Hanukkah, also known as Chanukah, is the Jewish wintertime "festival of lights", celebrated with the lighting of the menorah, pictured above, every night for eight nights.

Elizabeth Harris-Sawczenko, until recently Director of the Council of Christians and Jews, is a Trustee of the Abraham Initiatives, a group which campaigns for equal rights in Israel. Here, she reflects on what it really means to be a source of light in the darkness.

I'm finding the short days quite oppressive. Being at home, rather than surrounded by friends, family and colleagues, accentuates how short are the days and how dark the nights.  

Some explain the preponderance of festivals of light during this time of year - Diwali and Chanukah and the Christmas lights - as an attempt to bring light into our lives in these dark months. Perhaps there is an element of truth in the suggestion that there is an instinctive human urge to find light to push back the darkness.  

Tomorrow, the Jewish community will be lighting Chanukah lights which represent the flickering light of liberation over the darkness of oppression. Chanukah celebrates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Jewish people in 164 BCE, after its defilement by the Syrian Greeks. The Temple was re-dedicated by lighting the eight-branched candelabra (or Menorah in Hebrew). The miracle of Chanukah is that when the Maccabees (Jewish resistance fighters) entered the desecrated temple, they found within it only one vial of oil, insufficient to keep the Menorah alight for more than a short time. But that one little vial of oil burnt brightly for eight days, until more sacred oil could be found. 

To celebrate the miracle, Jews today observe a “Festival of Lights”– lighting the menorah for eight nights, one extra candle each night. The Talmud, the Jewish text from which the majority of jewish religious law is derived, teaches us to light our menorah in a place where it can be easily seen. This is a gesture to the world: for all that we have endured we celebrate our Jewishness. 

The story of Chanukah provides a strong narrative around freedom of worship and religion. But as we all know, religious and racial oppression still abounds.

A couple of years ago I was invited to Westminster Abbey on the first night of Chanukah to a service to celebrate the contribution of Christians in the Middle East. In truth, I had been uncertain whether I should skip the event and hurry home to celebrate the first night of Chanukah.

But as I found myself listening to the moving testimony of Dominician Sister Nazek Khalid Matty, currently serving her order in Nineveh, Iraq, I understood that this was exactly where I was meant to be. She said: 

‘For centuries, Christians extended bridges between the Roman and the Persian empires, between the Greek and the Arab Muslim cultures, between the East and the West…Waves of persecution, over the centuries, targeted the identity of Christians and their sense of belonging, made Christians doubt that they would ever live in peace.

'More recently the violent invasion of the Plain of Nineveh by ISIS and the wave of destruction left behind have deeply wounded the Christian community. The Dominican Sisters, who were forced to leave their convents, now hope for restoration and healing…Truthfully the return of Christians, despite everything, is based upon our determination to live our beliefs and traditions.’  

These words went straight to my heart as I contemplated the ways in which at different points in history, different faiths and communities have been forced to deny, struggle, or even abandon their faith to save their own lives. 

And that brings me to the light today. I’m a longstanding trustee of the Abraham Initiatives, an organisation in Israel that promotes equal rights and a shared society for Muslim, Druze, Christian and Jewish citizens of Israel.

This Chanukah, we will hold an event to bring awareness to the needs of Palestinian Israelis, particularly during the pandemic. It so easy once you are no longer a minority to forget the challenges of those that still are and it’s my obligation as a Jewish Israeli to stand up for those that are marginalised in Israel today. When we stand up for one another, we illuminate the darkness.  

So whilst the darkness of the early nights weighs on me, it also gives me a possibility to seek light. For without dark we wouldn't really notice the Holy sparks of opportunity scattered all around. In the immortal words of Rabbi Lord Sacks: 

'For though my faith is not yours, and your faith is not mine, if we each are free to light our own flame, together we can banish some of the darkness of the world.'

Elizabeth Harris-Sawczenko was until recently Director of the Council of Christians and Jews, and is a current Trustee of the Abraham Initiatives.