People of Israel, people of memory,
in the heart of winter,
when night seems to stretch its reign,
you light a flame —
small, fragile, yet unbreakable.
Hanukkah does not deny the darkness.
It passes through it.
It does not ignore the wound.
It places a light within it.
In these days when violence has struck even distant shores,
in these hours when innocent lives were wounded at Bondi Beach,
know this:
the light you carry cannot be extinguished by hatred.
Hatred consumes those who produce it.
Light, however, is transmitted.
Each flame of Hanukkah proclaims to the world
that a people can be attacked without being destroyed,
that faith can be tested without being broken,
that life can be threatened without surrendering hope.
This light does not seek domination.
It resists by remaining faithful to its essence.
It tells the nations:
peace is not born from forgetting,
but from fidelity to life.
And to those whose hearts are overtaken by fear,
it gently whispers a truth that reshapes the soul:
Where I light a flame, fear loses its power over me.
People of Israel,
may your light be protected,
may your memory be honored,
may your children know they are not alone.
For as long as even one flame rises,
the night has not prevailed.
Final encouragement in Hebrew:
אור קטן דוחה הרבה חושך
(A small light pushes away much darkness.)