Rosh Chodesh Kislev

Now that we’ve approached Rosh Chodesh Kislev, we are officially in the darkest months of the year.

Humans are so naturally sensitive to the changing of the seasons that our moods shift from exposure to nature and weather patterns. Sunny days make many feel cheerful, rainy days can feel cozy or gloomy, snow has us wanting to hunker down and sit by a roaring fire.

But darkness has a power all its own.

In the darkness it's hard to see beyond the space we are in, the limited light available to us only illuminates our small surroundings, with the thickness of night crowding us in. That’s why scary stories are more terrifying at night and why nightmares have more potency. Because we have less clarity about where we are, what we can see, and what might be happening in the world around us.

Darkness can leave us feeling lonely and isolated. Helpless and afraid.

But the month of Kislev is about light. Or rather lighting the darkness.

It’s about finding the sparks of bravery, optimism, or faith even in the shadows of history.

It holds the possibility of delight and miracles- the chance to expect the unexpected.

And the reality is, we’ve all been operating under such challenging circumstances for so long.

Whether facing the grief and sacrifices of war here in Israel, or suffering from antisemitism in the Diaspora, we have all struggled with maintaining our wellbeing, faith, or hope at one point or another over the last year.

One of my favorite terms is “Wintering,” which was popularized by Katherine May’s book of the same title. It refers to a period of retreat or hibernation, both physically and metaphorically. It's a time of rest, reflection, and inward focus, often during a difficult period of life.

I loved this book and read it during my sabbatical before the war. It gave me such a fresh perspective on darkness. Darkness became about self-reflection and rest. About the time that I gave myself to recalibrate and recuperate. It was permission to nest, make an effort to make myself comfortable, slow down, steep a while.

It gave me the freedom to experience a life transition and acknowledge that I hadn’t been alright and needed nourishment.

And in that wintering space, I lit many wicks that are still burning brightly.

For myself, for my family, for my work.

For the person I was going to be when I returned to the light of sunny days.

If you feel like you need nourishment this month- take the time for yourself. Think about what you need. What might make your life easier, better, deeper, richer?

So much healing can happen when we slow down, rest, and reflect.

I pray that we all experience the miracles that Kislev has to offer– that our hostages come home this month and that peace is returned to the people and land of Israel.