Weekly Dvar Torah: When Darkness Strikes, You Light a Candle

As the first Chanukah light of the year was about to be kindled—the very first in the world—darkness struck with savage force.

It was Sunday, December 14, 2025. Jews had gathered to celebrate their singular privilege: to be the first on earth to usher in Chanukah, the festival of light. And at that very moment, terror descended. A father and son, bloody murderers, terrorists, opened fire on the Jewish Chabad community gathered there.

Among the fifteen holy souls murdered was a cousin of my wife, Rabbi Eli Schlanger, HY”D—the very person who had organized this Chanukah event. This was not distant. This was personal. This shattered our hearts.

That Jews were gunned down while assembling to light candles—to bring more light into a dark world—that the organizer himself became a victim of such evil, is beyond comprehension. It feels unbearable. It screams a question that has no words strong enough to carry it: Why, G-d? Why?

The helplessness is crushing. It overwhelms every decent human being. Our hearts break open. We feel abandoned. Confused. How can this be? Jews gathering to celebrate miracles, faith, and light—struck by a cloud of the darkest darkness?

Anyone who claims to understand G-d’s ways in moments like this is not worthy of an answer. As our Sages teach, “If I were to know Him, I would be Him.” Even Moshe Rabbeinu was not granted that understanding. Nor were the angels. Mystery remains.

And yet—something extraordinary is happening.

Look around the world. Read the reports. Watch how Jews are responding. One message rings out everywhere, clear and unwavering:

Increase light, and darkness will be dispelled.

A Chassid turns to his Rebbe. So let us turn to ours.

Throughout more than forty years of leadership, the Rebbe faced moments of unspeakable tragedy. Again and again, he guided us—not by denying pain, but by walking us through it, with truth, strength, and hope.

The first such moment came in 1956. In the dark of night, fedayeen terrorists attacked a school in Kfar Chabad, murdering five students and their teacher.

The residents of Kfar Chabad—many of them Holocaust survivors, Gulag survivors, refugees from Yemen, Morocco, and Arab lands—were shattered. Broken. Many wanted to flee. They no longer felt safe.

The Rebbe’s initial response was silence.

Like Aharon HaKohen, whose sons died during the inauguration of the Mishkan—“Vayidom Aharon”—Aharon was silent. The Rebbe explained that this silence was not emptiness; it was presence. It was living the pain fully.

But days later, the Rebbe wrote to the Chassidim of Kfar Chabad that after such devastation comes G-d’s greatest blessing. Quoting King David: “For there the L-rd commanded the blessing—life forever.” And citing the Tzemach Tzedek: “After a fire, one becomes rich.”

The Rebbe instructed them: do not flee. Do not retreat. Build more. Expand. Prepare to receive the blessings that are coming.

And they did.

Immediately, they laid the cornerstone for a new wing of the very school that had been attacked. That institution became a magnet for thousands of students. Kfar Chabad grew into the beating heart of Chabad in Eretz Yisrael—a wellspring of Torah and Chassidus that flows to this day.

The Rebbe even expressed his desire to visit Kfar Chabad personally. When that proved impossible, he sent ten students in his stead. Their visit left a permanent imprint on the land and its people.

History repeated itself.

After the devastation of the Yom Kippur War, the Rebbe launched the first public Chanukah campaign, bringing Menorah lightings to every Jew, lifting a shattered nation with visible light.

In 1974, after the massacres in Kiryat Shmona and Ma’alot, by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine, where 49 people —30 of whom were children—were murdered, the Rebbe called for a massive strengthening of the Mezuzah campaign, emphasizing protection and spiritual fortification. He cried bitterly. But even through tears, he showed us where to find light.

In Crown Heights, after Jews were attacked and murdered, the Rebbe insisted: Do not surrender the neighborhood to fear. Restore it. Improve it. Evil feeds on retreat; it collapses when confronted with goodness.

The Rebbe never minimized security. He championed Shmira patrols, cooperation with authorities, and cited Shulchan Aruch that when a border town is threatened, Jews must defend themselves—even on Shabbos.

But above all, he taught calm. Faith. Forward motion.

Because darkness cannot be beaten with sticks or weapons. Darkness is driven away by light. Strike one match in a pitch-black room, and the darkness retreats.

When Saddam Hussein threatened Israel with chemical warfare, the Rebbe urged calm and trust. Do not surrender to fear. And indeed, G-d’s protection was revealed.

This has been the Rebbe’s message for over forty years:

Add light. Always.

Chanukah itself teaches that the miracle was not so much about the military victory, but about the Menorah—adding a candle each night, increasing light steadily, visibly, defiantly.

And here we are—Chanukah again. And once more, devastation. A blow of darkness at the very moment of light.

How did the Jewish world respond?

With the Rebbe’s message.

In Bondi Beach, thousands gathered the very next day at the site of the massacre to light Menorahs.
In The Hague, across from the court that has slandered Israel, hundreds gathered spontaneously to kindle light.
In Germany, public Menorahs rose—beginning at the Brandenburg Gate, where Hitler once stood threatening world Jewry.
In Sydney, Jewish families who hesitated to display their Menorahs were encouraged by Christian neighbors: Do not hide. If you hide, darkness wins.

And across China, Russia, Europe—everywhere—light is rising.

At Rabbi Schlanger’s funeral, his father-in-law, Rabbi Ulman, declared that Eli’s greatest wish would be for the Chanukah lighting campaign to increase everywhere. And people are answering—not in words, but in action.

Yes, it is dark.

But the light is coming.

Each small flame joins another, until together they form a blazing fire that will burn away the walls of this bitter Golus. And when Moshiach comes—and he will—Eli will march at the front, behind the Rebbe, as we leave exile Now. Now. Now. Amen.

Allow me to close with a personal blessing.

In the early 1970s, during a Yechidus with the Rebbe on the occasion of my birthday—which falls on Chanukah—the Rebbe blessed me that all blessings should unfold -“like the days of Chanukah—always increasing, always moving forward in light.”

Our Sages say: A candle for one is a candle for a hundred.

I share that candle with you.

May your life be illuminated with radiant light, joy, and blessing.

Have an uplifted, illuminated Shabbos.
Happy Chanukah. Gut Shabbos.

Rabbi Yosef Katzman