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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.