đź“ť The Isolation Journals Prompt 122: Garbage and Miracles
Holidays feel like a pattern of lakes alongside the road of life: they invite us to pull over, rest, refresh, and examine ourselves in their reflection.
I design rituals for a living, so needless to say I really appreciate the power of holidays. Holidays feel like a pattern of lakes alongside the road of life: they invite us to pull over, rest, refresh, and examine ourselves in their reflection. Each unique lake shows us a different reflection of ourselves. And each year we return to the same water to see how we’ve changed, to witness in its reflection what’s new in us.
But to be honest—I've never been a huge fan of Hanukkah. Latkes, sure (#teamsourcream), but my family were never big gift givers, and growing up in Miami meant I was deprived of all the warm, cozy camaraderie of winter holidays. Plus, dreidels are fun for about eight seconds, not eight days, and the milk chocolate coins wrapped in tinfoil? Meh.
In the mythic story that Hanukkah commemorates, a small band of ancient Hebrew freedom fighters go to war with their Greek oppressors and win against all odds. They reclaim their Temple and light up their holy candelabra with oil that was supposed to only last one day but miraculously lasts for all eight days of their celebration.
Miracles are flashy, so understandably that's the part of the story that gets all the attention. But there’s a little detail I rediscovered this year that feels particularly poignant. Before they lit the candelabra, these exhausted soldiers first cleaned the temple top to bottom, getting rid of all the idols of Greek gods that didn’t belong, all the gunk and garbage that was left behind. They had to clear their space so their light would shine.
This year I’m spending Hanukkah alone. What had once been a time of constant party hopping has become quiet and introspective. I'm okay with that. With nowhere to rush off to, no obligatory dreidels or chocolate, I’m spending my time staring at the candle flames, reflecting on the year as I watch them drip slowly. I'm noticing the light, my light, and the darkness around it. I think I can see my reflection.
– Ezra Bookman