oil lamps or candles—each evening for eight days, increasing the number of lights each evening.

In the Jewish calendar, the day begins at nightfall; thus, the first Chanukah light is kindled on the preceding evening, which is when the Hebrew date of Kislev 25 begins. Tonight (Friday) is the eve of the 2nd day of Chanukah, so we kindle two lights in the Chanukah menorah. 

IMPORTANT: Because of the prohibition to kindle fire on Shabbat, the Chanukah lights must be lit before lighting the Shabbat candles, and should contain enough oil (or the candle be big enough) to burn until 30 minutes after nightfall.

Chabad.org

In the 2nd century BCE, the Holy Land was ruled by the Seleucids (Syrian-Greeks), who tried to force the people of Israel to accept Greek culture and beliefs. Against all odds, a small band of faithful but poorly armed Jews, led by Judah the Maccabee, defeated one of the mightiest armies on earth, drove the Greeks from the land, reclaimed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and rededicated it to the service of G-d. When they sought to light the Temple's Menorah (the seven-branched candelabrum), they found only a single cruse of olive oil that had escaped contamination by the Greeks. Miraculously, they lit the menorah and the one-day supply of oil lasted for eight days, until new oil could be prepared under conditions of ritual purity. To commemorate and publicize these miracles, the sages instituted the festival of Chanukah. (Source: Chabad.org)

Today we celebrate these ancient miracles in the midst of a terrible war. A war for Israel’s survival – and for the survival of Jewish people everywhere. But it is also a war against hatred; of good against a monstrous evil; of truth against lies. A war that Israel is compelled to win not only for herself and the Jewish people, but for the entire world.

So as we proudly light our Menorahs and practice our Chanukah traditions let us do so with extra prayers and mitzvoth to strengthen our connection with each other and our Creator. And may this bring about new miracles – and the Moshiach, now!

How do you win a war against hatred? Not by scrolling through images of horror. Not by succumbing to sadness and despair. Terror is not vanquished by your horror. Neither can you win against it by despair. Those are its prime tools of mass destruction.

Instead, you’ll need to implement some paradoxical intervention. Because there is nothing hatred hates more than love, and there is nothing more potent against darkness than light.

Hatred attacks when it perceives weakness in its host. It flees when there is unity and togetherness.

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Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

This world was not created for some apocalyptic finale;  its magnificence was not formed to dissipate into ionized gas.

Each thing was formed for the glory of its Maker, who stands forever.  Only the darkness must wind itself to its end, and it must be robbed of the treasures it holds. For the most precious things of this world are held in darkness. That is why we must struggle with the darkness now and not run from it. All the torment it gives us, all our toil to overcome it, to tame it and to dig out the diamonds it conceals, all is with meaning and purpose. For each obstacle that meets us on our uphill battle, each was made for the glory of its Maker.

Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

Mordechai was sitting in the cockpit, looking over the instrument panel. It wasn’t easy to be a commercial pilot and a religious Jew at the same time, but Mordechai somehow managed. He was familiar with at least one rabbi in each city on his route, and tried his best to help them out, bringing kosher supplies and even Torah scrolls to isolated congregations. Tonight he was looking forward to seeing Rabbi Engel in Adelaide, Australia, who had invited him to a Chanukah event that fortunately fit right into his flight schedule.

“Hi, Mordechai, looks like I’m co-piloting with you on this flight.” Lou sat down next to Mordechai.

“Hi, Lou. Glad to have you here. We’re supposed to come in to Adelaide just about sunset time, which I’m really happy about. 

You know about Chanukah, Lou? I’ve got my Chanukah candles in my flight bag, and by the time I land and settle into the overnight accommodation, it will be time to light the menorah.” Mordechai paused and added, “You can join me if you’d like.”

“I don’t usually celebrate any Jewish holidays, but my daughter has started exploring Judaism. She’ll probably light the Chanukah lights tonight. So, let me ask you: what is the purpose of lighting those candles, anyhow?”

“We light the menorah to remember a miracle that happened over two thousand years ago . . .”

“So how is that relevant today?”

“I suppose the message is that G-d is watching over us. Even when it’s getting dark, He is there for us, ready to help. And what we have to do is to kindle a small light in that darkness, a light of Torah, a light of mitzvahs, and G-d will make that light grow way beyond our expectations.”

They flew in silent contemplation for a while. As they approached Adelaide, they banked the aircraft to circle. The 180-degree view from the cockpit revealed a magnificent skyline, as light from the setting sun danced elegantly between the buildings, and the shadows sidestepped closer. The plane came around to the western side of the city, when an unexpected sight caught Mordechai’s eye.

“Hey! Take a look at that! I don’t know how the rabbi managed this one! Do you see that giant menorah!”

Lou looked up. On the facade of one of the tallest buildings in Adelaide, there were eight branches of light with a tall shamash in the middle.

“Wow, that’s magnificent!”

The airplane continued past, as the sun slowly made its own circuit toward the western horizon. By the time the aircraft had come around in view of the tall building again, the menorah had disappeared. It had been a mirage, a trick of light from the setting sun . . . or, perhaps, a reminder from Above, that even when it’s getting dark, He is there for us.

All we need to do is to light that small flame.

Mina Gordon