I’ve always liked the festival of Chanukah (Hanukkah). I mean, what’s not to like? It’s low key, it’s easy, there are no strict commandments to follow, it’s the lighthearted cousin to the rest of the Jewish festivals. Sure, there are traditions, but they mostly centre around eating oil-drenched foods. See — what’s not to like?
And then there are the candles. What is it about candles, anyway? They are so mesmerising to watch, and so fulfilling to light. Something tugs at my heartstrings each time during the lighting ceremony, and I’m not altogether sure why.
There is so much symbolism in candles — the way they give light, and don’t diminish in brightness by sharing their light with other wicks. No two wicks burn the same way, but they all strive upwards, as if being pulled by an invisible string. Candles don’t give up their fight easily.
We add a new light each night, until all 8 candles are burning at the same time. It’s like the opposite of instant gratification. But just knowing we’ll get there in the end is enough, it keeps us going, keeps us counting, because we know it’s worth it.
And because we are commemorating an ancient miracle of a tiny jug of oil that lasted and lasted, it’s a custom to eat oil-rich foods, too.
Enter the donut: drenched in decadence and puffy with confidence, they seem like they’d be too rich to eat, but they never are. Instead, they feel satisfying and round, heavy with abundance.
With donuts, you get the flavour, the richness, all in one mouthful. The candles, however, are earned slowly and patiently, over the course of the week. The satisfaction from them is in watching them grow, adding a new one each night.
If donuts are a reminder of the goodness of the here and now, the candles echo the notion of steady, but lasting growth. The candles are a testament that good things do exist in the world. And there is always a way to access light when you need it.
It’s the final night of Chanukah here in Melbourne. As I write this, we haven’t yet lit the candles — all 8 of them. But when we do, I know they’ll burn brightly in a row, simply because they do every year. When the candles eventually die down, somewhere in the middle of the night, it will be a whole year until the Festival of Lights rolls around again.
I hope some of the light lingers. I hope it finds its way into the hearts of anyone who may need it. Anyone in need of guidance, of hope, of that little extra sparkle.
Something tells me it will.
Because that’s just what candles do.
