Small Acts of Light With Lasting Impact
When I was younger, celebrating Hanukkah often felt like a reminder of how my family was different from the others at my school. Every store was decked out for Christmas, everyone wished me a “Merry Christmas,” and I was constantly explaining to my peers that I don’t celebrate Christmas — because I’m Jewish. It was sometimes disheartening to learn that people knew so little about my culture, especially because I loved learning about other cultures.
But my parents never failed to make Hanukkah as special as possible. Between decorating our house with my Sunday school Hanukkah artwork, using drip mats I crafted in preschool, the sizzling sound of latkes, the illuminating light of the menorah, and the excitement in the air as my cousins and I watched the dreidel spin, I was reminded of all the joy in being Jewish. I could always count on my parents to remind me that Hanukkah is a unique celebration of light, resilience, and the strength of our people.
I could also count on them to show me the importance of spreading light and sharing our culture with others. As a fourth grader at a new secular school, my main goal was to fit in. So, when my mom informed me of her plans to teach my class about Hannukah, I was a bit mortified. Having my mom talk to the class about the very thing that made me different didn’t exactly align with my goal.
As I watched her proudly represent our people, however, my nerves began to fade away. My classroom was transformed into a place of Jewish joy. My classmates formed circles around spinning dreidels, the smell of latkes filled the air, and I was again reminded of what it means to be proudly Jewish. And my peers loved the experience! Importantly, I got to witness the lessons of Hanukkah firsthand: small acts of light can have a lasting impact. Just as the Temple menorah was sustained by a small amount of oil, small moments of courage and openness sustain our people.
Throughout the following years, I witnessed my parents show up time and again as proud Jews. Their courageous efforts lit a lasting light within me too: I was committed to sharing the joy of Judaism with others. When I came to college, I sought out a community that valued Jewish joy as much as my family had, and one that could help my passion for Judaism flourish. As my first Hanukkah on campus approached last year, I worried that it wouldn’t feel the same being away from home. I was used to a family celebration filled with joy and laughter, and I was anxious about finding a community that celebrates with the same pride as my family.
Fortunately, I was lucky enough to find everything I was looking for at Texas Hillel. Between winning the Hanukkah sweater contest with my friends, sharing our families’ traditions, and eagerly opening Hanukkah gift bags from Hillel, I found the magical Jewish joy of my childhood recreated at Texas Hillel. Once again, the smell of latkes filled the air and I was reminded of what it means to be Jewish. The staff and my friends had come to feel like family, and the building like home.
Now, I can’t imagine celebrating Hanukkah on campus without the comfort and joy I’ve found in Texas Hillel. As I celebrate Hanukkah once more, I am reminded of how lucky I am to come from a tradition deeply rooted in resilience and the belief that light is there to be shared.
Sarie Goodweather is a second-year student at the University of Texas at Austin.