Deep in the shadows of old Jerusalem, the ancient Jews fought against oppression. They joined together, rose up, and defeated the oppressors who had outlawed their faith and desecrated their holy temple.
In the ruins of their newly won city, the ancient Jews stood in the silence and agreed: they must cleanse and re-dedicate the temple. They would reignite the menorah—a beacon of light that would burn all day and all night—as a symbol of their fortitude, and, in every way, their faith.
According to the Talmud, olive oil was required to keep the menorah ablaze within the Temple. But when the Jews returned to their oil supply, they found that there was only enough oil to burn for a single day. Eight days would be required to prepare a new supply of oil. The light in the temple would be doused long before then.
But a miracle happened.
The oil in the temple lasted eight incredible days: exactly the time needed to prepare a fresh supply of oil for the menorah. Thus, Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights came to be.
Beyond all reason or logic, we too—like the light in the ancient Temple of Jerusalem—are inextinguishable. In the darkest and most desperate hours, when we mine ourselves for more than we ever could conceive was possible, the fuel is there. So that we may continue on.
Hope may be fragile, but it is there.
Like light. . .
Sometimes blazing, sometimes merely a tender, trembling flicker that regardless, cannot be extinguished, that flame winking even in the darkest hours. So our ancient ancestors have taught us. So we continue to learn again and again as time churns ever onward.
Hope accompanies all new beginnings. . .
Happy Hanukkah everyone. May we all mine ourselves for more-- tonight and always.