Chanukah reminds us that we are not the same as everyone else.
For the first time in my life, I was the only Jew in the group.
Our Chanukah candles shone extra-bright last year. That's because they were the only lights in our house.
I was the only Jewish child in the auditorium, and sometimes felt I was the only Jewish girl in the entire world.
My parents succeeded in creating a wonderful Christmas - yet inside me something was amiss.
At a Grateful Dead concert one Chanukah, I felt like the only Jew in the world. Then an amazing thing happened.
A child who sees no difference between the flames of the menorah and the twinkling lights of the tree.
Amidst the pre-Xmas frenzy, a group of idealistic college students unexpectedly discover Chanukah's quiet illumination.
In the midst of a fraternity party, my Jewish spark was unexpectedly ignited.
Chanukah's tiny lights brazenly face the night's bitter challenge, transforming fear into a soft caress of hope.
As a Jew, I was always a little different. That would become my greatest asset.
My parents had no clue why they lit the electric menorah on Chanukah.
Who could do the kazatzky like Mendel? No one, including the Cossacks who guarded the Czar himself.
An American Jewish soldier of Iraqi descent lights the Menorah in Saddam Hussein's palace.
In my time, Chanukah gifts meant only a dime. It also meant potato latkes and a visit to grandma.
God shines Chanukah light into the seemingly darkest place.
Each of us has a dark spot concealed from ourselves due to overwhelming pain and shame. How do we turn on the lights?