A Time for Quiet

The Hanukkah candles burn-down on this final, eighth night.  The warm glow helps to create a feeling of safety and love.  With the darkness all around, our small family gather near and we hold each other, content to just be and exist in these moments together.

The past two days have been terrible.  While the attacks of September 11th are forever burned into our minds, the shootings in Connecticut seem to strike deeper because the lives of children were taken in the most violent of ways, in a place that has always been associated with safety.

Tonight I play with my daughters, appreciating even more the simple joys of their innocence and happiness and laughter.  The candles are nearly burned out.  The lingering few flames stand strong against the darkness.  An essay states, "Although the eighth night is the exuberant end of this holiday, it also hints at the limitless holiness of every day. Yes, there were eight nights of miraculous oil, but beyond that—every day holds its own miracles."

Mr. Rodgers once told viewers that his mother said to always look for the helpers in times of darkness.  While we can't seem to look away from terrible events, we must also be able to see the people all around who are helping.  The people who are helping to clean-up, helping to bring supplies, helping to comfort, helping to make things safe again.

So the night surrounds us and we cuddle together as the final flickers of flame die out.  I am comforted by the laughter of my daughters and the warmth of their hugs.  Their light now becomes my only concern in this world, for there is no amount of money or oil, or possessions that could ever replace them.