Hanukkah’s Light in a Dark World

Light in the Darkness: Hanukkah Amidst Global Turmoil

This blog has gone through many iterations. Over the past week, I wrote three other blogs, each reflecting different facets of the world we live in today.

One explored the overlap of Hanukkah and Christmas, touching on their shared themes of light in darkness, but also the stark contrasts—Israel’s vibrant religious diversity against the persecution and ethnic cleansing of Christians in Arab countries and Palestinian-controlled Bethlehem. Another focused on the sin of colonialism, reflecting on accusations levelled at Israel and the irony of those claims. The third confronted the haunting silence around the discovery of mass graves of 100,000 people in Syria—victims of torture and systemic cruelty. It’s a silence that screams of hypocrisy: if the atrocities don’t involve Jews or Israel, they seem not to matter.

Yet, despite these drafts, my heart keeps bringing me back to this one—a reflection on Hanukkah, current events, and the weight of living in a world shadowed by darkness but still lit by flickers of hope. So, let’s begin.

Scene 1: In the Shul That Wasn’t a Shul

In our neighbourhood, I find myself praying in a makeshift shul—a car park transformed into a place of prayer. It’s bare and humble, yet sacred in its simplicity. The weekly parsha of Mikeitz recounts Pharaoh’s dreams—the seven fat cows devoured by seven lean ones. The story feels so straightforward, yet Murray, an 80-year-old man with a sharp mind and sharper tongue, leans over and asks, “Why were the advisers so blind? It’s obvious there’s famine coming! Why couldn’t they see it?”

His question lingers, not just about Joseph’s time but about ours. How often do we fail to see the truth staring us in the face? Whether through fear, arrogance, or apathy, humanity has a history of avoiding the hard truths until it’s too late.

Nearby, I notice a stack of Hamizrachi magazines. The articles speak of bravery, faith, and the importance of taking action in the face of evil. They recount stories of Jewish resilience and the enduring relevance of Torah values. I suggested to Murray that he take a few for his trip overseas, but he waved me off, chuckling. “What’s the point? Do you think they’ll listen?” His dismissal feels like a metaphor for the broader struggle—our inability or unwillingness to engage with inconvenient truths.

Scene 2: The Irony of the “Colonizer” Label

There’s a narrative gaining traction in some corners of the world that labels Israel as a “coloniser,” an oppressor of indigenous peoples. This accusation has been wielded as a weapon, seeking to delegitimise Israel’s very existence. It is an absurd claim, not only because it flies in the face of history but also because it often comes from the descendants of the original colonisers.

The irony is glaring. Those who accuse Israel of colonialism often hail from nations built on the displacement and exploitation of indigenous peoples—empires that spanned continents, erasing entire cultures in their wake. Meanwhile, the Jewish people are returning to their ancestral homeland, where their history, language, and faith have been rooted for millennia. Can a people returning home after centuries of exile truly be called colonisers?

This accusation is not just intellectually dishonest—it is morally bankrupt. It seeks to rewrite history, to cast the Jewish people as interlopers in the land where they have prayed, built, and dreamed for generations. Worse, it ignores the actual colonialism that continues to devastate regions of the world today, from the exploitation of Africa’s resources to the subjugation of minority groups in the Middle East.

Scene 3: Persecution of Christians

Amid the overlap of Hanukkah and Christmas, I find myself thinking about Bethlehem—the birthplace of Jesus and a city now under Palestinian control. Once a Christian-majority city, Bethlehem has seen its Christian population dwindle dramatically. Persecution, systemic discrimination, and outright violence have forced many Christians to flee. The Church of the Nativity stands as a silent witness to this exodus.

This isn’t an isolated phenomenon. Across much of the Arab world, Christians face relentless persecution. Churches are burned, communities are attacked, and religious freedoms are denied.

Examples of Christian Persecution in the Region:

1. Saudi Arabia: Christianity is illegal. Churches are banned, and conversion from Islam is punishable by death.
2. Afghanistan: Under Taliban rule, Christians must hide their faith or face execution.
3. Iran: Converts to Christianity are routinely arrested, tortured, and executed.
4. Iraq and Syria: Once home to millions of Christians, radical Islamist groups like ISIS have killed, displaced, and destroyed entire communities.
5. Palestinian Authority (West Bank & Gaza): In Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, Christians now make up less than 12% of the population, down from 85% in the mid-20th century. In Gaza, Christians face severe persecution under Hamas rule.

In contrast, Israel, often vilified on the global stage, remains the only place in the region where Christians not only survive but thrive. Their population grows, their churches stand tall, and their freedoms are protected. Yet, the world turns a blind eye to this stark difference, preferring narratives that demonise Israel while ignoring the plight of Christians elsewhere.

Just look at this photo taken by myself at the YMCA in Jerusalem.

Scene 4: Erin Molan in Israel

Scrolling through LinkedIn, I stumbled across more than one video of Erin Molan, a journalist and broadcaster from who was fired her position in Sky News Australia for her outspoken support of Israel. Erin, a non-Jew, visited Israel to witness the aftermath of the massacres firsthand. Her voice carried a depth of emotion rarely seen in mainstream media—raw, unfiltered, and courageous.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMPBJDMRXck

Longer Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-irQFsXNag

Erin described walking through the sites of unimaginable horror, standing where innocent people were slaughtered. She spoke of the inhumanity she encountered, the sheer evil of what had been done. Her words painted a picture of grief and devastation that transcended politics. “If I was outspoken before, I’d be doubly outspoken now,” she said.

Her testimony resonated deeply with me. Here was a modern-day Maccabee—a woman standing against the tide of hypocrisy and moral cowardice that dominates much of the world’s discourse about Israel. Erin’s willingness to speak the truth came at a cost: her outspoken support of Israel ultimately led to her firing from Sky News Australia. How sickening it is that defending the truth can result in such a penalty, while those perpetuating lies and hate remain unchallenged.

Scene 5: The Death of a Young Soldier

On Monday night, my wife, just before we were about to sleep, received a message that shook us both. A young soldier in Gaza, Netanel Pessach, aged 21, was one of three soldiers killed Monday. Netanel was the son of Elad who had been in her class at Herzliya school in Cape Town. Netanel was a son, a brother, a friend, and a future lost to this endless cycle of war.

The news struck deeply, not just because of the connection, but because it was another reminder of war’s human cost. The weight of loss feels heavier this year, especially during a time meant for reflection and celebration.

It was hard to sleep with this news. Throughout the night, I awoke restless. I started to write this blog. Sitting with this news, I thought of the Hanukkah candles we will light. Their flames are small, fragile, yet unwavering. They flicker in defiance of the darkness, much like the human spirit does in times of despair. This year, those candles feel heavier, and their light is more necessary than ever.

Scene 6: Sirens in the Night

As I was finishing the initial draft of the blog, I went to scroll through the news. And another missile from Yemen in the middle of the night in Tel Aviv and central Israel. Again, the wailing of sirens jolted people from their beds. Parents stumble in the dark, grabbing their children, blankets, and whatever shoes they can find. Children, half-asleep and clutching stuffed animals, are hurried into bomb shelters. The sound of hurried footsteps and muffled cries echo through the night. This is not a one-time occurrence but an exhausting, ongoing reality.

The missiles are coming from Yemen—hundreds of miles away. A country devastated by poverty, famine, and civil war, Yemen has more than enough of its own problems. And yet, the Houthis, instead of addressing their people’s suffering, fired missiles at Israel. What could Yemen possibly have against Israel? What stake does the Houthis have in this conflict?

The answer lies in Iran, the puppet master pulling the Houthis’ strings. Funded and armed by Tehran, the Houthis have become another piece in Iran’s strategy to destabilize the region. Like Hamas in Gaza and Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis serve as a proxy, targeting Israel to further Iran’s ambitions. The missiles aren’t about Yemen or its people; they’re a tool of geopolitical manipulation.

Afterthought: The Parsha and the Emperor’s Clothes

The Parsha this week leaves us in suspense. Joseph’s brothers fail to see him for who he truly is. They stand before their brother—flesh of their flesh—and yet they cannot recognize him. Their blindness, whether born of guilt, fear, or arrogance, keeps them from grasping the truth.

In many ways, we are no different. The story of Joseph mirrors our own struggles with perception. We, too, fail to see what is right before us. How will the brothers’ story play out? How will ours?

It reminds me of the parable of “The Emperor Has No Clothes.” The truth is often evident, yet we pretend not to see it. Today, surrounded by hypocrisy, injustice, and blind hatred, we remain unsure of how our story will unfold. Will we continue to deny the obvious, or will we summon the courage to speak the truth and act?

Hanukkah reminds us that even in the darkest times, light persists. The candles we light symbolize not just hope but the clarity and courage to confront the world’s darkness and our own blindness. They remind us to keep striving for truth, even when the path is unclear.

A bit of satire of the Jews’s contribution to Christmas with the help of Chat GPT. We need some humour.

Ah, Christmas! The time of year when everyone gathers around to celebrate… the contributions of the Jewish people? Yes, indeed. Let’s give credit where credit is due, shall we? After all, where would Christmas be without the Jews?

First, let’s start with the main character: Jesus. Born, raised, and died as a Jew. Sure, he might not have celebrated Christmas himself (minor detail), but his Jewish roots are undeniable. So, if you’re decking the halls or singing about the “little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay,” you might want to light a menorah in his honour too.

Then there’s the soundtrack of Christmas. You know, all those timeless classics that play on an endless loop from November 1st onward. Irving Berlin, a nice Jewish boy from Russia, gave us “White Christmas,” arguably the most iconic Christmas song of all time. And don’t forget Johnny Marks, the Jewish songwriter who penned Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Without these hits, your festive playlists would be as empty as Santa’s sleigh on Boxing Day.

So, while the rest of the world is busy stringing lights and sipping eggnog, just remember who set the stage for your Yuletide joy. You’re not just celebrating Christmas; you’re celebrating the Jewish creativity, resilience, and, dare we say, humour that made it all possible.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy Hanukah—and to all a good oy vey!

Cover photo – taken by me at the Kotel a few years ago