Pass It On: The Light of Ordinary Goodness
Some people don’t speak loudly, but they change the room just by showing up. Maybe it’s the co-worker who remembers your birthday when no one else does, or the neighbor who shovels your sidewalk after a snowstorm without asking for thanks. Sometimes, it’s just a stranger’s genuine smile on a tough day. These moments are easy to overlook, but they stick with us—for a reason. Deep down, we all crave light: a sense of purpose, hope, and connection that makes life feel less heavy.
Yet, if we’re honest, most days don’t feel particularly luminous. We walk through life carrying invisible burdens—worries about family, work, health, the news. We see suffering and loneliness, and sometimes wonder what difference a single person can make. It’s tempting to believe we’re too small to matter, or that only the boldest gestures count. But here’s the quieter truth: even the faintest light can guide someone through the dark.
Think about the little acts that have shaped your story. Maybe it was a teacher who listened when you felt invisible, or the friend who called just when you needed it. None of these moments made headlines, but they mattered to you. Our world isn’t changed by grand speeches or heroic rescues as often as we imagine. More often, it’s the phone call, the handwritten note, the casserole left on a doorstep. In a culture that celebrates the spectacular, we forget the sacredness of the small.
This isn’t just sentimentality. There’s a real power in refusing to let the world’s shadows define us. I’ve seen it in parents working late shifts to give their children a shot at something better, in young people standing up to cruelty even when their voices shake, in volunteers who show up week after week to visit the sick or lonely. Their names may never be famous, but their light is persistent—a stubborn glow that refuses to be snuffed out by cynicism.
Why do these little acts matter so much? Because they remind us that the world doesn’t need more perfection; it needs more presence. You don’t have to be extraordinary to make a difference. You simply have to show up—with sincerity, with care, with the willingness to risk a little of your comfort for the sake of someone else. Kindness may seem ordinary, but across faith traditions, it’s understood as something deeply sacred.
This truth comes into focus through a teaching from the Jewish tradition that has shaped my own life. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, known by many as the Rebbe, once said: “Each person is a candle. My job is not to light it for them. My job is to give them the match.” When I first heard this, I pictured all of us carrying invisible candles—sometimes glowing bright, sometimes down to a stubborn ember, sometimes in need of a little help to catch fire again. The Rebbe’s wisdom wasn’t to step in and do it all for you, but to hand you the match, the encouragement, and trust that you could strike it yourself.
He lived this teaching in ways both simple and profound. People from every background—believers, doubters, Christians, Muslims, Jews—lined up for hours outside his Brooklyn office, hoping for a few words or a blessing. He read thousands of letters a week, always insisting that faith’s purpose is to bring more goodness into the world. When offered an electronic letter opener to speed through the mail, he declined, saying, “Can a machine feel the pain and tears in a heartfelt letter?” His care was always personal, never mechanical. For him, the most important question wasn’t, “How much do you know?” but, “How much good will you do today?”
It’s a lesson that transcends tradition. The Rebbe’s legacy isn’t just for those who share his faith—it’s a reminder to all of us that the world is waiting, not for the spectacular, but for the sincere. Faith, at its best, isn’t a matter of reciting the right words or holding the right opinions. It’s the willingness to act when it would be easier to look away; to light a match when it feels like darkness is winning.
We live in a time when the news can overwhelm, when loneliness and despair seem too big to tackle. But history shows that hope is contagious. When one person chooses to act—to comfort, to stand up, to offer kindness without strings attached—it gives others permission to do the same. The small flame you protect today can grow into a beacon for someone else tomorrow.
Our differences—of tradition, of theology, of background—are real. But so is our shared longing to bring more light into a hurting world. We may call G-d by different names, but we are united by the call to heal, to lift, to love. You can’t chase away darkness with a stick; you can only light a single match. And that match, no matter how small, can illuminate a whole room.
The match has been given. The flame is yours to strike. The world is waiting—not for perfect plans, but for courage. With every act of kindness, we pass the light forward. With every choice to care, we help usher in a dawn that belongs to us all.
Yonatan Hambourger is a rabbi and writer dedicated to serving spiritual seekers of all backgrounds on behalf of Chabad of Rural Georgia. You can contact him at y@tasteoftorah.org.