I'm still glowing from our Festival of Lights

How we celebrated darkness, welcomed light, and became Matanot Lilith

I've been sitting with the magic of our recent Festivals of Light gathering, wanting to find the right words to share what unfolded that afternoon. It was more than just a celebration - it was a moment when I could see our community's future taking shape before my eyes. As we prepare to step into a new chapter as Matanot Lilith, I wanted to share this story with you…

"Darkness nurtures the seeds of becoming," teaches Jewish mystical tradition. This Chanukah, as our community unveiled its evolution into Matanot Lilith (Gifts of the Night), we gathered to celebrate not just the miracle of light, but the sacred gifts of darkness itself. What unfolded was an extraordinary afternoon of interfaith connection that showed us how ancient traditions can illuminate new paths forward.

In the deepening winter darkness, we gathered—a beautiful tapestry of generations and faiths—to celebrate light. Our community that afternoon spanned from age four to the seventies, embodying the multigenerational spirit we hoped to create. As I watched the room fill with familiar and new faces, I was struck by how perfectly this moment embodied the evolution of our community, now known as Matanot Lilith (Gifts of the Night).

The name came to me through deep spiritual work with Lilith herself. In Hebrew, "Matanot" means gifts - what was once Matanot Lev (Gifts of the Heart) has evolved into Matanot Lilith, reflecting both our connection to ancient feminine wisdom and our commitment to transformative change. One of my Hebrew names, Laila, means night, and as someone who has always found comfort in darkness—who literally seeks shelter from harsh light due to photosensitivity—the symbolism feels deeply aligned. Our work at Matanot Lilith is about sanctifying and celebrating the dark. Because the dark is the womb, the night sky, the soil, and the depths of the sea. These are places of healing, growth, evolution, and mystery.

As I shared this vision with our gathered community, I spoke openly about creating a space of restoration rather than resistance. Yes, we are actively deconstructing patriarchal religious traditions, but we're doing it by building something new: a place of rest, replenishment, and genuine connection. A sanctuary where we can resource ourselves for the important work we do in the world.

The afternoon unfolded organically, with the Witches Peace Choir sharing songs that bridged traditions. Their piece, "Light" celebrated how different faiths honor this season of darkness with ritual and flame. We sang Dona Nobis Pacem in rounds, voices weaving together like the threads of light we were about to kindle. I led the community in my song, "Rise Up Darkness", a new take on an old song, written to feel like a magic spell that invites the dark and light to weave and play together. And I taught the story of Lilith and sang the song I wrote for her more than twenty years ago, bringing her guidance and power into our gathering and community.

When it came time to light the Chanukah menorahs, I shared something that felt particularly significant: the connection between the menorah, the Christmas tree, and ancient solstice traditions. I brought out my tree-of-life shaped menorah, surrounded by fabrics decorated with the same sacred pattern. This wasn't just decorative—it was a recognition of how the menorah in the ancient Temple was modeled after the Tree of Life, itself a symbol of the divine feminine, of Asherah.

One of our elders shared a story that lit me up. In her childhood community, people of all faiths—Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Christians—would gather for each other's holidays, lighting lamps and sharing food. "Thank you," I told her, "for bringing this story of your past that is a vision of the future of my dreams."

As we lit our menorahs together, the space held such diversity: traditional and contemporary Chanukah menorahs beside a Hindu lamp, while nearby sat a Santa figure wearing a white scarf adorned with Stars of David, his green gift sack decorated with moons and stars. The room glowed with the kind of light that only comes from genuine interfaith celebration—not the watered-down "inclusive" kind, but the rich, authentic sharing of traditions in their full depth.

All that was missing was a Christmas tree. And then, as we were leaving, we discovered something magical: at the end of the walkway stood a magnificent evergreen tree, adorned with colorful lights. It felt like a divine wink, a confirmation of the connections we'd been exploring that afternoon. "Here you are," I whispered to the tree, "You've been with us all along."

This is the work of Matanot Lilith: creating spaces where tradition and innovation dance together, where darkness reveals its gifts, where rest and celebration fuel our work for justice. In these challenging times, when many Jews feel afraid to practice publicly, we are building something different—a community where diverse spiritual expressions strengthen rather than threaten each other.

As we emerged from the darkest part of the year, we honored darkness as our teacher. In the rich soil of night, our traditions found common ground, their roots intertwining beneath the surface of our differences. Like seeds in winter soil, like life forming in the womb, like prayers whispered in ancient tongues, our gathering reminded us that the most powerful changes begin in darkness, nurtured by hope and community. We light our candles not to banish the darkness, but to see ourselves in good company as we rest, heal, and grow together in its nurturing embrace.

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