Cutting Through the Darkness

This post is by Leah

Every morning I walk six-minutes to the train. And every day on that six-minute walk, I pass blocks of twinkling lights, Vermont trees for sale, and figurines of snowmen, Santa Claus, and nativity scenes. At some point during the day someone will ask me what my plans are for Christmas. I’ll catch myself humming “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or any number of Bing Crosby’s other Christmas treasures. I welcome the joy of the season and wish others “Happy Holidays.” On my walk home, I pass the blocks of twinkling lights, Vermont trees for sale, and figurines of snowmen, Santa Claus, and nativity scenes. And for the past two nights, I’ve walked into my apartment, decorated as it always is, save a silver menorah sitting on the window sill.

For eight nights every winter, in the darkest month of the year, I light candles in my window and say the same blessings that have been said for thousands of years. And with this small action, with a few flames flickering in a window, I am making a conscious choice to say, “This is a Jewish home. This is a home guided by a deep and historic need to bring light into the world.”

I walk through the world as a white woman. When most people see me these days, I am wished a Merry Christmas. I, and many white Jews of my generation, have achieved the American assimilation that Phillip Roth could have only dreamed of as a child. Yet it is this very assimilation that is causing, for me, a crisis of identity. How does my whiteness interact with my Jewishness? How do I reconcile my white privilege and my deeply internalized Jewish oppression? And moreover, what is my social ethical responsibility as a white woman, as a Jew, and as a human being? How can I engage my experiences of oppression as a tool for empathy building and as inspiration for action in solidarity with others who carry their own historic oppressions?

For thousands of years there have been those who believed that Jewish lives don’t matter. I am profoundly blessed to be living in a pocket of the world where the value of my Jewish life is not questioned. And there is certainly no one questioning whether or not my white life matters. Yet, there are systems in place that behave every day as if black lives don’t. And that is a problem. I believe that it is my responsibility as a Jew to stand up and say that all lives matter, especially those that are persecuted and marginalized. Today, it is my responsibility to say that Black Lives Matter; because if I don’t raise my voice and take to the streets to pray with my feet, than I am not living up to the moral imperative of my people.  

Tonight I am going to walk home past the blocks of twinkling lights, Vermont trees for sale, and figurines of snowmen, Santa Claus, and nativity scenes. Tonight I will light four candles in my window and I will say the blessings that Jews have said for thousands of years. And tonight as I light the Hanukkah candles, I will also say that Black Lives Matter. Because light, even if just a few flames flickering in a window, is the only thing that will cut through this darkness.