The Extra Menorah of Hope
Core Message
Chanukah is not only a celebration of miracles that were. It is a declaration of miracles that will be. True Emunah means refusing to surrender hope, even when the house is still quiet and the child’s menorah remains unlit. This story, shared by Storiestoinspire.org, captures the radiant power of Bitachon that shines brightest in the darkness.
A Store That Should Have Been Empty
It was the first night of Chanukah.
Around 5:30 or 6:00 in the evening, most Jewish homes were already glowing. Families had gathered. Wicks were prepared. Oil cups were filled. Fathers stood beside their children, ready to kindle the first flame.
At that hour, a Judaica store should have been empty.
And it was.
Walking through the silent aisles was Rabbi Shlomo Bachner, founder of Bonei Olam. The store was still and quiet because everyone else was home lighting their Chanukah candles.
Then he noticed something unusual.
A young married man stood near the shelf of children’s menorahs, carefully examining them.
Rabbi Bachner recognized him. The man had previously come to him for guidance and support. He and his wife were waiting, yearning, davening for children.
The rabbi approached him gently.
“Yosele, what are you doing here now?”
The young man looked up with calm determination.
“I’m buying a menorah,” he said.
Rabbi Bachner glanced at the shelf. “A children’s menorah?”
The man nodded.
Lighting for the Child Who Isn’t Here Yet
He explained:
“Tonight, I’m going home to light my menorah. But I am also going to set up this small menorah next to mine.”
Rabbi Bachner listened carefully.
“I won’t light it,” the young man continued. “But I will place it there.”
He paused, emotion rising in his voice.
“And when the Ribbono Shel Olam looks at my home tonight and sees a children’s menorah sitting there unused, He will say, ‘Why did you set that up?’”
“And I will answer, ‘Ribbono Shel Olam, because I have not given up hope. I believe that one day You will give me children, and they will stand here and light their own menorahs in this home.’”
This was not fantasy.
This was not denial.
This was Bitachon in its purest form.
He was not pretending he had what he did not have.
He was declaring that what he did not yet have was already part of his future.
The Light Before the Light
Chanukah is the Yom Tov of hope.
The world was dark when the Chashmonaim entered the Beis HaMikdash. The oil was defiled. The odds were impossible. The enemy was powerful.
And yet they searched.
They found one small cruse of pure oil.
Logically, it was insufficient. It would last one night.
They lit it anyway.
The miracle came after the act of faith.
That young man standing in the Judaica store understood this deeply. He was living the message of Chanukah.
He did not wait for the miracle to prepare the menorah.
He prepared the menorah in anticipation of the miracle.
There are times in life when a home feels quiet. When tefillos seem unanswered. When longing stretches across months and years.
In those moments, a person can shrink.
Or he can expand.
He can say, “Perhaps it will never happen.”
Or he can say, “Ribbono Shel Olam, I am setting the table for the blessing You will send.”
This is the essence of Emunah and Bitachon.
Not blind optimism.
Not naive expectation.
But unwavering trust that Hashem’s plan is unfolding, even if the timeline is hidden.
Preparing for Yeshuah
There is something extraordinarily powerful about preparing for a yeshuah before it arrives.
Buying the extra chair.
Setting up the additional place at the table.
Purchasing the child’s menorah.
It is a quiet but thunderous declaration: “I believe in You.”
The young man did not demand. He did not question. He did not despair.
He acted.
He created space in his home for a future that only Hashem could bring.
And that act itself shines like a Chanukah flame.
Because hope is not passive.
Hope is active preparation.
As Chanukah approaches, each of us carries something we are waiting for. A refuah. A shidduch. Shalom bayis. Parnassah. Nachas from children. Clarity in a difficult decision.
The question is not whether we believe Hashem can help.
The question is whether we live as if we truly expect Him to.
Do we prepare space for the blessing?
Do we speak as if redemption is possible?
Do we light our own menorah with the quiet confidence that even one small flame can pierce overwhelming darkness?
Chanukah teaches that light does not argue with darkness.
It simply shines.
May this Chanukah be filled with incredible hope, open miracles, and revealed yeshuos. And may all the silent menorahs waiting to be lit soon blaze with the laughter and light of children in every Jewish home.
A freilichen Chanukah and a lichtige week.