Chanukah is the Yom Tov whose lights illuminate the coldest nights of winter. Its glow reminds us that even at the darkest points of life, we are never alone. There is a caring Father beside us, holding us close as we make our way through the tunnel.
A respected mashpia shared with me the following story that happened to his wife this past Chanukah.
With snow blanketing the ground and the bitter cold settling in, Mrs. Galdik stopped at the NPGS grocery in Lakewood, NJ, to shop for her son’s upcoming upsherin. As she paid at the register, her almost three-year-old, savoring the last precious days of being “two,” suddenly darted off.
His mother wasn’t alarmed. She knew her son well and trusted that he wouldn’t do anything unsafe. Calmly, she packed her groceries and began making her way toward the exit.
Moments later, her attention was caught by an announcement over the store’s intercom: a young child had been found outside the store, and the parent was asked to please come forward.
When Mrs. Galdik arrived at the front, she saw a woman holding her two-year-old, who was beaming with relief upon spotting his mother. She thanked the woman warmly for her kindness. To Mrs. Galdik, the episode felt uneventful — just another fleeting moment in a busy day. Yet something in the woman’s expression told a different story. There was a depth in her eyes, as though this encounter had touched her in a far greater way.
And then the woman shared her story.
“I am childless,” she said quietly. “That alone is painful. Recently, I also became an almana. I walk through life feeling lost — no husband, no children. Chanukah is especially hard. I light the candles alone in a quiet apartment, with no mesibah to attend, and I feel like a forlorn soul.”
She continued.
“Today, after davening for strength, I went shopping. When I finished and returned to my car, I saw something startling: a two-year-old running out of the store with no shoes, in the freezing cold, clutching a wooden broom. I ran to help, found the supervisor, and within moments, the child was reunited with you, his mother.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“What moved me,” she said, “was realizing that even when this child looked completely lost, he never truly was. Somewhere nearby, there was a mother thinking about him, caring deeply. Even when he ran shoeless into the cold, he was never abandoned.”
She paused, her voice trembling.
“I walk through life feeling lost. Even Chanukah, the Yom Tov that illuminates the darkness, left me untouched this year. But when I returned that child to his mother, something shifted. In that moment, I felt the care of my Father. I understood that even when I feel alone, I am never without Him.”
“That,” she concluded softly, “was my Chanukah miracle. A light that pushed away the darkness that had settled over my life.”
No matter how lost a person may feel, no matter what challenges or pain he faces, Hashem is always there — watching, guiding, and holding him close. Even when the way forward is unclear, we are never alone. Our Father never lets go.
