Light in the Dark

Have you ever heard of a Happy Light? Believe it or not, that’s the brand name of a UV therapy lamp that mimics sunlight. It’s meant to trick your brain into thinking you’re outside on a sunny beach. The extra light during the dark days of winter is proven to improve mood, regulate sleep, and boost memory. I actually have one on my office desk. I swear, this is not a paid advertisement. But I do find it helps, especially this time of year.

We all need more light. Real light, metaphorical light, spiritual light. 

In less than a week it is Hannukah, the original “happy light” going back centuries. Eight dark nights, each night getting brighter. Each night bringing more hope. Each night, placing our light where others can see. And each night, we say, “We’re here. We’ve survived.” 

This year, for the first time in my life, I’m debating putting an electric menorah in my front window. 

Will it draw attention to the fact that mine is a Jewish home? Will it spark someone to vandalize or threaten us? What if the girls are home alone should that happen? You’ve seen the news. There is a wave of antisemitism that is sweeping the world.

Darkness seems to be reaching us in ways we have never felt before in this country. In the streets, on town councils, in schools. What we need is to stand together, to be united, to hold on to hope in the face of that darkness.

We need more light.

This week, we have parsha Vayishlach. Jacob is coming back from his years with his trickster father-in-law, Laban, to face the brother he tricked, Esau. Jacob left Canaan with nothing but the clothes on his back. After twenty years, God has fulfilled His promise and Jacob returns with two wives, eleven children, and maidservants, flocks, and herds. 

By all accounts, he is a success. He has “made it.” And yet, he must face his demons.He must reconcile with his brother or die trying.

He sends messengers to Esau and instructs them to tell him these words: 

”עִם־לָבָ֣ן גַּ֔רְתִּי וָאֵחַ֖ר עַד־עָֽתָּה׃” 

“I have sojourned with Laban, and I have tarried until now.”

The Hebrew word for lived with, sojourned with, “Garti” has four letters. Now, in Hebrew we all know that letters are also numbers, so let’s do a little gematria, get out your calculators:

Gimel = 3

Resh = 200

Tav = 400

Yud = 10

Add it up and what do you get? 613. 613 mitzvot. The entirety of Jewish practice and life. The Torah. Sinai. God. That’s how he meets Esau. 

So Esau, where was I all those years? You thought because I was with these wicked people up in Haran I became just like them, didn’t you? But no, I did not. 

You thought that because I had nothing and was on the run I gave up on my Judaism. But no, I did not. 

You thought that I forgot my father, my grandfather, and my family. But no. I did not. 

I turned to the mitzvot with even more passion and intensity. For twenty years, I dedicated myself to the mitzvot. I grew stronger. I grew wiser. And I prospered because of it. That’s who I am now, brother.

We all have an Esau—some are large, some small. Some are diffuse like a crowd, some are immediate like a family member, a co-worker, a neighbor, a stranger on the street. How do we meet them? How do we face their enmity?

We must be ourselves. We are who we are. And so we must turn to our own heritage with more passion and more intensity. We light candles. We put up mezuzot. We make challah. We wrap tefillin and wear tzitzit. We say Kiddush. We listen to a shiur or a podcast of Torah. And, as we are here tonight, we come together and pray. 

In the darkness around us, we must bring—and we must cast—more light.

When an enemy with six hundred men is approaching Jacob, he doesn’t pick up a sword, does he? No. He maintains that his passion has been creating sanctity in a world gone mad. He embraces his heritage, his Judaism, he casts light on this work and wears it like a shield. And it embraces him in return.

We are who we are.

So. Next week, light your candles. Enjoy them. Feel their light lift your mood in the darkness, feel their warmth embrace you in the cold. Draw strength from them and know that we all share that light and that strength together.

Rabbi Yitz Greenberg wrote: “​​…Pessimists and assimilationists have more than once informed Jews that there is no more oil left to burn. As long as Hanukkah is studied and remembered, Jews will not surrender to the night. The proper response, as Hanukkah teaches, is not to curse the darkness but to light a candle.”

As for me, I will let my menorah shine, casting light from my front window—from my home—for eight long nights. 

I am who I am.

Shabbat Shalom