Every year as Chanukah approaches, I return to a scene from my childhood on Long Island in the 1950s and 60s, a landscape where Christmas lights were as ubiquitous as rotary dial phones, yet Jewish identity seemed politely tolerated at best and quietly marginalized at worst.
In my public school, teachers would smile in December and ask, “Your people have your holiday too, right? What’s it called again?” Classmates whispered cringeworthy jokes about Jews being “different,” but wondered aloud why we didn’t believe in Jesus. A neighbor once referred to our family as “those nice Jewish people,” in the same tone one might use for a family who kept a pet goat in the backyard. These were small moments, subtle, almost invisible, but they left an indelible mark on my psyche. They taught me early on that belonging is conditional, that safety is a negotiation, that identity has a shadow side, and that being Jewish means you’re somehow inferior.
Those memories have returned with disturbing clarity the past few years as antisemitism surges globally — from street assaults to campus intimidation to social media that turns ancient hatred into a viral emotion. But the Chanukah story, when understood deeply, offers not only spiritual guidance, but a framework that resonates powerfully with modern behavioral science. Together, they illuminate both why antisemitism persists and what tools are available to counter it.
Chanukah begins in the dark, and so does change
Chanukah is not a triumphalist holiday. Its root is fragility: a small cruse of oil, a small people, a small uprising against a cultural force determined to erase Jewish identity. It is a story about psychological resilience, not military might.
Modern behavioral science affirms that meaningful change begins not from strength but from vulnerability. Neuroscience shows that the human brain pays heightened attention in moments of threat or uncertainty as sympathetic nervous system activity accelerates. It is precisely in moments of darkness that we form the commitments that sustain us. Chanukah teaches the same: the first step toward resilience is acknowledging the darkness, not pretending it isn’t there.
Today, Jews in every corner of the world face an unprecedented volume of darkness: online hatred, misinformation, political polarization, and open hostility in public spaces. Denial won’t help us. But neither will despair.
The Chanukah tradition begins with a single flame, small, insufficient, almost absurd in its optimism, and commands us to increase light each night. Behavioral science calls this the upward spiral: small, repeated positive actions that build psychological strength, collective identity, and strength over time.
The psychology of hate and of hope
Antisemitism is not merely a set of ideas; it is a behavioral pattern reinforced over centuries. Social psychology shows that prejudice thrives when three conditions converge: Perceived threat, group polarization, and dehumanization. We are witnessing all three today.
But Chanukah offers a response rooted not in fear but in identity. The Maccabees fought not for dominance, but rather to maintain cultural continuity. They asserted: We belong. Our story matters. Our presence is non-negotiable.
Positive psychology, the branch of psychology that studies human flourishing, echoes this sentiment. One of its most robust findings is that people who anchor themselves in meaning, purpose, and community can withstand extraordinary adversity. Jewish identity rich with history, ritual, humor, memory, and resilience is itself a psychological fortress.
Sleep, stress, and the fight against hatred
As a rabbi and psychologist, I cannot ignore another truth: stress and fear degrade our cognitive clarity. Sleep deprivation is amplified by threat perception, in turn reducing empathy, and increasing reactivity, exactly the conditions under which the impact of antisemitism grows.
Chanukah’s deepest message is menuchat hanefesh, rest for the soul. The Midrash (Tanhuma) describes the Temple menorah as a symbol of divine calmness, a light that continues even when our own strength falters.
At times like the present, caring for our nervous systems through rest, connection, and supportive communities, is not indulgence. It is strategy. A calm brain is harder to manipulate. A rested mind sees nuance. A robust nervous system resists fear-based narratives.
Jewish survival has always depended on both vigilance and vitality.
From personal pain to collective purpose
When I remember the quiet antisemitism of my childhood: the jokes, the assumptions, the polite exclusions, I realize something. What felt “mild” was actually formative. It taught me to pull back. To stay alert. To internalize the idea that safety is conditional.
The rise of antisemitism today carries those same emotional fingerprints, but louder.
We cannot withdraw now.
Chanukah teaches us not through bravado but through its very structure, that the only antidote to darkness is public light. That identity must be visible, ritual must be embodied, and dignity must be enacted.
Psychology tells us the same: people reduce prejudice when they encounter real humans, real stories, real relationships instead of stereotypes. Every menorah in a window is not only a Jewish ritual; it is an act of psychological de-biasing. It challenges the narratives that feed antisemitism.
Lighting the way forward
So, what do Chanukah and behavioral science together teach us about combating antisemitism on a global scale?
1. Identity must be practiced, not hidden.
Visibility increases resilience and reduces stigma, both individually and collectively.
2. Connection is a protective factor.
Belonging is the strongest buffer against fear. Communities that celebrate together withstand external hostility better.
3. Small acts compound.
Psychology shows that repeated micro-actions create durable change. One candle leads to eight.
4. Rest is resistance.
A community that sleeps, restores, and recharges is harder to intimidate or destabilize.
5. Narrative is power.
The Chanukah story reminds us that Jews have faced suppression before and we survived not through assimilation, but through illumination.
Eight nights, one message
In the Maccabean story, light doesn’t vanquish darkness in one dramatic moment. It grows, night by night, through persistence, ritual, community, and faith in the possibility of renewal.
The same is true today.
Antisemitism is rising. But so is Jewish clarity, Jewish solidarity, and Jewish purpose. The work ahead is not simply to fight hate. It is to cultivate meaning, connection, identity, and resilience so deeply that hate has nowhere to take root.
We fight antisemitism not only by opposing others’ darkness, but by tending our own light.
This year, as we kindle each candle, may we remember that Jewish resilience is not theoretical; it is historical, psychological, and profoundly human. It lives in our rituals. It lives in our science. It lives in our stories. And it lives in us.
Rabbi Bruce D. Forman, PhD practices psychology in Weston and specializes in behavioral sleep medicine. He is the author of the forthcoming book For God’s Sake Go to Sleep: Insights About Sleep from Jewish Tradition & Modern Science
