Winter Begins with Hanukkah

In Israel, winter doesn’t truly feel like winter until the first candle of Hanukkah is lit. The air turns crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of olive oil and the promise of celebration. The days grow shorter, but the evenings are filled with warmth and light—a light that begins with a single flickering flame.

As Hanukkah approaches, there’s a buzz of excitement in every home. For me, it’s the time of year when life slows down just enough to allow the beauty of tradition to take center stage. The moment the sun sets, we rush home, gathering around the menorah with anticipation.

We place the candles carefully, each one representing another night of miracles. With the first flick of the match, the flame catches, and the room fills with the glow of Hanukkah. We say the blessings together, our voices weaving with the ancient words that have echoed through generations.

Afterward, the real magic begins. The smell of latkes frying in the kitchen fills the air, their golden edges crisped to perfection. Plates of sufganiot —perfectly round doughnuts oozing with jelly—sit on the table, ready to be devoured. These aren’t just treats; they’re symbols of the miracle of oil and the sweetness of shared moments.

But Hanukkah isn’t just about the food; it’s about coming together. Friends and neighbors gather to light their menorahs, their flames multiplying and reflecting in the windows like stars. We sit around the table, sharing stories of the Maccabees’ bravery and resilience, drawing strength from their courage.

I think back to our first Hanukkah in Israel. We had just moved during the pandemic, and celebrations weren’t something we’d planned. We thought it would be quiet, subdued—a simple lighting of the candles and a quiet night.

But then, there was a knock at the door. The candle flickered softly as we opened it, and standing there was a little girl, holding a plate of fresh sufganiot, her eyes wide with joy as she whispered, “Chag Sameach.” Beside her stood a beautiful woman, her mother, smiling warmly. They were our neighbors, going door to door, wishing every family in the building a Happy Hanukkah.

In that moment, the true power of Hanukkah revealed itself. It wasn’t just the menorah or the traditions—it was the act of sharing light, spreading warmth, and connecting with others. The glow of the candle wasn’t meant to stay in our home; it was meant to reach beyond, illuminating the lives of those around us.

Hanukkah isn’t just a holiday—it’s a reminder that we carry the power of light within us. Each night, as another candle is added, the light grows stronger, filling our homes and our hearts. And as the menorah shines brightly in the window, it feels like an invitation to the world—to remember that no matter how dark it may seem, the light of Hanukkah reminds us that hope, resilience, and love will always shine through.

That little girl and her mother taught us a lesson we’ll never forget: the beauty of Hanukkah lies in the small, heartfelt acts of kindness that ripple out and brighten the world, one flame at a time.