The Darkest Day, The Longest Night

First of all—let me get this out of the way—I’m not Jewish. That said, I do have a favorite Hanukkah song, Hanukkah Blessings by the Barenaked Ladies. It’s one that I play often this time of year as I’m decking my halls and baking my cookies.

My favorite part goes like this:

How lucky are we that we 
have light so we can see
although the day is done.
What a miracle that a spark 
lifts these candles out of the dark.
Every evening, one by one…

This time of year I like to reflect on the simple miracle it must have been for long-ago humans to create light where none naturally existed, and the hope that such a thing must have engendered in the dark season. What must it have been like, before humans had a true understanding of astronomy, to see the sun slip further and further away at this time of year, losing light bit by bit each day? What faith did it take to believe the sun would eventually return?

Even in our artificially-lit modern world, we feel it in our bones. The seasons of growing and gathering are over and we enter the long darkness shored up with only what we have reserved. For ancient peoples, that meant hoarding enough food to survive until the next fertile season. For us today it means preserving contact with each other through a time when our instinct is to bundle up, close ourselves off and hunker down inside.

In days when fuel was precious, burning oil or candles just for the sake of light was a luxury, yet most cultures developed celebrations of light to sustain themselves through the winter and reassure themselves that the sun would return. Though we call them by different names — Hanukkah, Saturnalia, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Solstice — what they carry in common is a calling together of community to spark hope, reinforce love and cultivate joy in the darkest of times.

These past few winters have felt darker than most. When the news is filled with reports of disease, intolerance and mistrust, we need the light more than ever. We need the light of understanding, peace and kindness to sustain us through these times. We need faith that the sun will soon lengthen our days again and also that humankind will find a way to share a greater love for each other.

And I do believe that the light will return. To my heart, to my home, and to our world. We only recognize darkness because we know light. We understand that when light and hope are missing, we need to call them back. And we know that the longest night signals a lengthening day to come.

As my friends light the fourth candle of their hanukiyot tonight, I will appreciate once again these holidays that call us together to perform the ritual of creating light in community with others. I will carry that remembrance in my heart when I turn on the lights strung around my Christmas tree, grateful for the faces that I see and the traditions that call us together and warm our hearts at this time of year. This is my personal talisman against dark times, dark thoughts and dark beliefs: faith in the goodness of humanity and our ability to repair and heal.

I wish you peace in this and all seasons.

A version of this essay first appeared in the Live Fully Blog of the Oshman Family JCC on December 10, 2015.