By Leah Garber
We came to banish the darkness,
In our hands are light and fire.
Each of us is a small light,
Together we are a mighty flame.
Away with darkness, be gone blackness—
Before the light!
“Banu Choshech Legaresh” | “We Came to Expel the Darkness”
Lyrics by Sara Levi-Tanai and music by Emanuel Amiran
This week, the Jewish world marks the miracle of Hanukkah—a luminous chapter in our history that unfolded approximately 2,200 years ago. Each Jewish holiday carries its own distinctive symbolic essence: renewal on Rosh Hashanah, introspection on Yom Kippur, liberation and sovereignty on Passover, appreciation of nature’s bounty on Tu B’Shvat, and more. Hanukkah, above all, embodies the sacred intertwining of Jewish courage and divine miracle, as demonstrated in the Al Hanissim (For the Miracles) prayer we recite with reverence: “For the miracles, for the redemption, for the mighty deeds, for the salvations, and for the victories in battle which You performed for our ancestors in those days, at this season.”
The essence of Jewish history throughout the ages is woven into this sacred tapestry—human courage, resilience, and unwavering determination, interlaced with heartfelt prayer for divine deliverance.
And so, to proclaim the miracles of the holiday, the lights of hanukkiyot, nine-branched menorahs, illuminate every window, their flames dancing in joy and celebration. Cars adorned with large menorahs mounted upon their roofs traverse the streets, and magnificent menorahs stand sentinel in city squares, commemorating one of the most triumphant victories in Jewish history.
Yet this year, the candlelight is dimmed, stained by profound sorrow. How can we truly rejoice when the light of 15 innocent souls was so brutally extinguished when a father and son, consumed by pure hatred of Jews and moved by no cause but darkness itself, shattered the holiday’s joy in distant Australia?
Boris and Sophia Gorman were not attending the celebrations at Bondi Beach that day. The Jewish couple, simply passing through just moments before the massacre, spotted terrorists emerging from a vehicle bearing an ISIS flag upon its windshield. Without a moment’s hesitation, they attempted to confront the terrorist father. These two Jewish heroes, possessing neither training nor preparation, armed only with courage, were shot at point-blank range while desperately trying to prevent the killing spree. They fell together, locked in each other’s arms—an eternal embrace.
Another soul who paid the ultimate price was 62-year-old Reuven Morrison, a beloved pillar of the Chabad community. Captured on video during the massacre, he can be seen hurling objects at the terrorist, doing everything within his power to shield others from harm. His daughter, Shayna Gotnik, shared that she recognized him instantly upon seeing the footage: “That’s my dad. I have friends who shielded their babies beneath their own bodies when they were forced to the ground, and they told me, “’Your dad saved us’—because he bought precious minutes away from the gunfire, drawing the shooters’ attention away from the innocent. If there was one way destined for him to leave this world, it was in battle against a terrorist. There could be no other way to take him from us. He fell defending the people he cherished most.”
It has never been easy to bear the mantle of Jewish identity—not under the oppressive Greek decrees of 164 BCE when they forbade Jews from observing sacred commandments and desecrated the Temple, our holiest sanctuary, and not more than 2,200 years hence in Sydney, Pittsburgh, Buenos Aires, the Netherlands, or Israel. Our history is intricately woven with threads of baseless hatred, relentless attempts at annihilation, and luminous stories of unconquerable human courage that steadfastly refuse to be extinguished.
Last week, we bore witness to dozens of hours of heartrending video footage—Hamas terrorists filming the six hostages imprisoned in the terror tunnels, hostages they would ruthlessly murder in cold blood mere months later. In the chilling footage, documented by the murderers’ own hands, we see Almog Sarusi, Eden Yerushalmi, Carmel Gat, Uri Danino, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, and Alex Lobanov lighting Hanukkah candles in the Gaza tunnels in December 2023. The six could not permit the candles to burn beyond a few fleeting minutes, for like themselves, flames, too, require oxygen to survive—and it was desperately scarce, as scarce as life itself in the suffocating darkness of those underground chambers.
Emaciated, wounded, their spirits consumed by terror yet sustained by longing, the six, tenderly called “the beautiful six” by Rachel Goldberg-Polin, Hersh’s devoted mother, raise their voices to sing Hanukkah songs. Their melody carries the weight of hope for a miracle to deliver them home, to salvation. A miracle that, heartbreakingly, never happened.
We all gathered together, an entire nation transfixed before the special news broadcast that aired these devastating videos. We sat before our screens, tears streaming, mourning those who could so effortlessly have been us, our beloved ones, anyone. Innocent people seized with unspeakable cruelty, subjected to torture and torment, yet even amid such profound mental and physical anguish, they refused to relinquish hope. With remarkable courage, they carved out sacred space for faith and hope within the tunnel’s suffocating confinement and thin air. The devastating conclusion to their story arrived when, months later, in August 2024, they were mercilessly murdered in cold blood at point-blank range. These six heroes steadfastly refused to let their spirits surrender. With hearts full of Jewish pride and dignity, they kindled candles, just as generations upon generations of persecuted Jews before them did against all odds. Modest lights, yet unwavering; delicate flames, yet resolutely determined to pierce the darkness around us.
During this Hanukkah, too—the third observed during these interminable 802 days—the bereaved family of Staff Sergeant Ran Gvili, the final fallen soldier still held captive by Hamas, kindles Hanukkah candles saturated with ceaseless tears. They long desperately to bring their cherished son, a hero of Israel, home at last for burial in the soil of his beloved homeland.
On October 7, while recuperating on medical leave and awaiting surgery for a shoulder injury, Ran could justifiably have remained safely at home. But he was forged from the fabric of warriors, that rare breed of souls who instinctively elevate others’ welfare above their own needs. Upon receiving word of the devastating attack by Hamas terrorists, he seized his personal weapon without hesitation and rushed toward the battle. Ran was taken captive after falling heroically in combat at Kibbutz Alumim.
Ran stood first among the heroes and, as his grieving family observes with piercing pride, became, unsurprisingly, the last of the rescuers—the final guardian refusing to abandon his post.
May the candles we kindle across the world this Hanukkah converge into one unified, consoling flame—a magnificent and mighty light that will affirm, once more, that even when confronted by hatred, by boundless cruelty and relentless malevolence, the Jewish people endure and flourish. And may the radiant light of this extraordinary people continue to illuminate the world and spread goodness to every corner of our shared humanity.
Leah Garber is a senior vice president of JCC Association of North America and director of its Center for Israel Engagement in Jerusalem.