Asher: The Light We Must Not Keep Silent. Wrestling with Hanukkah When Darkness Is Real

Introduction: The Tension I Cannot Escape

I'm writing this during the fourth night of Hanukkah, and I cannot shake a fundamental question: How do I light candles when I'm weeping for brothers and sisters facing violence and loss?

I kept hitting this wall—the tension between grief and celebration—until I noticed something in the liturgy itself. During Hallel on Hanukkah, we recite Psalm 115, which speaks directly to moments when faith is tested, when enemies mock "Where is their God?", when we must declare trust precisely because circumstances seem to contradict it.[1]

תהילים קט״ו

(א) לֹ֤א לָ֥נוּ יהוה לֹ֫א־לָ֥נוּ כִּֽי־לְ֭שִׁמְךָ תֵּ֣ן כָּב֑וֹד עַל־חַ֝סְדְּךָ֗ עַל־אֲמִתֶּֽךָ׃ (ב) לָ֭מָּה יֹאמְר֣וּ הַגּוֹיִ֑ם אַיֵּה־נָ֝֗א אֱלֹהֵיהֶֽם׃ (ג) וֵאלֹהֵ֥ינוּ בַשָּׁמָ֑יִם כֹּ֖ל אֲשֶׁר־חָפֵ֣ץ עָשָֽׂה׃ (ד) עֲֽ֭צַבֵּיהֶם כֶּ֣סֶף וְזָהָ֑ב מַ֝עֲשֵׂ֗ה יְדֵ֣י אָדָֽם׃ (ה) פֶּֽה־לָ֭הֶם וְלֹ֣א יְדַבֵּ֑רוּ עֵינַ֥יִם לָ֝הֶ֗ם וְלֹ֣א יִרְאֽוּ׃ (ו) אׇזְנַ֣יִם לָ֭הֶם וְלֹ֣א יִשְׁמָ֑עוּ אַ֥ף לָ֝הֶ֗ם וְלֹ֣א יְרִיחֽוּן׃ (ז) יְדֵיהֶ֤ם ׀ וְלֹ֬א יְמִישׁ֗וּן רַ֭גְלֵיהֶם וְלֹ֣א יְהַלֵּ֑כוּ לֹא־יֶ֝הְגּ֗וּ בִּגְרוֹנָֽם׃ (ח) כְּ֭מוֹהֶם יִהְי֣וּ עֹשֵׂיהֶ֑ם כֹּ֖ל אֲשֶׁר־בֹּטֵ֣חַ בָּהֶֽם׃ (ט) יִ֭שְׂרָאֵל בְּטַ֣ח בַּיהוה עֶזְרָ֖ם וּמָגִנָּ֣ם הֽוּא׃ (י) בֵּ֣ית אַ֭הֲרֹן בִּטְח֣וּ בַיהוה עֶזְרָ֖ם וּמָגִנָּ֣ם הֽוּא׃ (יא) יִרְאֵ֣י יהוה בִּטְח֣וּ בַיהוה עֶזְרָ֖ם וּמָגִנָּ֣ם הֽוּא׃ (יב) יהוה זְכָרָ֢נוּ יְבָ֫רֵ֥ךְ יְ֭בָרֵךְ אֶת־בֵּ֣ית יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל יְ֝בָרֵ֗ךְ אֶת־בֵּ֥ית אַהֲרֹֽן׃ (יג) יְ֭בָרֵךְ יִרְאֵ֣י יהוה הַ֝קְּטַנִּ֗ים עִם־הַגְּדֹלִֽים׃ (יד) יֹסֵ֣ף יהוה עֲלֵיכֶ֑ם עֲ֝לֵיכֶ֗ם וְעַל־בְּנֵיכֶֽם׃ (טו) בְּרוּכִ֣ים אַ֭תֶּם לַיהוה עֹ֝שֵׂ֗ה שָׁמַ֥יִם וָאָֽרֶץ׃ (טז) הַשָּׁמַ֣יִם שָׁ֭מַיִם לַיהוה וְ֝הָאָ֗רֶץ נָתַ֥ן לִבְנֵי־אָדָֽם׃ (יז) לֹ֣א הַ֭מֵּתִים יְהַֽלְלוּ־יָ֑הּ וְ֝לֹ֗א כׇּל־יֹרְדֵ֥י דוּמָֽה׃ (יח) וַאֲנַ֤חְנוּ ׀ נְבָ֘רֵ֤ךְ יָ֗הּ מֵעַתָּ֥ה וְעַד־עוֹלָ֗ם הַֽלְלוּ־יָֽהּ׃ {פ}

Psalms 115

(1) Not to us, O LORD, not to us
but to Your name bring glory
for the sake of Your love and Your faithfulness. (2) Let the nations not say,
“Where, now, is their God?” (3) when our God is in heaven
and all that He wills He accomplishes. (4) Their idols are silver and gold,
the work of men’s hands. (5) They have mouths, but cannot speak,
eyes, but cannot see; (6) they have ears, but cannot hear,
noses, but cannot smell; (7) they have hands, but cannot touch,
feet, but cannot walk;
they can make no sound in their throats. (8) Those who fashion them,
all who trust in them,
shall become like them. (9) O Israel, trust in the LORD!
He is their help and shield. (10) O house of Aaron, trust in the LORD!
He is their help and shield. (11) O you who fear the LORD, trust in the LORD!
He is their help and shield.
(12) The LORD is mindful of us.
He will bless us;
He will bless the house of Israel;
He will bless the house of Aaron; (13) He will bless those who fear the LORD,
small and great alike.
(14) May the LORD increase your numbers,
yours and your children’s also. (15) May you be blessed by the LORD,
Maker of heaven and earth. (16) The heavens belong to the LORD,
but the earth He gave over to man. (17) The dead cannot praise the LORD,
nor any who go down into silence. (18) But we will bless the LORD
now and forever.
Hallelujah.

The tradition isn't bypassing the grief. It's meeting us in it.

This led me to explore a single Hebrew word that appears in every mitzvah blessing—asher (אֲשֶׁר)—and what I found transformed how I understand what we're doing when we light Hanukkah candles. We're not just commemorating a miracle. We're bearing a light that idols cannot bear. And that difference—that specific kind of light—is what asher teaches us about.

Section 1: The Word I Couldn't Stop Noticing

When we light Hanukkah candles, we recite:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהוה אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ
לְהַדְלִיק נֵר שֶׁל חֲנֻכָּה

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the Hanukkah lamp."

I've said this blessing hundreds of times. But this year, the word asher (אֲשֶׁר)—that simple relative pronoun "who"—stopped me.

Asher appears in every blessing over mitzvot:

Asher kiddishanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu al netilat yadayim (hand washing)
Asher kiddishanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu lehavdil (havdalah)
Asher kiddishanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu likro et haMegillah (reading the Megillah)

Here's what struck me: Asher establishes that mitzvot are not original acts but continuations. Each blessing acknowledges "the One WHO gave this" rather than "we who originated this." We don't invent our service to God—we continue what was transmitted to us. We are links in a chain, not the chain's beginning.

This might seem like a small grammatical observation. But it changed everything for me about Hanukkah and grief.

Section 2: Asher as Name and Function

Then I noticed something else: asher is also the name of one of the twelve tribes of Israel. This doubling—grammatical word and tribal identity—appears throughout Torah in ways that seem deliberate.

When Moses needed to retrieve Joseph's bones from Egypt to fulfill the oath Joseph had made,[2] he didn't know where to find them.

בראשית נ׳:כ״ה

(כה) וַיַּשְׁבַּ֣ע יוֹסֵ֔ף אֶת־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר פָּקֹ֨ד יִפְקֹ֤ד אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶתְכֶ֔ם וְהַעֲלִתֶ֥ם אֶת־עַצְמֹתַ֖י מִזֶּֽה׃

Genesis 50:25

(25) So Joseph made the sons of Israel swear, saying, “When God has taken notice of you, you shall carry up my bones from here.”

שמות י״ג:י״ט

(יט) וַיִּקַּ֥ח מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־עַצְמ֥וֹת יוֹסֵ֖ף עִמּ֑וֹ כִּי֩ הַשְׁבֵּ֨עַ הִשְׁבִּ֜יעַ אֶת־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר פָּקֹ֨ד יִפְקֹ֤ד אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶתְכֶ֔ם וְהַעֲלִיתֶ֧ם אֶת־עַצְמֹתַ֛י מִזֶּ֖ה אִתְּכֶֽם׃

Exodus 13:19

(19) And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, “God will be sure to take notice of you: then you shall carry up my bones from here with you.”

The Talmud records that Moses turned to Serach bat Asher—a woman from the tribe of Asher who had lived from Jacob's descent into Egypt through the entire period of slavery .[3]

סוטה י״ג א:י״ד

וּמִנַּיִן הָיָה יוֹדֵעַ מֹשֶׁה רַבֵּינוּ הֵיכָן יוֹסֵף קָבוּר? אָמְרוּ: סֶרַח בַּת אָשֵׁר נִשְׁתַּיְּירָה מֵאוֹתוֹ הַדּוֹר. הָלַךְ מֹשֶׁה אֶצְלָהּ, אָמַר לָהּ: כְּלוּם אַתְּ יוֹדַעַת הֵיכָן יוֹסֵף קָבוּר? אָמְרָה לוֹ: אָרוֹן שֶׁל מַתֶּכֶת עָשׂוּ לוֹ מִצְרִים וּקְבָעוּהוּ בְּנִילוּס הַנָּהָר, כְּדֵי שֶׁיִּתְבָּרְכוּ מֵימָיו. הָלַךְ מֹשֶׁה וְעָמַד עַל שְׂפַת נִילוּס, אָמַר לוֹ: יוֹסֵף יוֹסֵף! הִגִּיעַ הָעֵת שֶׁנִּשְׁבַּע הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא שֶׁאֲנִי גּוֹאֵל אֶתְכֶם, וְהִגִּיעָה הַשְּׁבוּעָה שֶׁהִשְׁבַּעְתָּ אֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל. אִם אַתָּה מַרְאֶה עַצְמְךָ מוּטָב, אִם לָאו — הֲרֵי אָנוּ מְנוּקִּין מִשְּׁבוּעָתֶךָ. מִיָּד צָף אֲרוֹנוֹ שֶׁל יוֹסֵף.

Sotah 13a:14

The Gemara asks: And from where did Moses our teacher know where Joseph was buried? The Sages said: Serah, the daughter of Asher, remained from that generation that initially descended to Egypt with Jacob. Moses went to her and said to her: Do you know anything about where Joseph is buried? She said to him: The Egyptians fashioned a metal casket for him and set it in the Nile [Nilus] River as an augury so that its water would be blessed. Moses went and stood on the bank of the Nile. He said toJoseph: Joseph, Joseph, the time has arrived about which the Holy One, Blessed be He, took an oath saying that I, i.e., God, will redeem you. And the time for fulfillment of the oath that you administered to the Jewish people that they will bury you in Eretz Yisraelhas arrived. If you show yourself, it is good, but if not, we are clear from your oath. Immediately, the casket of Joseph floated to the top of the water.

She alone preserved the generational memory: "The Egyptians fashioned a metal coffin for Joseph and cast it into the Nile so that its water would be blessed." [4]

Serach bat Asher—literally "daughter of the connector"—was the living embodiment of covenant continuity. She linked the generation that went down to Egypt with the generation that came up from it. Her tribal name reflected her function: she was asher, the one who enables transmission across time.

Moses's blessing to the tribe of Asher emphasizes endurance: "Blessed above sons is Asher... Your days shall your security last."[5]

דברים ל״ג:כ״ד-כ״ה

(כד) וּלְאָשֵׁ֣ר אָמַ֔ר בָּר֥וּךְ מִבָּנִ֖ים אָשֵׁ֑ר יְהִ֤י רְצוּי֙ אֶחָ֔יו וְטֹבֵ֥ל בַּשֶּׁ֖מֶן רַגְלֽוֹ׃ (כה) בַּרְזֶ֥ל וּנְחֹ֖שֶׁת מִנְעָלֶ֑ךָ וּכְיָמֶ֖יךָ דׇּבְאֶֽךָ׃

Deuteronomy 33:24-25

(24) And of Asher he said:
Most blessed of sons be Asher;
May he be the favorite of his brothers,
May he dip his foot in oil.
(25) May your doorbolts be iron and copper,
And your security last all your days.

Asher's blessing wasn't military might or territorial abundance, but the capacity to carry strength equal to the length of days required—the ability to continue across generations.

Section 3: The Pattern in Torah

Look at how asher appears at critical moments:"VeZot HaBerachah asher berach Moshe"—"And this is the blessing that Moses blessed."[6]

דברים ל״ג:א׳

(א) וְזֹ֣את הַבְּרָכָ֗ה אֲשֶׁ֨ר בֵּרַ֥ךְ מֹשֶׁ֛ה אִ֥ישׁ הָאֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל לִפְנֵ֖י מוֹתֽוֹ׃

Deuteronomy 33:1

(1) This is the blessing with which Moses, God’s agent, bade the Israelites farewell before he died.

"Zot asher dibber lahem avihem"—"This is what their father spoke to them."[7]

בראשית מ״ט:כ״ח

(כח) כׇּל־אֵ֛לֶּה שִׁבְטֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל שְׁנֵ֣ים עָשָׂ֑ר וְ֠זֹ֠את אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֨ר לָהֶ֤ם אֲבִיהֶם֙ וַיְבָ֣רֶךְ אוֹתָ֔ם אִ֛ישׁ אֲשֶׁ֥ר כְּבִרְכָת֖וֹ בֵּרַ֥ךְ אֹתָֽם׃

Genesis 49:28

(28) All these were the tribes of Israel, twelve in number, and this is what their father said to them as he bade them farewell, addressing to each a parting word appropriate to him.

In both cases, asher is the grammatical link connecting what came before to what follows. Moses's blessings don't originate from nothing—they continue what Jacob began. Even Moses—who spoke with God face to face, who transmitted the entire Torah—positions himself as asher, as continuation rather than origin.

Here's what this taught me: Authority in covenant comes not from innovation but from faithful continuation of what was received.

This matters for Hanukkah because it reframes the question. The question isn't "How do I create joy despite grief?" The question is "What am I continuing? What light am I bearing forward?"

Section 4: The Light That Idols Cannot Bear

The Hallel we recite on Hanukkah includes Psalm 115, and this year it hit differently [8]:

תהילים קט״ו:א׳-ו׳

Psalms 115:1-6

The psalm continues [9]:

תהילים קט״ו:ח׳

(ח) כְּ֭מוֹהֶם יִהְי֣וּ עֹשֵׂיהֶ֑ם כֹּ֖ל אֲשֶׁר־בֹּטֵ֣חַ בָּהֶֽם׃

Psalms 115:8

(8) Those who fashion them,
all who trust in them,
shall become like them.

Here's what I realized: This psalm appears in Hallel on Hanukkah because the Maccabean revolt was fundamentally about this contrast. Would Israel worship the living God who speaks and commands, or would they bow to Hellenistic culture—beautiful, sophisticated, silent?

Idols are silent. And their worshippers become silent.

Idols can shine. They're made of silver and gold—they can be polished, displayed, admired. But they cannot speak. They cannot command. They cannot call us forward. They cannot engage in covenant. They offer no continuation.

The God of Israel is different. Our God speaks. Our God commands. Our God sanctifies us through mitzvot—through the very structure of asher kiddishanu b'mitzvotav. The word asher itself testifies to this: we are linked to a God who speaks, who gives, who continues to engage with His people across generations.

Section 5: What Light Are We Bearing?

This is what changed my understanding of Hanukkah during grief.

The light we kindle is not the light of "everything is fine." It's not the light of "we're strong and victorious." Those lights are idol lights—they shine when circumstances shine, and they go dark when circumstances darken.

The light we bear is the light of continuation. The light of a God who speaks even when we're weeping. The light of covenant that persists across catastrophe.

Idols keep silent, so we must not. Not because we're optimistic. Not because we're ignoring the darkness. But because we're bearing a different kind of light—the light of asher, the light that links generation to generation even through exile, grief, and incompletion.

Section 6: The Oil That Was Already Given

The miracle of Hanukkah is traditionally understood as oil lasting eight days instead of one.[10]

שבת כ״א ב:ה׳

תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: מִצְוַת חֲנוּכָּה, נֵר אִישׁ וּבֵיתוֹ. וְהַמְהַדְּרִין, נֵר לְכׇל אֶחָד וְאֶחָד. וְהַמְהַדְּרִין מִן הַמְהַדְּרִין, בֵּית שַׁמַּאי אוֹמְרִים: יוֹם רִאשׁוֹן מַדְלִיק שְׁמֹנָה, מִכָּאן וְאֵילָךְ פּוֹחֵת וְהוֹלֵךְ. וּבֵית הִלֵּל אוֹמְרִים: יוֹם רִאשׁוֹן מַדְלִיק אַחַת, מִכָּאן וְאֵילָךְ מוֹסִיף וְהוֹלֵךְ.

Shabbat 21b:5

The Sages taught in a baraita: The basic mitzva of Hanukkah is each day to have a light kindled by a person, the head of the household, for himself and his household. And the mehadrin, i.e., those who are meticulous in the performance of mitzvot, kindle a light for each and every one in the household. And the mehadrin min hamehadrin, who are even more meticulous, adjust the number of lights daily. Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagree as to the nature of that adjustment. Beit Shammai say: On the first day one kindles eight lights and, from there on, gradually decreases the number of lights until, on the last day of Hanukkah, he kindles one light. And Beit Hillel say: On the first day one kindles one light, and from there on, gradually increases the number of lights until, on the last day, he kindles eight lights.

But here's what helped me this year: The Maccabees didn't create the oil. They prepared the vessel to receive what was already given.

They didn't manufacture sanctity. They didn't invent the mitzvah of lighting the menorah. What they did was cleanse the Temple, ready the menorah, provide the wick. And when they lit what they had—one day's worth of oil—it burned longer than seemed possible.

This is what asher teaches: We are not the origin; we are the vessel. We don't create the light; we kindle what has been given. We don't invent mitzvot; we continue them.

The blessing formula itself says this: asher kiddishanu—"WHO sanctified us." The sanctification is already complete. We are already set apart. We are already given what we need.

Our task isn't to be extraordinary. Our task is to light what's there.

Section 7: What I'm Learning About Grief and Light

So how do I light Hanukkah candles amid grief?

I'm learning that the grief and the light aren't opposites. They're both part of bearing witness to a God who speaks, who continues, who doesn't go silent even when circumstances go dark.

The placement of Psalm 115 in Hallel taught me this. The psalm acknowledges that we're celebrating precisely when enemies are asking "Where is their God?" And the response isn't a theological argument. The response is an act: we continue to trust, we continue to praise, we continue to light candles.

The Maccabees faced overwhelming military force. Our ancestors lit candles in ghettos, in displaced persons camps, in conditions that seemed to preclude celebration. They lit candles not despite the darkness but because of it. The light was necessary precisely because the darkness was real.

This is what pirsumei nisa—publicizing the miracle—means to me now. We're not proclaiming that everything is fine. We're proclaiming that covenant continues, that God still speaks, that we refuse to become like the idols—beautiful, sophisticated, and silent in the face of suffering.

The tears are not a failure to rejoice properly. The tears are part of the light we're bearing.

We light candles for those who can no longer light them. We continue the covenant on behalf of those whose continuation was cut short. We speak because idols cannot speak—and because we refuse to become silent in the face of loss.

Section 8: What This Means Practically

Here's what I'm taking from this understanding of asher and Hanukkah:

Light from Who You Are, Now

I used to wait until I "felt worthy" to light candles meaningfully. But that's idol thinking -"You must BE something before you can ACT."

Asher teaches the opposite: You're already part of the continuation. Light what's there. The Maccabees had only one day's oil. They lit it anyway.

The Question Isn't "How Do I Feel?"

The question is "What am I continuing?" Personal feelings are real, but they're not primary. The question asher asks is: What am I transmitting? What light am I bearing forward that idols cannot bear?

Grief and Joy Aren't Contradictions

I can weep for those who are no longer with us AND light the candles. I can feel the unbearable weight of Jewish suffering AND celebrate God's continued presence. These aren't contradictions—they're both aspects of bearing a light that doesn't depend on circumstances.

Continuation Is the Mitzvah

I'm not required to complete everything. I'm not required to solve all problems. I'm not required to end all suffering. But I am required to continue—to light my candles, to speak my Torah, to be asher in whatever capacity I can. That continuation, across incompletion and amid grief, is itself what I'm commanded to do.

Section 9: For Those We've Lost

I keep coming back to the traditional phrase zichronam livracha—"may their memories be for blessing."

Here's what that means to me through the lens of asher: A memory becomes a blessing when it moves us to continue. When it connects us to covenant. When it inspires us to be the link that joins their lives to ours, their light to the light we kindle, their place in the chain to our own.

We light candles not to forget them but to continue for them.
This Hanukkah, as I light my candles, I'm lighting them knowing:

Covenant continues across catastrophe
God speaks even when we're weeping
We are links in a chain we didn't begin and won't finish
Our tears are part of the prayer
Our grief makes the light necessary
We honor their memory by refusing to become silent

We light because asher kiddishanu b'mitzvotav—because the One WHO sanctified us continues to call us forward, continues to engage with us, continues to meet us in our continuation of what was given.

Conclusion: The Chain We Carry

The Talmud records that throughout the forty years the Israelites traveled in the wilderness, "two arks traveled together—the one containing Joseph's bones and the Ark of the Covenant."[11]

סוטה י״ג ב:א׳

קִיֵּים זֶה כׇּל מַה שֶּׁכָּתוּב בָּזֶה.

Sotah 13b:1

This one, i.e., the deceased Joseph, fulfilled all that is written in this. Therefore, it is fitting that the two arks should lie side by side.

The dead and the living Torah belonged together because both testified to covenant continuity across incompletion.

We are still traveling. We are still carrying both the living and the dead together. We are still lighting candles in the wilderness, not knowing how long the journey will last, but trusting that the oil will be sufficient for what is needed.

This is asher. This is the light that idols cannot bear. This is what we continue.

We are still here. We are still lighting. We are still speaking when others go silent. We are still linking past to future, generation to generation, grief to hope, darkness to light.

May we continue the covenant on behalf of those who cannot.
May their memories move us to action.
May the light persist.

Notes and Sources

[1]: Psalm 115 is recited as part of Hallel on Hanukkah and other festivals. The ArtScroll Complete Siddur includes the full text with commentary (pp. 634-635).
[2]: "And Joseph made the children of Israel swear, saying: 'God will surely remember you, and you shall bring up my bones from here.'" (Genesis 50:25; Exodus 13:19)
[3]: Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 13a:14
[4]: Ibid.
[5]: Deuteronomy 33:24-25
[6]: Deuteronomy 33:1
[7]: Genesis 49:2
[8]: Psalm 115:1-6 (ArtScroll Complete Siddur, p. 635)
[9]: Psalm 115:8
[10]: While the miracle of the oil is recorded in the Talmud (Shabbat 21b:5), it does not appear in the books of Maccabees or other early sources. The theological significance—God's presence continuing even with insufficient resources—remains central.
[11]: Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 13b:1

Author's Note

The interpretive framework here—reading asher as a principle of covenant continuity and connecting it to what light we bear during Hanukkah—represents my own wrestling with tradition rather than classical rabbinic interpretation.

The grammatical, tribal, and liturgical uses of asher are well-documented in traditional sources. The synthesis and application to grief during Hanukkah is my contemporary reflection, emerging from the fourth night of Hanukkah 5785

This is the wrestling that Torah invites. These ideas remain incomplete and will evolve as I continue studying and living into the tradition.

Jason Dov Goldhirsch
United Hebrew Congregation, Singapore
Hanukkah 5785 / December 2025

This essay is dedicated in memory of those who are no longer with us to light Hanukkah candles, and for a refuah sheleimah for those who were injured in the attack on the Jewish community at Bondi Beach, Sydney, on December 14, 2025. May their memories be for blessing.

זִכְרוֹנָם לִבְרָכָה
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