A sharp December wind howled down Eastern Parkway, carrying a classic New York winter and the heavy weight of the evening news.
Larry, an New York reporter, pulled his wool coat tighter around his shoulders as he walked past the snow-dusted brownstones of Crown Heights. For weeks, he had been filing stories on chaos, destruction, and rising global hatred. His notebook was full of grim statistics, and his mind was exhausted. He had come to Brooklyn looking for a piece to balance his coverage, something warm about the upcoming holiday of Chanukah, the smell of frying latkes and sufganiyos on Kingston Avenue, and glowing windows.
Instead, he found himself standing at the bottom of a brownstone stoop, watching an Orthodox Chassidic man carefully lit the oil of a Menorah through the front window.
Moments later, the front door opened.
"Excuse me," Larry said, holding up his press badge with a tired smile. "I’m Larry. I’m writing a piece for a local paper. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
The man smiled from the top of the steps. He had a long, silver-streaked beard, wearing a black coat and hat, his eyes held a startling warmth. "I am Mendel," he said, gesturing inside. "Come out of the cold wind, Larry. A reporter always needs a warm drink."
Inside, Mendel's living room was a world away from the tense headlines. The scent of sweet oil and freshly baked dough hung in the air, mingling with the warmth of the radiators, a huge bookcase filled the entire wall, and on the wall a picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Mendel poured two cups of steaming tea and sat across from Larry at a wooden table.
So," Larry began, flipping open his notebook. "Everyone loves the holiday of Chanukah. The lights, the family gatherings. It’s a nice break from reality. Honestly, after the things I’ve been covering lately, I think people just need a comfortable memory."
Mendel smiled, shaking his head. "With respect, Larry, if you only see Chanukah as a comfortable memory from the history books, you are missing the entire point. It isn’t an escape from reality. It is a living blueprint for how to survive and thrive in a broken world."
Larry paused, his pen hovering over the page. "How so?"
To understand how to fight the darkness you’ve been reporting on," Mendel said, leaning forward, "you have to look back at the darkness over two thousand years ago."
Mendel began to speak, his voice clear and steady. He painted a picture of ancient Jerusalem under the Syrian-Greek empire of Antiochus. It was a time of immense spiritual and physical chaos. The empire didn’t just want to conquer the land; they wanted to wipe out the Jewish soul. They banned the study of Torah, prohibited to keep Shabbis, and desecrated the Holy Temple, setting up idols where the sacred service belonged.
The Maccabees were a band of Jewish freedom fighters who freed Judea from the Syrian-Greek occupiers during the Second Beis HaMikdash period. Led by Judah and his four brothers, they beat the Greek Intruders and restored the Holy Beis HaMikdash in Jerusalem to the service of HaShem. Their victory is celebrated during the holiday of Chanukah.
It was a time of deep negativity, hatred, and forced assimilation," Mendel said. "For many, it felt like the light of Judaism was about to be permanently extinguished."
Larry nodded slowly, recognizing the echoes of modern despair. "And then came the Maccabees."
Yes," Mendel said. "A tiny, untrained band of fighters who decided enough was enough. Against all odds, they stood up to the mightiest army in the world, and miraculously, they won. They marched back into the defiledTemple. The Maccabees wept and tore their clothes in mourning. Not much later they shattered the idols, and began the grueling work of cleaning up the destruction."
Mendel gestured toward the Menorah sitting by the front window. "They wanted to relight the Temple Menorah immediately to signal that holiness had returned. But the Greeks had intentionally contaminated almost all the sacred oil. After a desperate search through the ruins, the Maccabees found one tiny, fragile clay jar. It was still sealed with the insignia of the Kohen Gadol, meaning it was perfectly pure. The problem? There was only enough oil to burn for a single day, and it would take eight days to press a fresh supply."
They lit it anyway," Larry said softly.
They poured the oil and struck the flame anyway," Mendel confirmed. "And that’s when the miracle happened. That single day’s worth of oil burned brightly and proudly for eight straight days."
Silence settled over the warm room, broken only by the distant New York traffic. Larry looked down at his notebook, suddenly seeing his own grim headlines in a new light.
"When I look at the world today, Mendel" Larry admitted, dropping his journalistic bias, "it feels like we’re living through our own version of that time. You look at the news, social media, the city streets... there is so much destruction and hatred. Honestly, it’s easy to feel small, isolated, and completely overwhelmed. How does a person make sense in that kind of darkness?"
Mendel reached across the table and tapped Larry’s notebook.
"Chanukah arrives when the nights are at their longest to teach us one fundamental truth, Larry: you do not fight darkness with a broom. You do not kick at the shadows. You fight darkness by lighting a fire."
Mendel stood up and walked over to the window, picking up a glass bottle of clear olive oil.
The oil the Maccabees found wasn't just oil," Mendel said. "It represents the absolute purest part of the soul, the Divine spark within each of us that hatred and negativity cannot touch. No matter how much chaos is swirling on the outside, that inner 'jar of oil' remains pure, sealed, and ready to be lit."
Larry stood and joined him by the window, looking out at the darkening Brooklyn street. "So bringing the light into the world... it's not just about putting a candle in the window.
When we place our Menorahs by the window we aren't just putting on a pretty display," Mendel said, his voice full of conviction. "We are performing an act of spiritual defiance. It means making a conscious choice not to let the negativity change who we are. When the world is destructive, we build. When the world is hateful, we double down on chesed, deep pride in our heritage, and an unwavering commitment to doing good."
We are sending a wave of light out onto the sidewalk, declaring that the pure oil of goodness will always outlast the forces of chaos. Just like that ancient oil in Jerusalem, a single act of light punches a hole in the darkness, and it triggers a chain reaction."
Larry looked at the Menorah, then back at Mendel. Slowly, he closed his notebook and slipped it into his coat pocket. He realized he no longer had a story to write about some holiday; he had something much more urgent to write.
"Thank you, Mendel," Larry said, stepping back out down the stoop into the New York night. As he walked toward the subway, watching brownstone windows begin to flicker with tiny flames against the winter dark, he knew exactly how his article would end.