What does it mean to not just see light, but to feel awe?

This question has been with me as we turn our attention to Chanukah. The Hebrew word for awe, yirah, describes an elevated awareness that something larger and more meaningful is present. It is what we feel when the extraordinary appears in the midst of everyday life. Mussar teacher Alan Morinis writes, “Awe arises when we encounter life and the world in ways that breach the ordinary. The ordinary can bring on awe as well, though only if we don’t see it as ordinary.” (Everyday Holiness, p. 239)

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel deepens this idea in God in Search of Man:

“As civilization advances, the sense of wonder declines. Such decline is an alarming symptom of our state of mind. Mankind will not perish for want of information, but only for want of appreciation. The beginning of our happiness lies in the understanding that life without wonder is not worth living. What we lack is not a will to believe but a will to wonder. Radical amazement has a wider scope than any other act of man. While any act of perception or cognition has as its object a selected segment of reality, radical amazement refers to all of reality; not only to what we see, but also to the very act of seeing as well as to our selves, to the selves that see and are amazed at their ability to see.” (p. 46)

The Torah’s earliest poetry echoes this longing. In the Song at the Sea, our ancestors ask, Mi Chamocha Ba-aylim Adonai — Who is like You, majestic in holiness, awesome in splendor, working wonders?” (Sh’mot 15:11). At the moment of liberation from Egypt, our ancestors’ response was not analysis or planning or even beginning their long journey toward the Promised Land. It was awe. Something in them recognized that the world held more meaning than they had imagined.

Where does awe live for you? When have you felt it in your bones?

For me, light has always held that quality. Watching a sunrise stretch across the land or witnessing a sunset melt into the horizon always takes my breath away. The first act of Creation in Bereishit is the creation of light. “Let there be light” is both a beginning and an invitation to feel the world’s wonder. Chanukah brings us a different kind of light. It is not cosmic or overwhelming, but rather gentle and human-sized. The Maccabees rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem by rekindling the ner tamid, the eternal flame, an extraordinary act of courage and faith after much destruction and devastation. The story of the oil lasting longer than expected surely stirred awe in those who witnessed it. Our own lighting of the chanukiyah today is quieter. We are not performing miracles; we are just holding a match to the candles and singing blessings of gratitude and appreciation. We are not even permitted to use the light for any practical purpose. Our only task is to look at it, to watch the flames, and to allow the light to work on us without trying to put it to use. That simple act of pausing, singing the brachot, and watching the candles may be one of the purest forms of awe available to us. This year, as you gather with loved ones and add one more candle each night, you might bring these questions into your practice: ✡ What if the Chanukah candles are not only symbols of resilience but teachers of awe? ✡ What if each night invites us not only to light candles but to light our capacity to be amazed? ✡ How might your candlelighting remind you to lean into moments that still have the power to surprise you? May the eight nights of Chanukah, and the light we place in our windows, help each of us cultivate more yirah. And may that sense of awe guide us all toward goodness. Chag urim sameach, Rabbi Ilyse Glickman