Originally published in the Cincinnati Enquirer, December 21, 2025.

Photo courtesy of Frank Bowen IV/The Enquirer

On the Friday before Hanukkah, we stood on the steps of City Hall with Cincinnatians bundled in coats, a large electric menorah beside us, and the promise of warm coffee and jelly donuts inside.

From a distance, it could have been any winter gathering. Elected officials. Clergy. People taking photos. But for Cincinnati’s Jewish community, it meant something more.

Many know Hanukkah as the story of a small jar of oil that lasted eight nights. We light candles to remember a light that didn’t go out.

Fewer people know the rest of the story.

Before the oil, there was a minority that refused to give up who they were.

In ancient Judea, the Jewish community was pressured to abandon its practices. To stop being different. A powerful empire told them, “You can stay. Just stop being so Jewish.”

A small group refused. They reclaimed their desecrated temple, and then did something brave.

They lit the menorah again. In public.

The miracle that still speaks to me is that a community that had every reason to hide chose visibility instead.

Not hiding. Being seen.

It’s hard not to think about that part of the story this year. As Hanukkah began, Jews celebrating in public in Sydney were targeted in a horrific mass shooting. What happened there isn’t “over there.” It’s a warning. Antisemitism doesn’t start with violence. It grows when people look away.

We stand with Australia’s Jewish community. And we will keep showing up as Jews, candle by candle.

Here in Cincinnati, we’ve seen signs that should concern us. We’ve seen antisemitic graffiti on sidewalks, hateful banners over highways, and just this month, racist and antisemitic slurs in a Miami University residence hall. Taken together, they send a message that Jews are not fully welcome.

It isn’t only what’s written on walls or sidewalks. More Jews are telling us they feel less welcome at work. Being openly Jewish, or saying Israel has a right to exist, can cost people opportunities or relationships.

Hanukkah pushes back against disappearing. Light is not only a guide out of darkness. It is our way of saying, “We are still here.”

The question is what kind of city allows that light to shine.

Because antisemitism is not just a Jewish problem. It’s a test of whether we mean it when we say everyone belongs, regardless of faith or background.

That’s why those steps at City Hall mattered.

Celebrating Hanukkah at City Hall is not just a ceremonial moment. It is a civic one. Jews and city leaders standing together at the front door of local government, saying with our presence that Jews belong in the public square of Cincinnati.

It is also a reminder that no one flame must do all the work.

The menorah doesn’t ask one candle to burn hotter and brighter. It asks us to add a new candle each night. That is how the light grows.

Jews have lit Hanukkah candles in every place we’ve ever lived, in good years and hard ones. We always bring the light back. This year, my hope is simple. That we do not have to bring it back alone.

If you are wondering what you can do, you don’t need to wait for a big moment. If you see antisemitic graffiti, report it. If you hear a comment that crosses a line, say something. If you have a Jewish friend or coworker, check in.

Those actions may feel small. They are not. They are the difference between a community where minorities quietly shrink back, and a city where people of every faith, culture, and background can live their identity in public without fear.

As we move through this season, lighting menorahs, trimming trees, lighting the kinara for Kwanzaa, and gathering around our tables, my wish for Cincinnati is simple. That we keep choosing to show up for one another.

Let those City Hall steps be more than a backdrop. Let them be a promise that in Cincinnati, no one has to hide who they are.

Happy Hanukkah. Merry Christmas. Happy Kwanzaa. And may the lights we kindle, in all our traditions, make this city feel a little more like home for everyone who lives here.