Every year around Chanukah, I rediscover something both beautiful and mildly stressful: this holiday lasts a full eight nights.
Not one night where we light the candles and eat a few too many latkes. Not one big event to check off.
Eight. Nights.
And in our multicultural family, eight nights don’t schedule themselves. Some nights we’re home. Some nights we’re racing from a basketball game to soccer practice. Some nights the menorah is proudly on the kitchen table, and some nights it’s… well, wherever we left it last.
But here’s the thing I’ve learned: Chanukah isn’t about perfection. It’s about persistence. The oil didn’t burn because someone had a flawless plan. It burned because someone kept tending the flame, night after night.
So that’s what we do in our house. We keep showing up for the light — sometimes with all the blessings and singing…
…and sometimes with a few broken or lopsided candles, and a kid in pajamas who should have been in bed 20 minutes ago (but they don’t get to open any presents unless we complete the mitzvah of lighting up the world).
And honestly? Those nights feel the most like Chanukah. Because the miracle isn’t in the choreography — it’s in the commitment.
Eight nights is a lot.
But eight chances to bring a little more light into our kids’ lives?
That’s exactly the kind of Jewish parenting I want to do.
One way we help reinforce the practice of lighting candles is through a small tradition we created: after each night, the kids collect the leftover wax drips — the colors, the curls, the messy bits that once held each flame — and we melt them down into new shapes. Dreidels, stars, little goblets. Each one labeled with the Jewish year. (See the photo above)
Over time, it’s become a kind of family timeline in wax: a gallery of light transformed into art. It reminds me that even the smallest scraps of our effort, gathered consistently, can turn into something beautiful.
Along the way, I also learned something fun: there was a famous debate, roughly 1,800 years ago, between two rabbis who were very close friends, but also loved to debate how to practice Judaism. It was Rabbi Shammai and Rabbi Hillel and in this case it was all about how to light the Chanukiah.
Rabbi Shammai taught: start with eight candles and decrease by one each night.
Rabbi Hillel taught: start with one candle and increase each night.
We follow Rabbi Hillel because (well we do) but it is the practice that in Judaism we don’t diminish holiness; we grow it. That idea speaks to me deeply. Nothing we do has to be perfect. We learn, we adjust, and hopefully, we leave the world a little brighter than we found it.
And that brings me to our community’s next opportunity to do just that:
Temple Shalom’s 60th Anniversary Family Mitzvah Day
on Sunday, January 18, 2026.
Just like Chanukah, it’s a reminder that the way we add light to the world is simple:
one act at a time, one day at a time, one candle at a time.
We don’t need to start with all eight flames burning — we just need to show up and help the brightness grow.
Eight nights.
One community.
And countless ways to keep adding light.
Harley G Greenberg,
BRO Editor (a.k.a One very proud Jewish Father)
One Response
What a beautifully, easily understood explanation of the true demonstration of why and how to remember the meaning of Hanukkah! Yes we are the light in a world that seems to be getting darker. And, we can grow that light daily through our example. Thank you Harley for this reminder. We are blessed to have you as a significant part of our Temple!