Most of us are familiar with the opening words of the Hebrew Bible. Roughly translated, it begins like this:
When God began to create heaven and earth—
the earth being unformed and void, with darkness over the surface of the deep, and a wind from God sweeping over the water—
God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light.God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness.
Without getting too far into exegesis or hermeneutics debates, something important stands out. The first act in the Bible, one of the foundational texts of Western civilization, is God speaking light into existence. God uses language to create order, light, and good. God uses language to create order, good and light— over “unformed void.”
Put simply, the first thing God does is use words to separate light from dark.
Chanukah begins on December 14. It’s often, somewhat inaccurately, called the Festival of Lights. The short version is this: around the second century BCE, Jews living under Seleucid Greek rule were forbidden by King Antiochus from practicing Jewish traditions. Judah Maccabee led a revolt. When the Jews retook the Temple in Jerusalem (a place used for worship and ritual), they relit the menorah. There was only enough oil for one day, but it lasted for eight.
Today, that story is commemorated with fried foods, sparkly decorations, and the terrifying story of Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins. But the point is that even a small amount of light endures—even when things feel overwhelmingly dark and chaotic.
My father-in-law passed away a few weeks ago. And if I’m honest, finding the light has been difficult against what has felt like an expanse of darkness and void. I recall a few days ago, before I had to teach, looking up at some trees against the gray, winter Paris sky and thinking, “Even the leaves don’t look the same without my father-in-law.”
I haven’t spoken much publicly about my father-in-law. My husband’s family is very private. But I can share this: he always had a smile on his face. He was jealous of no one. He carried no ill will. He found joy in faith and family, and he always looked forward to spending holidays and Shabbat together.
The night of his funeral, the Paris sky was illuminated by a “Super Cold Moon”—a moon that shines brighter than usual. When my husband and I looked up, it felt like his father offered one last smile.
His death left a void, but I’m looking for the light. And when I stop to notice, it is everywhere.
Holiday lights lining the streets of Old Town, Alexandria. The laughter of my clients joking with one another in their offices (all of you make me laugh so hard!). A joyful holiday dinner filled with good food and better stories. The hugs from friends in DC. Wreaths on doors. The lively bell of the Salvation Army volunteer outside a pharmacy. The friendly woman who shared an Uber with me to the airport. My friend with a baby on the way.
I don’t have business tips today. No media ideas or email-list strategies. Just a reminder: look for the light. It is all around us.
The other day my husband said, “My dad used to buy the Chanukah candles for us, it gave him so much joy. Now I buy them for myself. and for my mom.”
And that’s kinda it, right? Each one of us has to find the light and share it with someone— even when it feels dark.
Happy holidays, and may God bless each and every one of you.
❓Tell me what you think in the comments: What is your happiest holiday memory?
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