Are we all still such children or even animals at heart that we so love the light? For those of us in the northern hemisphere, and especially those in the northernmost reaches of the northern hemisphere, the winter solstice is cause for celebration. As a kid growing up in Duluth, Minnesota, I remember in the last days before Christmas break slipping into my school clothes in a morning darkness, eating breakfast in the dark, and walking to school while it was still dark. When it was time to walk home again, the sky had already turned to dusk. Then one morning, my mom would greet me with delight, “The days are getting longer now!” Her joy was as striking as the news itself.
The beginning of Hanukkah and the winter solstice correspond this year, sharing December 21st as a turning-point. (Hannukah begins on the eve of Dec. 20, and winter begins first thing on Dec. 22… and I’m not sure why this didn’t post on the 20th, as it was supposed to do…).
Hanukkah, which the first century Jewish historian called the “festival of lights,” recalls that moment in Jewish history about 150 years before the common era when a Hellenizing monarch took control of the Jerusalem temple and so desecrated it that the he incited full-scale revolt. The Jews were successful in regaining control of the temple, which they rededicated to God (hence “Hanukkah,” which means “dedication”). There was only enough oil in the lighting lamp for one day, but miraculously it lasted for the eight necessary to make new oil for that purpose. At Christmas, too, we celebrate with light — twinkling and still, strung around trees, on stair railings, and the fiery peaks of candle tops.
We seldom experience full darkness anymore. Nevertheless, the light of these holidays, the knowledge that the sun will come round and lengthen our days again is cause for delight. Why not be a kid and greet it with wide-open joy? Why not let the animal of yourself revel in the warmth of light in the darkest night? Embrace the darkness, and let the magic of light do its work.
Peter Mayer sings in “The Longest Night”:
Light a candle, sing a song
Say that the shadows shall not cross
Make an oblation out of all you’ve lost
In the longest night
Gather friends and cast your hopes
Into the fire as it snows
And stare at God through the dark windows
Of the longest night
Of the year
CHORUS:
A night that seems like a lifetime
If you’re waiting for the sun
So why not sing to the nighttime
And the burning stars up above?
Come with drums, bells and horns
Or come in silence, come forlorn
Come like a miner to the door
Of the longest night
For deep in the stillness, deep in the cold
Deep in the darkness, a miner knows
That there is a diamond in the soul
Of the longest night
Of the year
CHORUS:
Maybe peace hides in a storm
Maybe winter’s heart is warm
And maybe light itself is born
In the longest night
In the longest night
Of the year
e of her childhood. 
That home? — ancient Ecbatana, modern Iran’s Hamadan, one mile above sea level in the shadow of snow-c0vered Mt. Alvand. Looking at pictures of the place, so unlike what most of us imagine Iran to be, is it any wonder that she’d miss such a place?!
