I can’t remember when I first learned the Hanukkah song Banu Choshech Legaresh, or when I first really paid attention to it. It presents as a simple children’s song — catchy, repetitive, the kind of tune sung in preschools and community gatherings. But recently I’ve learned more about its origins and meaning, and I’ve come to appreciate how deeply it captures the heart of Hanukkah and points us toward something essential about what it means to be a Jew.

The song was written in 1960 by Sarah Levi-Tanai and Emanuel Amiran and quickly became a staple — not because of historical circumstance, but because of the truth it conveys so simply. One line in particular really stands out:

כָּל אֶחָד הוּא אוֹר קָטָן וְכֻלָּנוּ אוֹר אֵיתָן!

Each of us is a small light, but together, we are a strong light.

In many ways, that single line encapsulates the essence of Hanukkah — and of Jewish resilience. Each of us has worth. Each of us is a light. But together, our light is mighty. Together, we really can push back the darkness.

This message feels especially urgent right now. In the wake of a devastating terrorist attack on the Jewish community in Australia, and acts of violence and intimidation here in the United States, including on a university campus, the darkness seems frighteningly close. We may feel, at times, small, vulnerable, and alone.

Hanukkah reminds us that light grows when we add more and more candles. Through the shamash — the candle used to kindle the others — we learn that when we share our light, we do not diminish it. We instead increase it.

Though Banu Choshech was written for children, its tone is anything but childish. In Israel, people often stomp as they sing it, adding a physical sense of resolve to the words:

סוּרָה חֹשֶׁךְ הָלְאָה שְׁחוֹר, סוּרָה מִפְּנֵי הָאוֹר!

“Darkness, retreat! Move aside before the light!”

It is a communal declaration that despair does not get the final word — that light is something we create through our actions, our choices, and our care for one another.

That is the charge of this season: to bring the light. To bring it intentionally. To bring it consistently. And to bring it together. Our individual flames may be small, but united, they become something strong and sustaining.

As we welcome Shabbat and kindle our Hanukkah lights, may we remember that each of us has a flame to offer — and that together, especially in moments like this, we can shine brighter than the darkness around us.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoshi