This morning I woke up to two little voices in the kitchen gleefully reminding their dad, “Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah!” What a sweet sound to start my day with.
We began celebrating Hanukkah in our own way a few years ago, and although I had not recently reminded the kids of its arrival, my youngest boys look forward to it with joy. This month two trees of light bathe our home in a warm glow; one Christmas tree lighting up our tradition and one menorah shining light on our adoption. Like the two trees in the garden, these symbols remind us to praise God for tabernacling in our midst, revealing that He is the life and the wisdom we seek.
Preparing for the mingling of our Hanukkah and Christmas celebrations this season is, admittedly, different. More personal, perhaps more forlorn. I think it’s because I’ve had a hard time moving on from the events that occurred in Israel two months back.
It’s been hard for me to shop for Christmas gifts as Hamas releases Jews they have held hostage by parading them through streets like a trophy. How do I set up a nativity when a ten month old baby meets its death in captivity mere miles from Bethlehem? Billions of people around the world are about to celebrate the birthday of a Jewish man who was born in Israel over 2,000 years ago but also don’t think the Jews lived there prior to 1948. O Come O Come Immanuel plays on secular radio stations as drivers zoom through traffic, without ever realizing it’s a song about Jesus returning to rescue a hunted, captive nation of Israel.
The media is bored of the war and churches seem even less interested. Even during Hanukkah, developing a heart for God’s people is not a top priority for most in the western world. The disinterest is frankly hard for me to swallow.
As war and rumor of more conflict simmers in the background of my crowded life, I have to question whether I have fully engaged in the crisis. It is easy to look at the war in Israel as the southern and northern fronts. But for myself (and I would argue for all followers of Jesus) the primary focus should be on the spiritual front of this war.
I reflect, wondering if my response has been the spiritual engagement that the Lord calls His followers to? Or, conversely, have I settled into the comfortable, conditioned habit of western life: maybe pray, offer heartfelt condolences and lament, but beyond that, what can I do? Do I move on to my advent candles and patting myself on the back for what I think Christmas is all about?
While conflict lingers on, the two precious voices in my home this morning were such a glowing, honest reminder of the calling to prepare for what the Lord has asked of me and my family. Perhaps now more than ever I must devote myself to knowing God’s heart for His chosen people and to knowing the God of Israel Himself. I must understand Israel’s role, her story, her God, and her Messiah, and with care, hand that down to the next generation. I also must grapple with the fact that standing by Israel in her suffering very likely means I will suffer too. Certainly not in the same ways as Israelis or Jews around the globe, but make no mistake that suffering is coming to those who bless the family of Abraham.
But simply practicing Hanukkah or wearing my Star of David is not standing by Israel. Rather, these gifts mark the bigger hope of my faith in Jesus and for God’s coming kingdom. While these symbols in my home are often misunderstood by many, they nevertheless point to the honor we have as followers of the Messiah to carry hope and love for all nations, and especially the Jewish people, by lifting high a God they will recognize. The One who, above all else, loves His people.
For the LORD’s portion is his people,
Jacob his allotted inheritance.
In a desert land he found him,
in a barren and howling waste.
He shielded him and cared for him;
he guarded him as the apple of his eye,
like an eagle that stirs up its nest
and hovers over its young,
that spreads its wings to catch them
and carries them on its pinions.
Deuteronomy 32:9-11
As we kindle the light of Hanukkah with family and friends, I remind myself who provides the light in the darkness and who keeps it going evening and morning. Since Hanukkah means “dedication,” it seems fitting to think about how I can inspire those within my own sphere to rededicate ourselves—a collective of image-bearers making up a temple—to God in the year to come. Hanukkah flows so beautifully into Christmas, when we gather around our Christmas tree rejoicing over the greatest gift and extending that same generosity to others.
In the wake of October 7, I am unbelievably grateful for the two traditions shamelessly and humbly represented in my home. The marriage of Hanukkah and Christmas is where our faith mingles with its roots. Participating in the celebrations Jesus grew up with somehow connects me to His life, death, resurrection, and return in a profoundly new way. There is joy, beauty, and an evidence of God’s perfect plan in the tradition I have been born into. But I am grateful that in recent years I have been awakened to a family I am grafted into.
Though I wrestle with my own shortcomings and misgivings about the current state of my own heart toward Israel and the burden God has placed on my heart for her, the challenge of the questions I face bring hope and a fresh take on our long-held traditions.
Will I go back to trimming our tree, ignoring the Jewishness of the man who died on one? Will I drive around looking at the lights with no recognition of the light on the hill I am meant to be for the Jewish people? Will I fully invest in Hanukkah, a holiday Jesus himself celebrated, remembering the rededication of the temple and Jewish homeland after unimaginable violence against it? Will I celebrate the birth of our savior by first remembering that He was born king of the Jews and He died king of the Jews and He will return king of the Jews?
Good or bad, Israel is front and center on the world stage this December, and the rage against her continues. Tonight as we light our candles, what an honor it will be to bless those whom God has blessed. May God have grace on my family as we rededicate our hearts, our own small attempt to let the light of the Messiah they hope for shine brightly this holiday season.
May the shalom of the great King be forever on our hearts. Happy Hanukkah, friends!
Two Precious Stones 