Festivals of Light

For me, the holiday season blends into a single, extended festival of light— light guiding wise men to the hope of peace, light lasting for an impossible eight days under siege, and light returning after being vanquished at summer solstice.

 The tree goes up on Thanksgiving and for all the season, the first thing we do when we come home each evening, after we drop our boots onto the mat and shed our coats, is snap the plugs into the outlet and let the warm glow of the lights and sparkle of ornaments fill the living room. The tree will stay on until bed, and sometimes into the night if someone falls asleep on the couch beside it.

 My mother’s voice recites Hebrew prayers and the twisting silver menorah flickers in the window, it’s light growing from one night to the next, ever more defiant of the small town where only our one little menorah is lit.

 There is a pillar candle and friends and the laughter of my parents and brother... until the friends go home and the family goes to bed. Then the fell hours just before dawn visit upon me and test my will to wait for the sun. I even made a song once, for the winter solstice, that I would hum or whisper into the darkened house in those last hours before dawn (sung to the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”):

Those that walk the path of light from dawn till end of day

Shall keep their vigil through the night and hold the dark at bay

With candles burning, hearths aflame; with merriment and play

Until eyes look to greet returning light

On the longest of nights

We will wait to greet the sun’s returning light

Since solstice of warm season past we’ve watched it fade away

With abated breath we wait at last for the lengthening of days

We raise a toast and spread a feast; as in warm homes we may

Until eyes look to greet returning light

On the longest of nights

We will wait to greet the sun’s returning light

A few shall face the fell alone above a single flame

To stand guard on that silent front and hope the war soon wanes

The darkest hours before dawn, are the last of darkness reign

May they hold their post until we find the light

On this longest of nights

May they hold steadfast till sun’s returning light

For me, the holidays are filled with both a scarceness and abundance of light.

This year, there will also be offerings to ancestors and to the gods—feasts and gifts and devotional acts. This year there will be special Moomas cookies and possibly origami cows. This year, there will be online Duas to attend, prayers to recite, and rituals to enact.

But no matter how many Kemetic traditions I adopt into the rich tapestry of cultural traditions woven by my family’s varied history…it is the story of light which commands the deepest faith in me. It does not matter if that light shines from a star above a holy infant, from a miracle of lasting oil, from the triumph of the oak king over the holly king, or from the return of Ra’s Eye to the lands of Kemet…it is a package deal for me, these festivals of light. It is all one stunning, overwhelming, faith-renewing expression of light, love, and the triumph of humanity’s greater will toward compassion and hope, even in the face of cynicism and despair.