Living as I do in the southern hemisphere, I often feel dissonance when it comes to Chunukah. After all, of all the Jewish holidays, Chunukah is the one most obviously tied to the sun cycle, and south of the equator, it occurs around the long hot days of the summer solstice.
Those oft repeated metaphors about bringing light into the darkness, warmth into the cold, fall flat when this country has well and truly clocked off for the “silly season”, and we’re being treated to daily news stories about shark sightings, threatening bushfires and whether or not Sydney’s famous upcoming New Year’s eve fireworks display could possibly top last year’s spectacular.
As an antipodean, I have always been wary of the binary that often equates light as desirable and dark as repellant, a binary that goes way beyond our Jewish tradition and that has resulted in some very unfortunate connotations with real world consequences. And yes, I am aware that in our own lineage, we also align to the moon cycle with its waxing and waning, our creation story begins in void and darkness, and that we mark time every 24 hours from the onset of darkness, but despite that, somehow, darkness remains diminished in comparison with its spangly, showy opposite. We even have a story about why the moon ended up as the lesser luminary, something for which Godself requested atonement.
Rabbi Fern Feldman explores evocatively in essays like To Dwell in the Thick Darkness: Sacred Darkness in Jewish Thought:
What interests me is how in darkness all separation dissolves into oneness.
Darkness is depths, cave, womb, soil that sprouts seeds, soothing shade, nighttime during which we dream, grow, and make long-term memory. Darkness can be a source, essence, innermost being, transcendence, embodiment, nothingness, emptiness, mystery.
What occurred to me this Chunukah, rather than dutifully waiting until after 9pm to light the candles, is that I could experiment with lighting up in the bright glare of the day. At first, it was difficult to hone in on those candles, difficult to separate the gaudy distractions of colour and form as daylight played out outside the window. It reminded me of being in a shopping mall, each shop with its infinite attractions, each vying for attention, each with its own temptation. And yet - somehow, with intention, with discernment, with practice and patience, one gradually learns to focus on the pure potential of what has always been hidden in plain view - the oneness that dissolves separation.
It is for all these reasons that Danny Raphael’s genius Same Light Chunukah rap spoke to me so resoundingly this year. (Yes, our own beloved Rabbi Daniel Raphael Silverstein). His lyrics, thoughtfully made available along with their sources from the commentators over the ages, conjure up the ohr ganuz, the hidden light, that light is not the opposite of dark, that light if you look hard enough, also dissolves separations into oneness.
The same light we saw at creation.
The same light we need to awaken.
The same light we saw as a foetus.
Close eyes and revel in the sweetness.
Same Light, created during Chunukah 5785, mixed media piece using 3 Quarter Designs papers with additional stencilling, inking, glass hexagon blocks, paper flowers and wooden numbers.
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Chana-Toni Whitmont is a collage artist, crystal sound practitioner, creative, teacher and student whose practice and passions are born from her spiritual connection to her Jewish lineage and the ebbs and flows in the annual calendar cycle. She lives on magnificent Bidjigal, Birrabirragal and Gadigal Country (also known as Bondi), on the Pacific coast of Australia.
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