Dear Families,
Finding Our Place in a Season of Light
This time of year is often referred to as the “season of light.” So many of the rituals and celebrations, across traditions and cultures, involve bringing light to darkness. There is a deeply human need to combat the sense of isolation that the darkest days of the year can bring by seeking out or kindling literal points of light. A light shining in the darkness fosters a sense of hope where there may have been fear and a sense of connection to others and to the world around us, as we gather together in the glow of a flame.
Young children are experts at this process of bringing light to darkness and of seeking out connection in moments of loneliness. They do not tolerate either darkness or isolation. As we place nightlights or flash lights in their bedrooms to reassure them when they wake in the night or respond to their cries with hugs and the calming sound of our voice when they are scared, we soothe their overpowering need to make the mysterious visible and to know that they are not alone.
In this darkest, coldest time of year, a longing rises up as the days grow shorter and we draw inward. The writer Michael Chabon refers to this feeling as, “the ache of cosmic nostalgia that arises, from time to time...an intimation of vanished glory, of lost wholeness, a memory of the world unbroken.” And yet, out of this sense of palpable darkness, again and again, we find light, we find each other, and we find the possibility of miracles.
Isn’t this, after all, the underlying message of all of the holidays that seem to compete for attention at this time of year?
It can feel challenging as parents to navigate the competing, largely commercial messages that bombard our children in these winter months. Fueled by an onslaught that begins even before Thanksgiving, we are challenged to find meaning in traditions that have become subsumed by consumerism and to find our place in a cultural cross section that can often start to feel more like identity one-upmanship than meaningful celebration of our roots and beliefs. It is easy to begin to feel resentful of both other traditions that compete for our children’s attention and of the many messages that pull at our wallets instead of our hearts.
And yet, particularly in these increasingly divided times in which our differences boil over into fear and violence with tragic frequency, there is a profound beauty to the commonality of the rituals and beliefs that illuminate our shared darkness.
As a teacher, the richest learning is always embedded in experiences of apparent conflict or contradiction, and we see these moments as opportunities for children to find even deeper grounding in their own individuality, while also learning to appreciate the many differences that surround them. Few experiences create a more significant feeling of connection to and confidence in one’s own traditions than inviting others into them and teaching others about what is important to us. And, similarly, there are few experiences that create a more powerful appreciation for others than being a guest at their table.
As children are exploring many different types of menorahs and creating their own unique interpretations in their classrooms, or sharing their own versions of the Chanukah story, they are learning to express the ideas and traditions that are important to them and also to appreciate the diversity that exists even within a shared tradition and cultural identity. As they teach others about their families’ traditions, a sense of pride takes root. And as they learn from their peers and from others with differing traditions and beliefs a sense of connection and understanding is fostered.
This December, as we prepare to light Chanukah candles and dwell in the power of light that not only pierced the darkness but miraculously lasted, let us consider who we might invite into our homes and communities to share our blessings. And, at the same time, let us also look outward and seek opportunities—not with the eye of the tourist but with the spirit of friendship, as our children do—to learn from others and to find value, purpose, and comfort in our common human need for illumination.
Shabbat shalom,
Alicia