The piercing wail of the siren shatters the quiet night, sending us stumbling through the dark toward the Protected Room, the reinforced space in our home designed for emergencies. This Chanukah, like so many holidays before, we find ourselves celebrating against the backdrop of conflict, with sirens cutting through the stillness. As of this writing, we are being awakened by sirens on many nights.

Newlyweds deserve to be treated well: nice accommodations, a clean room, comfortable sheets, and, of course, privacy. Unfortunately, in these unusual times, privacy often takes a backseat to safety, especially when the nightly sirens send us rushing into their room.

As empty nesters, my husband and I have mastered the art of reaching our Protected Room within 90 seconds. However, in our house, the Protected Room also serves as my newly married daughter’s bedroom. She and her new husband are staying there while they visit us on Chanukah. Getting ourselves to safety has become an exercise in awkwardness.

When we heard a siren, my husband reached the room first. I took a few extra seconds to slip on the robe and head-covering I’d left at the foot of my bed, anticipating a potential midnight siren. My daughter opened the door before we managed to knock. She and her husband greeted us warmly, stifling their own discomfort to reassure him that we were welcome, even under such unusual circumstances. They kindly told us they had been waiting for us – so hospitable.

We chatted about the surreal circumstances while waiting for the requisite ten minutes to pass. Despite everything, I appreciated their gracious efforts to make us feel comfortable.

On Shabbos, with more children and grandchildren staying over, I marveled at how quickly everyone gathered in the room, even with three little ones in tow – two of them babies. My daughter-in-law explained that she had slept fully dressed, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Without phones, the room was pitch black, much to the dismay of our grandson, whose protests against the dark became the unexpected soundtrack of our midnight gathering.

Despite the challenges, the family time felt warm and positive. My only disappointment was the absence of hors d’oeuvres. Surely our hosting couple could have rustled up a tuna and cracker platter, leftover from the supplies we’d stored in the room during the days of concern over an attack from Iran. A late-night snack would have transformed the atmosphere into a proper cocktail hour – but then again, no one is too hungry at 3:30 a.m.

Joking aside, the war continues. My son-in-law received a phone call at the start of our family Chanukah party with devastating news: One of his past commanders had been killed in Gaza. While we were celebrating, another family was plunged into unimaginable grief. My son-in-law chose not to share the news until the party was over, sparing us from sorrow in that moment. The next day, however, as we prepared for a Shabbos brimming with guests, he attended the l’vayah. Our joy was shadowed by the heavy reminder of the cost of this war.

Even amidst these trials, the spirit of Chanukah finds ways to shine, bringing light and hope to a weary nation. While our family found warmth and connection in our Protected Room, soldiers and citizens across Israel felt warmth and connection, as well. The IDF logistics division prepared 400,000 sufganiyot and 5,000 “Little Miracles” packages containing menorahs, candles, and treats for their forces. Another organization distributed 300 tickets to Chanukah entertainment events for children of soldiers injured in the war. Such initiatives brought smiles and lifted spirits.

Baruch Hashem, the IDF returned to the Syrian Hermon outpost. After 51 years without an Israeli presence on that side of the mountain, soldiers proudly lit a menorah on the first night of Chanukah – a moment that reminded us that miracles still happen in our time.

Eli Gross, an artist, created a menorah from missile fragments that fell in Israel. Placed in Hostages Square in Tel Aviv, it stands as a symbol of resilience for the families of hostages. A nearby sign reads: “In every fragment, there is a story of survival. Parts from an Iranian ballistic missile as well as debris from a Yemeni UAV and rockets from Lebanon have been transformed into a symbol of hope – a light emerging from darkness. Even in the darkest times, the Jewish spirit burns brightly, like the candles in our menorahs.

May the light of Chanukah continue to push back the darkness and may our tefilos and courage guide us through these challenging times. Please continue to daven for the recovery of the wounded, the return of the hostages, and the success and safe return of all our chayalim and security personnel.


 Suzie Steinberg, (nee Schapiro), CSW, is a native of Kew Gardens Hills and resident of Ramat Beit Shemesh who publishes articles regularly in various newspapers and magazines about life in general, and about life in Israel in particular. Her recently published children’s book titled Hashem is Always With Me can be purchased in local Judaica stores as well as online. Suzie can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.  and would love to hear from you.