麻豆约拍

Good morning.聽 I was seven years old and standing in a desolate hallway, harshly lit by institutional florescent lighting. And I was crying.

It was the first night of Hanukah, the Jewish festival of lights. My mother who was unable to collect me from school that day made arrangements for a neighbour鈥檚 older son to walk me home. I was supposed to meet him outside his classroom on the second floor - but I had no idea which door led there.聽 It was dark outside and I began to panic thinking he might have already left without me and that I would have to spend the night alone in school.

I heard footsteps behind me; I looked up to see Mr Anderson, the principal, a stern man with little empathy for crying children. 鈥淐ut out that blubbering!鈥� he demanded. That is as far as my memory will take me. Obviously I got home that night but the feeling of not being understood by an adult when I most needed to be reassured cut deeply, and the proof is that I remember it clearly all these years later.

It is ironic that I experienced this unhappy episode on Hanukah which is celebrated by the ritual of kindling lights. The Hasidic mystics frequently cite the adage 鈥渁 little light dispels much darkness鈥� and they had in mind not physical light but spiritual light; the kind of illumination one brings to another human being through a smile and acts of kindness and compassion. Hanukah is an opportune time to seek out those who wander about frightened and confused and to bring some light and warmth to their lives.

Almighty God please heighten our sensitivity to others so that we can adequately respond to their needs by bringing light where there is darkness.
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