Chanukah arrives each year during the darkest days of winter, when the nights are longest and coldest. Into that darkness, the Jewish tradition places light—small at first, fragile even, but persistent. The festival’s central ritual of kindling an ever-growing flame is more than a commemoration of an ancient miracle; it is a reminder that hope is not passive. It is an act of defiance against despair, light against darkness.
The original Chanukah story centers on the Jewish community and their refusal to surrender to the erosion of their values. The Maccabees were not the largest army, nor did they possess overwhelming power. What they had was conviction: the belief that their identity, their freedom, their faith and their moral commitments were worth protecting even when formidable odds were against them. They believed in the possibility of renewal when tyranny threatened to overwhelm them. And so, with only a flicker of oil and a great deal of courage, they began the work of rededication—Chanukah literally meaning “dedication.”
This spirit speaks powerfully to us today who are striving to uphold and restore the core values of democracy—values such as equality under the law, freedom of expression, compassion for the vulnerable, a free and unfettered press, integrity in public life, and a shared commitment to the common good. Many who align with these principles find a home in our Democratic Party, not out of blind loyalty, but out of a belief that the work of democracy requires empathy, pluralism, and a willingness to elevate the voices of all people. We stand for the rule of law, access to healthcare, the rights of the vulnerable, the power of women to have authority over their own healthcare decisions and most of all, the power of all Americans to express themselves without fear of intimidation at the voting booth.
To be clear, Chanukah is not a partisan holiday. Its lessons belong to everyone. But its themes resonate deeply with those who insist that American democracy must endure. Like the Maccabees, we who are committed to democratic renewal often feel outmatched by forces of cynicism, polarization, and disinformation. The task can feel overwhelming. And yet, the message of Hanukkah is that even the smallest light can begin to dispel a great darkness.
Two thousand years ago, the Maccabees lit the ner tamid, the eternal light in the destroyed temple in Jerusalem not knowing if the flame would endure. They acted with little or no certainty. Maybe the miracle was that they kindled the flame anyway. Today, those who defend democratic norms do the same: we vote, we organize, we teach our children to respect difference, we reach across divides, and we invest in community life. We believe that government should serve all people not just those who voted for you. We will stay engaged when exhaustion tempts us to quit. We will light a candle and unfalteringly trust that more light will follow.
Chanukah teaches that rededication is always possible. One flame becomes two, two become three, and by the eighth night the menorah radiates a fullness that seemed unimaginable at the beginning. When people of principle commit themselves to light, the glow grows brighter for everyone.
Despite it all, I will never lose hope, because my faith at this holiday season teaches me that even one small light, one tiny voice, one flicker of faith can, in time, overpower those who wish to destroy it.
In this season, Chanukah reminds us that the work of freedom, like the lighting of the menorah, begins with a single brave spark and the wisdom to believe in its enduring power.
