I was at home scrolling through my phone when I saw the news from Bondi Beach. A terrorist attack. A Jewish community. A Hanukkah menorah lighting on the first night of the holiday.
My first reaction was simple and heavy at the same time. Not again.
That moment of disbelief. That familiar tightening in the chest. The question that always comes next, why does this keep happening?
Hanukkah arrived anyway.
That night, we lit candles. I posted something positive. And I decided to start saying Tehillim for those who were injured and recovering. Nothing dramatic. Nothing loud. Just light.
And that is exactly the point.
Hanukkah is not a holiday about pretending darkness does not exist. It is a holiday born from it. The story begins with oppression, violence, and an attempt to extinguish Jewish identity. The response was never retreat. It was not silence. It was not waiting for the world to become safer.
It was light.
There is something deeply counterintuitive about how we light the menorah. On the first night, we light one candle. On the second night, we do not replace it with a new one. We add. Then we add again. And again. Each night, more light than before.
Judaism does not teach us to maintain light. It teaches us to increase it.
After an attack like the one in Bondi, the instinct can be to shrink. To pull back. To lower our heads and hope the noise passes. Hanukkah demands the opposite. When darkness shows itself, we respond by bringing more light into the world.
Not less.
Light is not only physical. It is moral clarity. It is choosing kindness over bitterness. Faith over fear. Action over despair. It is refusing to let hatred dictate how we live or who we become.
That night, lighting candles was not just a ritual. It was a statement. We are still here. We are still connected. And we are still choosing light.
The candles of Hanukkah do not overpower the darkness all at once. One small flame pushes it back just enough. Then another joins it. Then another. The lesson is simple and demanding. You do not need to fix the world in one moment. You need to add your light today.
Post something positive. Say Tehillim. Reach out to someone who is struggling. Show your children what resilience looks like. Stand clearly on the side of light when the lines feel blurred.
Strength does not always roar. Sometimes it flickers quietly in a window, refusing to go out.
The Jewish response to darkness has never been revenge or withdrawal. It has been persistence. Growth. More light than yesterday.
That responsibility does not disappear when life feels unfair or frightening. It becomes more urgent.
Hanukkah reminds us that light is not automatic. It is a choice we make night after night. And when we choose it, even in the face of violence and hatred, we shape the future.
The darkness will always try to return. Our task is simple and eternal.
Add light anyway.
Nachman (Nathan) Hoffman is a coach, entrepreneur and CEO. With over 20 years of experience in business and personal development, he helps individuals and organizations align vision, growth and values.