by Ram ben Ze'ev
The village of Kefar Tov nestled in the hills of יהודה (Yehuda, Judea) was quiet and dark as the sun dipped below the horizon. The winds of winter rustled through the olive trees, carrying whispers of struggle and survival. It was the eve of Hanukkah, yet the small synagogue in the heart of the village stood empty, its מנורה (Menorah) unlit.
Leah, a young girl of twelve, wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and stared at the darkened Menorah. For years, the light of Hanukkah had lifted the spirits of her family and neighbours, but this year, the village had nothing left—not a single jar of oil. The last harvest had been sparse, and the Greek oppressors had taken most of what remained.
Leah’s father, Rabbi Ram, gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “G-D does not abandon us, my daughter. Even in the darkest times, His light shines within us.”
“But, Abba,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling, “how can we celebrate without light?”
Rabbi Ram knelt beside her. “The light is not only in the flame, Leah. It’s in our hearts, our hope, and our faith. The Menorah reminds us, but it does not define the miracle.”
Leah nodded, though her heart felt heavy. That night, as the villagers gathered in the synagogue, they prayed together. The room was filled with voices yearning for light and a miracle, but the Menorah stood cold and empty.
As the prayers ended, Leah slipped away, her thoughts racing. She remembered her grandmother’s stories of miracles—of the Maccabim (Maccabees) and their unwavering faith. If they could find light in the darkness, perhaps she could too.
Leah hurried to the olive grove on the outskirts of the village. Kneeling beneath the largest tree, she whispered, “G-D, I don’t know if I can find oil, but I believe You can help us bring light.” She began searching the ground, her fingers numb from the cold, brushing aside leaves and dirt.
Hours passed, and Leah’s hope began to waver. Just as she was about to give up, her hand grazed something smooth. She dug deeper and pulled out a small, dusty jar. Her heart leapt—it was an ancient jar of olive oil, its seal still intact.
She rushed back to the synagogue, her face glowing with excitement. “Abba! I found oil!” she cried, holding the jar aloft.
Rabbi Ram examined the jar, his eyes wide with wonder. “Leah, this oil… it must be centuries old. How did you—?”
“I prayed,” Leah interrupted, her voice firm. “And I believed.”
The villagers gathered around as Rabbi Ram carefully opened the jar and poured its contents into the Menorah. The oil seemed too little, barely enough for one night, but Rabbi Ram lit the wick with a blessing, and the flame sprang to life.
The next morning, the villagers returned, expecting to see the Menorah extinguished. But the flame still burned, steady and bright. It burned through the second day, then the third, and for eight days in total, just as it had in the Holy Temple long ago.
Leah watched the Menorah each night, its light reflecting in her eyes. She realised the miracle was not only in the oil but in the faith that had carried her to the olive grove. The light of Hanukkah, she understood, was not merely a flame; it was hope itself—hope that even in the darkest times, G-D’s light would never abandon them.
From that day forward, the people of Kefar Tov spoke of Leah’s unwavering belief and how it sparked a miracle that rekindled the light in their village. And every Hanukkah, as the Menorah shone brightly, they remembered that even a single drop of hope can illuminate the world.
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Bill White (Ram ben Ze'ev) is CEO of WireNews Limited, Mayside Partners Limited, MEADHANAN Agency, Kestrel Assets Limited (developer of MAYCOINS), SpudsToGo Limited and Executive Director of Hebrew Synagogue