When we say, “Happy Hanukkah,” is it just a social ritual, or is there something about Hanukkah that we actually think should make people happy? I’m usually happy about the latkes, the beautiful Hanukkiah, and making family memories. But is there anything intrinsic to the holiday itself that makes it important for us today?

Hanukkah commemorates how God enabled a small band of Jewish guerilla fighters to overcome the army of an evil king who:

1. tried to kill any Jewish person who attempted to worship the God of Israel
2. desecrated the temple by sacrificing a pig on the holy altar.

Hanukkah literally means “dedication,” referring to the cleansing and rededication of the Temple following the Maccabees’ recapture of the Temple. That’s what the miracle of a day’s worth of pure (consecrated) oil lasting for eight days is all about.

So, if Hanukkah was named for the dedication of a Temple that no longer exists, can it really connect us to a deep and meaningful happiness in the present?

Set Apart for God

I was born and raised in an observant Jewish family, deeply rooted in tradition. As Jews, we were supposed to be set apart to know and serve God. If you would have asked me who I identified with in the story of Hanukkah, as a child, I probably would have said the Maccabees—since they were from the tribe of Levi.1 From a young age, I was taught that our family was also descended from the line of Levi. We had a certain standing in the synagogue, second only to the Kohanim. Since the Temple in Jerusalem is long gone, being a Levite today is mostly an honorary distinction. But I grew up very much aware that my family was set apart by God in some way.

While I had little to no idea what that meant, it seemed important. It made me feel special and probably explains why I took the synagogue prayers so seriously. I was especially serious about the Shemoneh Esreh, the quintessential statement of traditional Jewish faith. Among other things, it describes God as our Creator King, affirms our belief in the resurrection, and promises the coming Messiah as the offspring of King David.

As far back as I can remember, I had a deep longing for the promised Messiah. The Messiah would have the answers to all our questions. He would guarantee the resurrection from the dead so that I would one day meet my late grandfather! And I especially hoped that he would fix my father’s broken heart—Dad had never really healed from the premature death of his own father.

So, I prayed the prayer.  And when I was old enough, I began studying the Hebrew Scriptures and the prophecies that spoke of a great king Messiah. The prophets also talked about one who would be a light to the nations.2

My Fall into Darkness

Despite my longing, my studies, and all my questions about the Messiah, I couldn’t help feeling he was an elusive figure, distant and unreal: like a promise that someone forgot to keep. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on praying and believing.

I was somewhat afraid to disappoint God, but I felt myself becoming disillusioned. I began testing the waters to find out what would happen if I ditched certain laws and traditions. There was no lightning bolt when I broke the Sabbath. I didn’t spontaneously combust when I tasted tref. So maybe God didn’t care about those things. Maybe he didn’t care about anything I did or didn’t do. And maybe I wasn’t that important to him after all.

Before long, my fear of disappointing God turned to indifference. I began to distance myself from God, looking wherever I pleased for answers, a sense of identity, and whatever else I thought might make me happy. I knew I was slipping into a dark place because it was getting harder to see anything I could hold on to as “true.”

Though my Jewish identity still mattered to me, my heart was cold and disconnected from God.

The darkness really set in when I entered the restaurant industry and began to live way outside the boundaries of what some would describe as godly (or at least moral) behavior. I drank heavily four to five nights a week. I used drugs when I partied. I chose to hang out with some dangerous people. I was living completely for myself, day in and day out.

At that point, if I had to identify with anyone in the Hanukkah story, it would no longer have been the Maccabees. In fact, I was a lot more like the Jewish people who had become complicit in worshiping false gods. I didn’t see it as idolatry, but I had basically devoted myself to serving all my own desires and inclinations.

I still attended Shabbat dinners with my family, went to shul on the odd occasion, especially holidays. But though my Jewish identity still mattered to me, my heart was cold and disconnected from the God who had set us apart to love him and bring his light to others.

From Darkness to Light

Some of the customers in my restaurants were Christians, and we became friends. In fact, I began dating a Christian I met at a dinner my dad set up to welcome the Portuguese national soccer team for the 2010 World Cup. Cara, being Portuguese, attended the event, and we sat at the same table. We connected immediately and have pretty much been together ever since. Over the course of three or four years, her family shared their faith in Jesus with me and even claimed that he is the Jewish Messiah.

I told them there was no way that Jesus was my Messiah. But I found myself wondering about the Messiah again. I went back to some of our ancient texts, to the rabbinic commentaries, and to various opinions on the matter. In part, I just wanted to disprove Christians. But some part of me still hoped to find the Messiah I had longed for as a child—not Jesus, but someone!

But despite my desire for the Messiah, a profound inner darkness seemed to block the light I so desperately wanted. I knew that the Messiah had to be from the line of David—and in my frustration, I had the chutzpah to challenge the Almighty: “God, if Jesus is the Messiah, prove to me that he is the son of David and qualified to be the Messiah.”

For some reason, I was confident that Jesus lacked the credentials. I wanted to prove that in order to affirm my upbringing, my understanding of God and Judaism, and not least of all, to get my girlfriend’s parents to back off preaching to me! But here’s what happened instead.

I was alone in my room one night, feeling frustrated about the whole thing, and I got this weird urge to read the New Testament. I had been given a copy years before, which I’d hidden in the back of my bookshelf. I had been told as a boy that this book is antisemitic; it’s about the Christians’ god, Jesus, who is responsible for so much Jewish persecution. It sounded like a terrible book, yet in that moment, I felt an inexplicable urge, an irrepressible curiosity, to open it.

The fact that God wanted to connect with me melted all my indifference.

Imagine my utter shock and surprise when I read the very first sentence of the New Testament: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David [emphasis supplied], the son of Abraham.” Following that was the list of names tracing the lineage of Jesus right back to King David!

In that moment, something profound happened. I was absolutely astounded. And it was not just the fact that Jesus fulfilled the very prophecy I was so sure would disprove him. I was astounded by the way that God had so literally answered my prayer. He really did care about me after all!

The fact that God wanted to connect with me melted all my indifference. It was as if he lit a candle in my heart. Suddenly, I could see what my Christian friends had shared with me in a new light. It made sense. I knew I had found (or been found by!) the Messiah I had longed for—the one from the line of David, the promised one our prophets had described.

Jesus was the light I had been searching for, and in that moment, I knew I would no longer bow to my desires for self-gratification. I was healed from all addictions. The darkness within me was dispelled, and with it, the loneliness and hopelessness I’d felt for so long. I was forgiven and free to dedicate myself to God.

This is why I can relate so personally to Hanukkah. Just like the story of the miracle of the oil, I didn’t have what I needed to trust—much less love and obey—the King of the Universe. I wasn’t short on oil; I was short on the motivation and the humility to love God as He has loved us.

Yes, we’re still waiting for the Messiah to return and bring ultimate peace. But, like candles in the darkest heart of winter, the Messiah has given us signs and wonders of personal healing to light our way.

One Last Hanukkah Story

I went on to marry my Christian girlfriend, Cara. A few years later, we were eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were so excited when she went into labor during Hanukkah—talk about a gift! Unfortunately, after hours of painful struggle, the labor was not progressing, and the window for a safe delivery grew smaller. The doctors told us we needed to prepare for a c-section. This was not what we wanted, and the situation was becoming tense.

A nurse entered the room, calm and composed, and she insisted on taking just 15 minutes to attempt to help my wife deliver the baby naturally. I don’t think any of us had high hopes for success, but she was very confident as she respectfully asked the doctor to step out of the room. She then worked tirelessly with my wife, and within 15 minutes, our son was born—on the third day of Hanukkah!

It felt like a Hanukkah miracle—a burst of light in the midst of uncertainty and darkness. When the doctor returned and saw that the baby had arrived naturally, he exclaimed, Nes Gadol Hayah Po! — “A great miracle happened here!”3

It may not technically have qualified as a miracle, but I appreciated the doctor’s acknowledgment that something very special and unexpected had happened. It was a moment of profound joy, hope, and faith—a reminder that even when things seem uncertain or impossible, God has not forgotten us. We named our son Levi to honor his heritage—and in hopes that he, too, will find joy and purpose in loving and serving God.

For Reflection

Where do you find yourself in the Hanukkah story?

What is your source of light?

Endnotes

1. The Levites served alongside the Temple priests, guarding the Temple and performing other non-priestly duties to care for and maintain it.

2. Isaiah
42:6, 49:6

3. We were living in Jerusalem at the time, so ending his exclamation with “po” (here) rather than “sham” (there) had a double meaning, tying the miracle of the oil with the birth of our son that day. We now live in Canada, so, like other Jewish people outside the Land, we say “nes gadol haya sham” regarding the miracle of the oil. But we also say “nes gadol haya po,” referring to what God has done in our hearts.