Dancing above the Tetons, across a nearly clear sky, the northern lights glimmer Nov. 11 in Grand Teton National Park. As word spread of the aurora borealis, droves of people made their way north to witness the spectacle.KATHRYN ZIESIG / NEWS&GUIDE
Remember the evening of November 11th? While picking my kids up, I got a text: “Aurora borealis are out!”
Within the hour, we headed up to Grand Teton National Park with Albertsons fried chicken and a handful of blankets, meeting friends outside the Chapel of Transfiguration.
I had been at the chapel twice in the preceding months: once to lead Shabbat for the Jackson Hole Jewish Community; and once with The Reverend Travis Helm to co-officiate the wedding of beloved friends.
As the celestial light show progressed, the northern lights settled above the Tetons. For a moment, the chapel was enveloped in green and red hues.
Christmas lights illuminated the chapel early this year.
The November evening skies were setting the stage for the coming season. Our winter holidays are all about light in the darkest time of year.
During Chanukah, we light our menorahs for eight nights to remember the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem around 164 BCE. Our tradition has us place our menorahs where the light can be seen and shared with our communities.
As the days shorten and the evenings darken, many of our traditions teach us this same lesson: Christmas lights, Chanukah menorahs, Diwali lamps, Yule-log bonfires and more. There is something universal about bringing our light — our goodness — out into the world during the holidays.
In the same historic Jewish teaching that encourages a visible and communal spreading of light, there’s a caveat. In times of danger to our people, times when we might be threatened, we can put our menorahs in the center of our homes.
Historically, this has been a wise practical consideration. Recently, with the horrific attack on a Chanukah gathering in Australia and the rise of antisemitism in the U.S. and worldwide, I did pause to ponder the practical discernment this teaching requires. Do I need to hide my Jewish light?
I understand the need to be more guarded now; and yet I feel in my kishkes (deep in my gut), now more than ever, each of us, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, need to shine our light for all to see.
I sent a picture of the aurora borealis surrounding the chapel to Reverend Jimmy Bartz, one of my other holy brothers, at St. John’s Episcopal Church, with a short message of love and in anticipation of their upcoming celebration of Christmas. Just last week, as I placed my menorah on the windowsill to celebrate the first night of Chanukah while remembering those killed in Australia who were doing the same, Jimmy and others reached out in love and solidarity.
It shouldn’t take a celestial event, or a tragedy, to celebrate our traditions and our light. During this holiday season, may we all have the courage and vulnerability to put our unique light out into the world for all to see. At the same time, may we all be openhearted to see how our neighbors — both beloved and unknown — shine their light just as brightly, with slightly different colors.
This article appeared in the Dec. 24 issue of the JH News & Guide.
Each December, the News&Guide’s editorial board relinquishes its space for an uplifting message from a person of faith. Josh Kleyman is one of the spiritual leaders of the Jackson Hole Jewish Community and is on his way to being ordained as a Rabbi in the near future.