I’ve had a hard time deciding what to write about this week. I seem to be caught between light and darkness. Do I talk about the longest night of the year? Light dispelling dark? Living in dark times, and being light-bringers?

Darkness and light are partners. In the natural world they balance each other; in six months we will experience the shortest night of the year.

It’s Hanukkah, so light is on my mind. My Hanukkah candles are unimportant in full daylight but significant in their ability to dispel the dark as night falls.

So how do we balance the dark and light in our own lives?

To be honest, I’m feeling a little conflicted. I believe fervently in the power of each person to make a difference. Even the smallest of efforts matter. But the darkness feels so huge, and the flames in my menorah are so tiny. And they are gone so quickly.

And then I look down at the small dog by my feet. He is 15 years old. Some days he can barely walk, because his hind legs are pretty wonky. He doesn’t have many teeth left, and his breath smells awful. He barks too much and is always underfoot.

He was on the brink of homelessness when I took him in. His original owner suggested I put him down, since she didn’t want him back. My vet says he’s a hospice case, and she’ll help me keep him alive until his quality of life crumbles completely.

I already had two dogs, both seniors, both rescues. Between the three of them I spend a fortune on specialty foods, and an inordinate amount of time caring for them.

He’s just an old, smelly dog. Not someone’s beloved mother or handicapped child. He has no potential. In the general scheme of things, he simply doesn’t matter. So, on the grand scale of life and our purpose here on earth, do all my efforts on his behalf really matter?

The answer came in a poem by a congregant of my friend Rabbi Emily Stern. The woman wrote:

Tonight my rabbi said

(Paraphrasing)

That the purpose of the Hanukkah candles

Is to remind us

-to help us find our way back to-

The light

The inextinguishable light

Inside of all of us.

I think Rabbi Emily got it right. Each night of Hanukah, I can bring forth a little more of my own light, reminding myself that whatever I do, wherever I go, and whoever I can help, I am enough.

My light is enough to help a small dog through his last days. Enough to reach out beyond myself to try, even just a little, to make the world a better place for all.