Thank you for joining us tonight.

Typically, gathering to light Chanukah candles is a joyful occasion. Chanukah is a time to celebrate our history as Jewish people, our heritage of standing together as a small but resilient community, and the richness of our diverse traditions. But this time, a joyful holiday week has been overshadowed by tragedy and grief, after Sunday’s gut-wrenching attack at Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia. 

Like many of you, I’ve felt many emotions since Sunday morning – deep sadness, anger, and profound worry for what the future holds for Jewish communities in countries around the world – including our own – where Jewish life has flourished in the last century. To be Jewish in America has meant greater acceptance, inclusion, and safety with each passing generation. And yet today, we find ourselves at an inflection point, and I wonder… will our children, and our children’s children, be worse off in America than our generation? 

Amidst all of the emotions I’ve had since Sunday, there has not been the feeling of surprise. It seems there is no Jewish holiday anymore that can be commemorated with joy alone. In just the last eight months, the Governor of Pennsylvania’s house was firebombed on Passover; Jews were set on fire in Boulder, Colorado, in the hours before Shavuot; Jews were attacked and killed at a synagogue on Yom Kippur in Manchester, England; and now, a Chanukah candlelighting in Australia became the site of a massacre. 

At a time when Jewish organizations nationally spent $765 million on security last year, we need our elected, civic, and interfaith leaders to know that anti-Jewish rhetoric and harassment, when left unchecked, leads to violence. Our Seattle community knows what that looks like – this coming summer, we mark 20 years since the deadly antisemitic mass shooting at the Jewish Federation office, a day that lives on in the consciousness of so many. 

The safety of Jewish organizations has become an emotional weight and financial burden that our institutions cannot – and should not – shoulder alone. As Jews, we are not seeking anything special – we want the ability to walk our children to preschool without armed guards, to go to events at houses of worship without bag checks and pat downs, and to light candles on the beach with the sounds of waves rather than the sounds of bullets.

This is the reality we live in today. And yet, as heartbreaking as it is, being part of the Jewish people means we can’t let it define who we are and how we move forward. That’s why we are all gathered here, to stand together, to bring light into the world, to remind each other that our community is strong. To our non-Jewish allies, elected, civic, and religious leaders who are with us today, thank you for reaching out and showing up. Your words of support, your leadership, and your action are needed now, more than ever. 

In the Chanukah story, after the Maccabees’ military victory, they lit a small container of oil in the temple that miraculously lasted for eight days rather than one. While we often point to that as one of the miracles of the holiday, Rabbi David Hartman taught that the true miracle of Chanukah was not that the oil lasted eight days but rather that our ancestors had the faith to light the Menorah at all. 

Rabbi Elka Abrahamson, of the Wexner Foundation, wrote this week about Hartman’s teaching: “Our ancestors did not wait for perfect conditions. They did not seek certainty. They acted in the face of fear and doubt. They chose to create even the smallest light. […] Jewish history teaches us that courage often begins with a single flame in what can feel like a long, dark night. And when our candles shine from windows and doorways, across cities and continents, they proclaim a truth older and stronger than fear: we endure, we respond, we choose life.”

I believe that is the moment we find ourselves in – just like our ancestors, we don’t know that the proverbial oil will last 8 days, but we must light the flame anyway. As Jews, we must continue to bring light into the world, and we ask those in solidarity with us this evening to be our partners in ensuring a bright future. We can’t do it alone.

And, of course, even as we strive to bring light into the world, we remember the lives lost on Sunday. May their memories be a blessing.

Over the last century, possibly no organization has done as much to bring light to as many Jews around the world as Chabad. Sunday’s event was a Chabad gathering – the type of gathering that is taking place in countless town squares and cities this week – where Chabad rabbis do what they do so naturally. They make Judaism warm and welcoming to all, and they spread light even in the face of immense darkness.

I’m honored tonight that we have Rabbi Sholom Ber Levitin, Regional Director of Chabad for the Pacific Northwest, here with us. In true Chabad fashion, he has other commitments this evening, lighting the Chanukah menorah and bringing light to the world and yet he rearranged his schedule to be with us for part of our gathering. It is my pleasure to invite Rabbi Levitin to share a few words.