Lighting the Way for Those in Need This Chanukah

By the time Friday afternoon arrived, Rivka’s flat was quiet in a way that felt heavier than usual.

The sun was already dipping low over Prestwich, the winter sky a dull grey. Rivka stood by her small kitchen table, counting what little she had left. Half a loaf of bread. A tin of soup. A few potatoes. Enough, perhaps, to scrape together something for herself — but not enough for a proper Shabbos, and certainly not enough to welcome Chanukah with warmth.

Rivka is a widow. Her husband passed away several years ago, and since then life has slowly become more difficult. Rising costs, unexpected expenses, and a fixed income left little room for breathing. She was careful, proud even — never wasting, never complaining. But this winter had been particularly harsh.

What hurt most wasn’t the hunger. It was the silence.

Chanukah had always been her husband’s favourite time of year. He would hum softly as he prepared the menorah, making sure each candle sat just right. They would sit together, watching the flames dance, talking about the miracles — how a small light can push away so much darkness.

Now, Rivka looked at the empty counter where the menorah usually stood. She had candles, but no oil for cooking, no food to serve, and no strength left to pretend everything was fine.

She considered skipping the candles altogether this year.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Rivka froze. No one ever came by unannounced. Slowly, she opened the door to find a friendly face and a warm smile.

“Good afternoon,” the volunteer said gently. “We’re from the L’Chaim Foodbank.”

Behind her stood a box — full, sturdy, and unmistakably generous.

Rivka’s eyes filled instantly with tears.

Inside the parcel was everything she hadn’t dared to hope for: challah, soup, fresh produce, pantry staples — and tucked carefully on top, a small bottle of oil and a box of Chanukah candles.

“We thought you might need these,” the volunteer said quietly.

That evening, Rivka lit the menorah.

The flames flickered softly, reflecting in her tear-streaked eyes. The flat no longer felt so cold. The table was set. The soup warmed on the stove. And for the first time in weeks, Rivka felt something she thought she had lost.

Not just relief — but dignity. Not just food — but light.

This Chanukah, because of your support, another home was filled with warmth. Another soul was reminded that even in the darkest moments, they are not forgotten.

You are the light.