Lighting as an act of defiance and joy
Remarks delivered at the Polish Embassy Chanukah party, December 16, 2025 — a joint celebration with the American Jewish Committee.
Chanukah is the holiday of Jewish military power reclaiming Jerusalem and rededicating the Second Temple. The Maccabees did not survive by accident or accommodation; they fought, resisted, and reclaimed this sacred space. But Chanukah is also a holiday born in ruin. When the fighters entered the desecrated Temple, they did not find triumph. They found wreckage. And amid that destruction, they found a single cruse of pure oil, enough for one day.
That, too, is the miracle.
The oil was not discovered in a moment of calm or safety. It was found in the aftermath of violence, when the world still felt broken. The second miracle, that the oil lasted eight days, did not negate the devastation. It made endurance possible in its shadow.
This is why the comparison between October 7, 2023 and the terrorist attack at Bondi Beach on December 14, 2025, the first night of Chanukah is not rhetorical excess. It is theological and historical truth.
October 7, which took place on Simchat Torah, was a direct assault on Jewish sovereignty during one of our most joyous holidays. This sovereignty promised that Jews could be safe and protect themselves in their own land. Instead, it left behind burned homes, shattered communities, and a psychological ruin that Israelis, and Jewish people everywhere, amidst constant antisemitic rhetoric and incitement of violence, are still walking through.
Bondi Beach was a peaceful scene of Jewish life interrupted by terror. Families gathered to light Chanukah candles, reenacting that ancient moment of rededication, and instead found themselves amid chaos, bloodshed, and loss. Chanukah candles are meant to be lit where they can be seen, because the mitzvah is not only to remember the miracle, but to publicize it (pirsumei nisa). The Chanukah lights are meant to be visible, unapologetic, and shared, because Jewish presence itself is a testimony to survival and hope. Instead, Bondi Beach was the site of the most devastating attack on Jewish people outside of Israel since October 7. It is the place where a joyous public mitzvah became a site of mourning.
In both places, Jewish people on-site sought cover or fled from destruction, while Jewish people across the continents looked on helplessly and with great despair, asking: what now?
As Jewish people looked ahead to their own timed celebrations, many wondered about toning down the festivities, avoiding celebrating altogether, or noting the tragedies, while maintaining the traditional holiday practices. The Chanukah story offers a sober answer. You do not wait for the world to be whole again before lighting. You light with what you have. One cruse. One day’s worth. One act of courage. And then you trust that something larger may yet unfold. Likewise on Simchat Torah, we celebrate a holiday of renewal, marking the passage of time while insisting on continuity ahead.
October 7 reminds us that Jewish sovereignty is necessary, but not sufficient. Bondi reminds us that Jewish vulnerability persists even far from the front lines. Together, they teach that Jewish survival has never rested on strength alone, nor on faith alone, but on the interplay between them.
The miracle of Chanukah is not that destruction disappears. It is that Jews refuse to let destruction be the final word.
Lighting Chanukah candles after October 7 and after Bondi is not naïve optimism. It is defiant realism. It is the insistence that even when sanctuaries are violated and public spaces are no longer neutral, Jewish life will continue illuminated by memory, resistance, and faith.
The Maccabees fought so that Jews could reclaim their space. The oil burned so that Jews could stay long enough to rebuild it. The only solve for darkness is light.
That is the legacy we inherit now: to protect Jewish life fiercely, and to keep lighting, even when it is hardest to muster joy.
