Amud Aish Memorial Museum

Chanukah: A Reminder of the Enduring Spark

Chanukah reminds us that even a single spark of holiness can survive in the deepest darkness. In the time of the Chashmonaim, the Greeks tried to wipe out not just our bodies but also our faith and identity. Yet the Jews found one small jug of pure oil, hidden away and untouched. From that tiny spark, the light of the Menorah shone for eight days. This teaches us that no matter how hopeless things seem, there is always a hidden ember of faith that cannot be extinguished...

The Holocaust brought darkness beyond anything we can imagine. Our enemies tried to destroy not only every Jewish life but the very idea of Jewish life itself. Yet, even in the camps, even when it felt like all the lights had gone out, many Jews still held onto a quiet, inner spark of hope and faith. Some risked their lives just to whisper a prayer. Others shared a piece of bread with a stranger. These were small lights, small flames of the Jewish soul that refused to die. 

After the war, survivors rebuilt what was lost. Like the jar of oil that lit the Menorah in the Temple, their faith and determination ignited a new flame of Jewish life around the world. When we look at the Chanukah candles today, we’re not just looking at a miracle from long ago — we’re seeing a reminder that the Jewish soul can shine again, even after the worst darkness. It’s a promise that no evil can ever fully extinguish the light inside us. As we watch the candles flicker, we remember: just as the flame survived then, it survives now, and it will continue to shine forever. 

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Chanukah was approaching. Where would we get candles? Suggestions poured in from all directions. We could easily make wicks by unraveling threads from our clothes, and melted margarine could serve as oil.

Suddenly, a visitor arrived—a friend, the plumber, summoned to repair some pipes. He noticed Rivka Horowitz and handed her a small package. The entry of a man into the women’s quarters was extremely dangerous, even if it was part of his job. Thus, not a word was spoken, except for a whispered “For Chanukah,” which Rivka heard before he quickly resumed his work. ... We held our breath in anticipation as Rivka opened the package. Inside, we discovered two candies, two matches, and, incredibly, two small candles. Our personal “Eliyahu Hanavi ” had brought us a treasure. Now we could light Chanukah candles!

That night, after the commotion of drinking the “coffee” subsided, Rivka approached the heating stove. “It’s Chanukah tonight!” she declared loudly. “Let us light the Chanukah candles.”

   All the women in the barrack gathered silently around the stove. Rivka stepped forward and lit the first Chanukkah candle. In a clear voice, she recited the first blessing: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the Chanukkah candle.” The tiny flame flickered atop the long brick stove. In the darkest place of Auschwitz, a flame was kindled—a flame that drove away the darkness.

Then came the second blessing: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who performed miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time.” Even now, in our days, may God perform miracles for us. Finally, the third blessing, “Shehecheyanu”: “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this time.” Not only had He given us life, but He allowed us to celebrate Chanukkah.  

Bitter thoughts filled our minds. Yes, God had granted us life, but what about everyone else? Were their fates not worse than ours? Why had we not gone with them? Tears filled our eyes, and our hearts ached with pain.

Then we began singing “Maoz Tzur,” a song whose opening conveys faith and hope for imminent redemption. The second stanza expresses sorrow: “My soul has been sated with misery, my strength has been consumed by grief. They embittered my life with hardship…” We sobbed again. Yet our voices grew stronger as we returned to verses of hope: “Reveal Your holy arm and bring near the end of salvation. Avenge the blood of Your servants…”

Rivka climbed onto the stove, turned to her audience, and boldly addressed them: “Sisters! We sleep together on the same bunks, share the same pain, endure the same suffering, all enveloped in the shadow of death. But tonight—tonight is Chanukah! This is the night the Temple was rededicated. We lit a candle, and a little light dispels much darkness.

“Sisters, that tiny flame we lit tonight is sacred. In every Jewish heart, there dwells a sacred spark, a divine spark that dispels much of the darkness in our wretched world.”

Her voice carried a note of pathos as she continued: “The Jewish people have endured bitter and difficult times. Our Temple was desecrated and defiled; its sacred status was brought to the ground. It seemed as though it had been utterly destroyed, with no pure oil left to light the menorah. Yet, amid the destruction and ruin, a small jar of pure oil was found, and so the eternal flame was rekindled. Miraculously, that little oil burned for eight days. For us, too, there is always pure olive oil, preserving the flame so that it does not extinguish.

“We have endured beatings, torture, and murder. The enemies of Israel throughout history—Pharaohs, Haman, Romans, Crusaders—all sought to destroy the Jewish people, but they did not succeed. Throughout history, the Holy One, blessed be He, has protected us and helped us survive. He will continue to help us now.

“Sisters, do not despair! Keep hoping. Even as the cup of sorrow overflows, we will soon see redemption. The torch carried by the Jewish people through the darkness of night will never be extinguished. Great nations have risen and fallen, but the Jewish people endure forever. Am Yisrael Chai! The people of Israel live!”  

Her final words resonated in the silence of the barrack.  

All the women, about a thousand in number, stood tightly packed around the stove. They were walking skeletons, dressed in rags, with tear-streaked faces and sunken eyes. Yet their shattered hearts were rekindled with hope and pride.  

At that moment, I turned my head and noticed... Raya, the fearsome block commander, standing among the crowd. Beside her were her aides—Rozika, Lilika, and Aranka. I was overcome with terror. Surely, we would pay dearly for our actions. What would happen to Rivka?  

The lights were quickly extinguished, as though we had been waiting for the speech to end. The women dispersed, each returning to her bunk. An unusual silence enveloped everyone. Each woman was lost in her thoughts, immersed in her emotions. That night, I could not sleep. Every few minutes, I reached out to touch Rivka, checking if she was still with us. In my tormented dreams, I saw how the “blockälteste” and her aides had betrayed her, and now they had come to take her. But each time, I found Rivka beside me, sound asleep.

The night passed. The miracle of Hanukkah had occurred—Rivka had survived her fateful speech.

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