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We are shattered, horrified, shaken to our core. 

Jews gathered for one purpose - to bring light into the world - mercilessly gunned down at a Chabad event, a menorah-lighting on the beach in Sydney.

This is as close to home as it gets.

There are moments when words fail, and this is one of them.

I do not understand how such barbaric murder, such pure evil, can exist - how G-d allows terror to tear through innocent, holy lives. Everyone there was gathered to serve Him! I have no theology neat enough to wrap around this brutality.

But let one thing be very clear: This was not random and this was not “one disturbed individual.” This was hatred. Jew hatred, plain and simple.

It makes no difference whether you are in Sydney or London, Paris or New York, Melbourne or Jerusalem. Those who hate us do not differentiate; they hate us all equally.

Nor does it matter how religious you are.

A Jew with a beard. A Jew without a beard.

A Jew with a kippah. A Jew with long hair.

A Jew lighting a menorah. A Jew just enjoying a hot summer evening at the beach.

A Jew breathing Jewish life - this is what they hate.

Darkness does not tolerate light, and yet, this is the deepest truth I know: The darkest moment of night occurs right before dawn breaks.

We are living in that moment now.

This is not just another tragic chapter in Jewish history. These are the final pages before Redemption, the foretold turbulence before Moshiach.

And that leaves us with one option: Light.

We cannot retreat. We cannot dim ourselves. We cannot hide.

As afraid as we are, as tempting as it is to cower in the shadows, we absolutely must live openly, publicly, proudly.

We must increase in light; there is no other option.

Go to your local public Chanukah event. Light the menorah with your fellow Jews. Support one another and show the world that we will not live in fear and be silenced.

Light at home with your children, your spouse, your parents, your neighbors. Place your menorah in the window and declare to the world: We are still here and we’re not going anywhere.

Do it every night. We need it all - more light, more courage, more Jewish pride.

This is how the war against evil is won. Not with fear, but with faith. Not in the dark, but with light. Not in silence, but by raising our voices and making ourselves heard.

Our hearts are broken for the families whose loved ones were murdered, and we pray for all those wounded and traumatized.

We cry and we mourn, and then we promise: Your light will not be extinguished. Your deaths will not silence us. Your memory will ignite thousands more flames across the world.

Because darkness never wins. Light always prevails.

My wife just spent a few days in Israel, which put me in full-time Tatty-mode. That’s full responsibility for five kids, all by myself.

So when my 9-year-old daughter asked me, “Tatty, can I invite a friend for a sleepover?” I quickly agreed. One less child for me to entertain; one step closer to surviving the night!

Well… the friend arrived and indeed, they kept each other busy. Putting them all to bed took more energy than I’ve had in the last decade, but when the house was finally quiet, I patted myself on the back and headed straight to bed myself.

The next morning, however, they proudly informed me that they had all only pretended to go to sleep, waited until I fell asleep, and then stayed up ridiculously late having the time of their lives.

Fantastic.

So when my next daughter, the 11-year-old, sweetly and innocently asked if she could have a friend sleep over, I took a deep breath and said, “No, not tonight.”

Of course, she immediately fired back, “But you let Mussya bring her friend!”

I very calmly explained that that was a one-off survival decision, “But when Mommy gets back from Israel you can invite as many friends as you want - as long as she approves.”

She, however, was having none of it. She argued, cajoled, debated, and reasoned. She used logic, emotion, and halachah—but nothing worked. I stood firm.

Finally, she straightened up, looked me dead in the eye, and said a line I will never forget: “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. She’s coming.”

I froze.

What? Excuse me? Such chutzpah!

But also: Such confidence! Such absolute conviction!

And while we certainly don’t encourage or condone chutzpah, I couldn’t bring myself to be upset. In fact, I was impressed. All her arguments fell flat, so she switched tactics.

And as I replayed the encounter in my mind, I realized that there are some vital lessons we can learn in our service of G-d from that one firecracker of a sentence.

1. My daughter spoke from the heart. No diplomacy, no fear. And that’s exactly what Hashem wants from us. He doesn’t need fancy words, He doesn’t care if our Hebrew isn’t perfect, He doesn’t need us to politely tiptoe around our emotions. He wants us to talk to Him the way we actually feel—real, honest communication.
    
2. My daughter’s refusal to accept my “no” was, in fact, perfectly in line with our national character. We are the nation that refuses to give up. We’ve been told “no” more than any nation in history: No, you can’t survive. No, you can’t stay here. No, you can’t keep your traditions. No, you can’t fight back. No, you can’t rebuild. And yet, we’re still here, holding stubbornly to our lifestyle and traditions.
   
   Where better to see that than in the Chanukah story? We were clearly outnumbered and out-armed. We had no chance. But we refused to surrender and accept a way of life that would have decimated our own.
   Courage. Boldness. Audacity. That’s what my daughter had, just like the Macabbees—something we all could use more of in our lives.
    
3. Don’t overthink. Adults worry about a series of “what ifs.” What if it’s inappropriate? What if it’s the wrong time? What if someone says no? What if it’s inconvenient? Kids just think, “I want my friend. Say yes.”
   
   Chanukah is the antidote to overthinking. The Maccabees didn’t say, “Let’s wait until conditions are better,” “Let’s wait until we have a bigger, stronger army,” “Let’s wait until we have enough oil to light the menorah.” They jumped into the fray with a small ragtag group of devotees, they used whatever was available, and lit what they had with the small amount of oil they had.

Don’t wait for perfect conditions to bring more light into the world; just go ahead and illuminate with whatever you have, wherever you are, with whoever’s nearby.

May this Chanukah empower us to speak honestly, act boldly, refuse to give up, and light even when the world feels dark.

And may we all learn a little chutzpah—from the purest teachers of all: our children.