Dancing with Dreidel Man

Public Jewish Life in Washington, DC circa 5786

At sunset on December 15, 2025, it was bitterly cold on the National Mall. Gusting winds reached thirty miles an hour, with a windchill hovering around five degrees below zero. We were there for the lighting of the National Menorah, held on the first night of Hanukkah for forty-seven consecutive years.

Security that night was tighter than I have ever seen it. U.S. soldiers carrying military-issue rifles walked past us as we waited in line to enter the fenced venue. The line was noticeably shorter than in years past. We weren’t surprised. It was brutally cold—and there was also Bondi.

Private security checked our tickets, matched them to our IDs, then compared our faces to the IDs. I pulled down my scarf for the face check and felt the cold hit my skin like a slap. We passed through airport-level metal detectors, stood with arms out to be wanded front and back, and then—something new for me in the United States—we had an Israeli-style security conversation.

The young man conducting it was professional and direct. Looking me in the eye, he asked, “How did you find out about this event?”
“We’ve been coming for years,” I replied. “We’re notified by Chabad when tickets become available.”
He nodded and waved us in.

Standing there, shivering in the wind, I found myself wondering: Will this Israeli normal become the new normal for Jews in the United States? In Australia? Elsewhere?

That very morning we had awakened to tragic news from Sydney, where a Hanukkah by the Sea celebration in Bondi had been attacked. Initial reports described a father and son allegedly inspired by ISIS ideology opening fire on a Jewish gathering. Fifteen Jews were killed, including a Holocaust survivor, a ten-year-old child, and a Chabad rabbi; dozens more were injured, including first responders. This was  possibly the deadliest terrorist attack on Jews since October 7^th, 2023. The death toll would have been higher, if Ahmed al-Ahmed, a 43-year-old Sydney resident and father of two, had not risked his own life trying to disarm the terrorists.

In the same short span of days, other incidents barely made headlines: Hanukkah concerts in the Netherlands disrupted by protesters chanting antisemitic and anti-Israel slogans, throwing smoke grenades and attempting to breach barriers; a Jewish home in San Bernardino County, California, decorated for Hanukkah, struck by more than twenty shots in an apparent drive-by attack.

And yet—here we all were, inside the security fence on the National Mall.

We clapped along to the Jewish pop band 8th Day. We admired the discipline and endurance of the U.S. Air Force Band as they played Hanukkah music in defiance of the cold. We applauded the young winners of the “What Hanukkah Means to Me” contest. We stood for a moment of silence for those murdered in Sydney—killed for doing exactly what we were doing: celebrating Hanukkah publicly.

And, as Jews have always done, we danced.

That night, despite grief, cold, and darkness, people danced in the aisles with “Dreidel Man.” Twirling and whirling, he high-fived yeshiva students with curls and fringes flying. He swayed with a tall man in a long black coat and wide black hat. He stamped in rhythm with a line of young women in puffy coats of many colors, kept time beside a young father holding his bundled infant close to his chest—and yes, he paused to dance with me.

We were dancing in defiance, in joy, in gratitude.

I was carried back to a memory from January 2024 in Tel Aviv, at the memorial for the Nova music festival. The message there was not despair in the face of devastation and sorrow. It was simple: We will dance again.

That night on the Mall, brave within our security fence, surrounded by music and memory, we danced again.