Chanukah and the Shared Responsibility to Bring Light

On the third night of Chanukah, residents and friends gathered in the town square in Hiawassee, Georgia, to light the menorah.

Chanukah tells the story of a small group of Jews who refused to let their spiritual identity be extinguished. In the ancient Temple in Jerusalem, they found just one tiny jar of oil—enough to last only a single night. Yet that flame burned for eight days.

It was not only a miracle of fuel.
It was a miracle of faith.
A miracle of courage.
A miracle of refusing to surrender to darkness.

Chanukah is not a holiday meant to be hidden. That is why the menorah is lit publicly—in town squares and open spaces—not tucked away inside a synagogue. Chanukah is not only about what happens inside a holy place; it is about bringing holiness out into the world.

Its message is simple and powerful: darkness doesn’t get pushed out—it gets lit out.

In Jewish tradition, the menorah is lit in a very specific way. We increase the light each night. We do not start big and grow smaller; we grow brighter.

Because hope must increase.
Courage must increase.
And the belief that tomorrow can be better must always increase.

Each of us carries a candle. Sometimes it is unlit. Sometimes it flickers. Sometimes it shines brightly.

Some lights blaze.
Some lights glimmer quietly.
But every light matters.

The parent working late to provide for their family—that is light.
The student standing up to a bully—that is light.
The person checking in on a lonely neighbor—that is light.

The world is not changed by headlines. It is changed by quiet acts of goodness that nobody sees—except Heaven.

There was a great Jewish leader, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, whose teachings inspire much of this way of thinking. He once said, “Every person is a candle. My job is not to light it for them. My job is to give them the match.”

When someone once asked him, “Have you ignited my soul?” the Rebbe replied, “No. I’ve given you the match. Only you can light your own candle.”

Every one of us—Christian, Jewish, believer, seeker—was born with a wick inside. We were created not only to shine, but to illuminate others.

Chanukah does not demand perfection. It demands action.

If you know one small truth, share it.
If you have one small kindness to give, give it.
If you carry even a flicker of hope, protect it and let it rise.

Because light spreads. Souls ignite souls.

And in a world feeling divided more than ever, we need that shared light more than ever.

This Chanukah, we also gather with a deeper awareness. Bringing light into the world is not always easy. Those who dedicate themselves to faith, goodness, and moral clarity are sometimes challenged precisely because they shine. Earlier this week, innocent Jews were massacred in Australia.

But Chanukah teaches us something essential: darkness only attacks what it fears.

Light is powerful. Light exposes. Light refuses to retreat.

That is why Chanukah is not a holiday of hiding. It is a holiday of showing up—carefully, proudly, together.

There is no holiday on the Jewish calendar more directly devoted to bringing light into dark places than Chanukah. And when darkness pushes back, we do not respond by shrinking. We respond by increasing the light.

This is why Chanukah matters not only for Jews, but for all people of the Bible.

Jews and Christians are different faith communities, and those differences matter. But we are united by something deeper: the belief that good and evil are real, that moral truth matters, and that light is not optional.

History teaches us that when hatred is tolerated in one place, it does not stay there. Evil tests boundaries first. That is why people of faith must stand together—not in anger, not in fear, but in courage, clarity, and conviction.

When Jews and Christians stand side by side, living the values of the Good Book, darkness loses ground.

Chanukah teaches that a little light dispels a great deal of darkness. But light only grows when people refuse to retreat.

Darkness grows when people hide.
Light grows when people gather.

By standing together and lighting the menorah publicly, we answer the darkness without giving it center stage.

Tears can give way to laughter. Sadness can give way to joy. And the quiet glow of faith can continue to spread, until even the darkest corners begin to shine.

The question Chanukah asks is simple: What small act of light will you bring into the world this week?

No act is too small.
No heart is too far gone.
No soul is too dim to shine.

The miracle of Chanukah did not begin with a perfect world. It began with people who refused to give up on a broken one.

We increase the lights because we believe the future can be brighter than the past.

The match has been given.
The flame is yours to strike.