Chanukah, also known as the Festival of Lights, begins Sunday night. The eight night celebration commemorates the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem during the second century BCE. We often associate the holiday with the miracle of the small amount of oil found in the Temple's menorah miraculously lasting for eight days, despite being only enough for one day. (The real story is a bit more gruesome with the military victory of a small Jewish army defeating the larger Greek army. The war was forged by the Maccabees against both the Jews who had become too assimilated into Greek culture and against the Greeks themselves who had forbidden the Jews certain practices of Judaism.)

For those in the Jewish non-profit field, this time of year creates a profound intersection between Chanukah and the push for end-of-year charitable giving. While tax deadlines and fundraising emails may encourage December philanthropy, the spiritual lessons of Chanukah provide excellent context.

Chanukah is a celebration whose central ritual involves lighting the chanukiah, specifically following the custom of Beit Hillel, which dictates that we increase the light each night. We do not start with eight candles and decrease to one; we start with a single flame and build until the darkness is filled with light. (Here is a video with the blessings for lighting the chanukiah.)

This principle of "increasing in light" offers a perfect blueprint for charitable giving. End-of-year giving should not merely be a line item to close out your books or to make preparations for your taxes; it should be an act of increasing impact. Just as the light of the candles grows stronger night after night, our commitment to justice in our world should expand. The Chanukah lights teach us that we are not meant to remain static in our generosity; we are challenged to add "one more candle" -- one more donation, one more volunteer hour, one more act of kindness -- than we did the year before.

Furthermore, there is a concept in Jewish law regarding Chanukah called Pirsumei Nisa, or "publicizing the miracle." We are instructed to place the chanukiah in our window so that others can see the light. While many like to be humble and quiet about their philanthropy, Chanukah emphasizes the value in "visible goodness."

Finally, we must consider the shamash -- the "helper" candle used to light the others. The shamash is distinct from the other eight candles; it sits higher or apart, yet its sole purpose is to serve. It loses nothing of its own flame by lighting the others. This is the ultimate metaphor for a philanthropist. When we engage in tzedakah (justice/charity), we act as the shamash. We use our resources not to highlight ourselves, but to ignite potential in others.

Through the lens of Chanukah, we see that the true light of this holiday shines not only in the chanukiah's glow but also in the hearts of people, like you, who strive to make a difference in the world. Your end-of-year contributions are in essence a communal rededication, ensuring that the love and care for our Jewish community lasts long after the candles have burned.

Please consider making your gift to the 2026 Campaign for Community Needs here.

Now for the "maybe only of interest to Marc tidbit.” 

Anyone know when the practice of gift giving started on Chanukah? Based on historical analysis, gift giving was usually a tradition reserved for Purim.

In 18^th century Eastern Europe, the giving of “gelt” (Yiddish for money) was first introduced during Chanukah. As Rabbi Jill Crimmings has written, many believe this custom developed because of an etymological connection. The Hebrew word chinuch (education) shares the same Hebrew root (chet/nun/chaf) as Chanukah (dedication). Because of this linguistic link, education -- specifically Torah study -- became a central focus of the holiday.

Historian Eliezer Segal suggests that families began to use these Torah study sessions during Chanukah as an opportunity to give small amounts of money to their teachers. Teachers at the time were prohibited from accepting money for teaching Torah, but parents would give their children money to hand to them. But, as children often do, they eventually began to expect a cut themselves! (A word of advice: Do not tell the children in our Jewish day schools and Hebrew schools this origin story -- they may start demanding payment for attendance!)

Gift giving began to shift toward Chanukah in America in the 1920s as Christmas became more commercialized and Jewish immigrant parents did not want their children to feel left out. Today, beyond gifts, we still give gelt, though it seems to be mostly the chocolate kind. But what do those who receive real gelt do with it?

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I found myself in my daughter’s room, staring at her childhood piggy bank. We all had one at some point. We would drop our spare change in, shake it to hear the clanking coins, and all too often pull out the rubber plug to remove the money (which was never quite as much as we thought -- hers had exactly $2.58 – I counted).

The piggy bank is not an American invention. Archaeologists have uncovered terracotta pig-shaped money boxes from 14th-century Java, an island in Indonesia. These were called celengans, named after the Javanese word for wild boar or "pig." These ancient "piggy banks" are thought to have been used to store Chinese copper coins and symbolized prosperity.

However, what we know today is unlikely to be connected to Java. What we now call "piggy banks" were originally just called "pig banks." The earliest known reference to a "pig bank" in America appears in an 1898 issue of the Jersey Journal. Not too far behind, The Oregonian wrote about them in 1900, calling them "The latest novelty." But here is the kicker: the article noted, "You have to kill the pig to get the money."

That is right. The early American pig banks had no removable stopper. The only way to retrieve your coins was to smash the pig open. That phrasing -- "kill the pig" -- was basically the instruction manual. That is one way to keep sales of pig banks constant.



Whether you are saving your coins in a ceramic pig, giving gelt to teachers, or acting as the shamash for our community, I wish you and your family a Shabbat shalom, eat plenty of latkes and sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts), and have a pride-filled Chanukah with your chanukiah shining brightly to the world.