The Charlotte Jewish News- December 2025- Page 16
Hershel, the Goblins, and the Strength We Didn’ t Know We Had
By Rabbi Chanoch Oppenheim
Eric Kimmel’ s“ Hershel and the Chanukah Goblins”( available at the PJ Library) has become a beloved Chanukah tale— whimsical, a little eerie and profoundly Jewish at heart.
Hershel, a wandering Jew, arrives in a small village during Chanukah and observes no one is lighting candles. When he inquires why, the alarmed villagers tell him an army of goblins has taken over the synagogue and imposed a reign of terror. The only way to stop them, they say, is to get the King of the Goblins to light the Chanukah candles himself.
Hershel, a very brave adventurer, climbs to the shul on the hill to confront them. Every night, a different goblin tries to stop him— and each time, Hershel outsmarts them. One, he tricks by crushing an egg and calling it a rock. Another is trapped by his own greed when he gets his hand stuck in a pickle jar. Finally, on the eighth night, the King of the Goblins himself appears. Hershel remains calm, tricks him into lighting the Chanukah candles and, with that, the goblins’ reign of terror ends.
It’ s a charming story for children, but beneath its playfulness lies a piercing truth: every generation faces its own monsters— fear, hatred, and despair. The goblins are never gone; they only change their masks. Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin taught in the very place we struggle most lies our deepest potential for transformation. It is in darkness that light is born. Chanukah’ s message is not to wait for dawn but to kindle light in the night itself. And in Hershel’ s story, the turning point comes when the Goblin King must prove his power by lighting candles— and in doing so, accidentally becomes an agent of light. That is Jewish resilience: we do not merely endure darkness; we redeem it.
Since Oct. 7, this truth has felt heartbreakingly relevant. The goblins returned— not from storybooks but instead from hidden tunnels and the open sky— committed to extinguishing Jewish light. We’ ve seen profound determination. In the faces of hostage families who, despite unimaginable pain, never stopped hoping and praying. In young soldiers, who paused amid battle to light menorahs constructed from tank shells, flames dancing against the smoke. In small, defiant acts of Jewish life— Torah study in shelters, challah bakes for soldiers, children learning Alef-Beit in provisional classrooms.
In 1941, deep in a Siberian labor camp, a Jewish prisoner carved a crude menorah from wood and used shoe polish for oil. He and his friends sang“ Maoz Tzur” in whispers, so the brutal guards wouldn’ t hear them.“ For a few moments,” he later wrote,“ we felt human again.” In ghettos and camps, too, Jews kindled flames of faith when logic said to simply surrender. And those candles were acts of defiance— and also of creation.
This very same courage shines now. One Israeli hostage, released after weeks in captivity, described whispering the Shema each night and picturing the candles her family would light in her absence.“ That image,” she shared,“ kept me alive.”
This time of year, invites us to face our own monsters— fear, cynicism, weariness— not with denial but with light. The Maccabees didn’ t wait for a sign; they lit what little oil they had. And the miracle of Chanukah is not that oil burned longer than expected, but that faith and courage kept burning when reason said they couldn’ t. Hershel didn’ t run; he faced the goblins with humor and resolve. And we, in our generation, continue this powerful legacy.
Each candle we light declares a Jewish truth:
You tried to frighten us— but we are still here.
You tried to silence us— but our songs and prayers endure.
You tried to darken our world— but our light grows stronger.
When today’ s world feels unrecognizable, we must remember Hershel, the Maccabees, the prisoners in Siberia, the hostages, and the soldiers in Gaza. May the lights we kindle this year remind us that even the smallest flame— of faith, courage, or kindness— can transform the deepest night into the first light of dawn.
Chanukah sameach— Happy Chanukah.