There’s a song we learned as children – a simple song that contains far more wisdom than its composers ever knew:

For our parents, I suspect, it was a song about Jewish survival, about surviving the Nazis, just as our ancestors survived the Greek-Syrians long ago. But for the Chassidic masters, it was about protecting a different kind of light – the spark of holiness that God placed within each of us.

All too often, we lose track of that light. “But each day,” taught Sefat Emet, “there are are things we can do to change the world and to reveal the light of God.” Acts of kindness, being present for each other, caring for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, all of these are things that can bring light into the world.

For Nachman of Breslov, our role in keeping the light alive was one of the deepest secrets of creation:

Menorah and the eternal light bear witness to God’s presence in the world. They remind us that only God can create light. All we can do is to take one light and use it to light another. And so we find that everything is from God, the fire, and the light, and the oil, and the wicks – all of them our gift from God. But if we do not do our part, the world will be dark. One candle will not light another.

This is the world that the Holy One wanted to create: a world that we would complete through our holiness down below. This is the work of all of us, to kindle the light in each other’s souls. This is the light that shines evening to morning, the light of the human souls. And this is the light that reminds us that the Holy One dwells among us. God could have lit the menorah by Himself. But God wanted us to bring light to each other.

This is the meaning of Chanukah: that God wanted us to bring light to each other. As you light the menorah this week, may you find God’s light, and may you bring light to each other.