Boy in Hong Kong Transforms a Life by Lighting Menorah on TV

Over thirty years ago, a young woman, distanced from Yiddishkeit, stumbled upon a televised Chanukah Live. Captivated by the Rebbe’s words about the power of a single candle to illuminate the entire world, her life took a transformative turn.

By Rabbi Sholom Dovber Avtzon

Although this story happened over thirty years ago, on Chanukah 5752 (1991), I just heard it this year, from a member of the family that it occurred with. I also verified it with my brother Rabbi Mordechai Avtzon, who is the shliach to Hong Kong as well as others who were involved in this story. Nevertheless, I am not mentioning any names as some of those in the story may prefer anonymity.

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Our family grew up in a large Jewish community, but we did not fully observe the mitzvos. Over time, however, a few of the children were drawn closer to authentic Judaism until our entire immediate family became observant. That feeling, however, did not necessarily extend to the extended family. Despite this, my parents maintained close friendships with all family members, as we were a very close-knit group. Everyone attended one another’s celebrations, and sometimes we would gather for family picnics or barbecues.

One of my mother’s sisters did not have an easy life. Although she and her husband were blessed with two daughters, they faced many challenges, and their daughters grew up in a somewhat dysfunctional atmosphere. One of these daughters was musically inclined and, as a teenager, took lessons from a non-Jewish instructor. Under his guidance, she made tremendous progress and found comfort in music. She looked up to him not only as a teacher but also as a father figure or mentor, believing he had her best interests at heart. She saw that his household seemed happy and tranquil—something she had longed for while growing up. Noticing that his family members were religious, she assumed that might be the key to their contentment. When he suggested that she practice some religious rituals, she was open to it. After a short time, she began wearing a cross on her necklace, just as the women in his home did.

The next time there was a family gathering, she attended as she usually did, but this time, she wore the necklace. One of her cousins—or perhaps an uncle or aunt—commented that, while they were not religious, they would never wear a cross and felt it was not proper for her to do so. This offended her tremendously. She wondered why it was such a problem. Her parents and most of her extended family, besides those who had become religious, were not observant, and she had been raised without Jewish values. She felt that Judaism had not given her the peace she now found in her new beliefs. She left the gathering determined to sever all ties with the family.

Some months later, when her mentor advised her to meet a young man, she immediately agreed. After some time, they decided to get married. The fact that he was not Jewish did not bother her because, as mentioned, she had no connection to Judaism. By this time, her profession was musical therapy, and she would play music for patients in the hospital. One day, while relaxing at home, she began scrolling through the cable channels to find something interesting to watch. To her surprise, she came across a broadcast of a rabbi standing near a menorah while a large crowd sang a lively tune. She had no idea that the rabbi was the Lubavitcher Rebbe and had never heard of him. Something about that moment captured her attention—perhaps the peacefulness on his face or the joy emanating from him and the crowd—so she decided to watch.

She thought some of her patients, especially the Jewish ones, would enjoy this, so she recorded the program to show them later. She was mesmerized, especially when she saw the Chief Rabbi of Israel lighting the menorah at the Kosel and the Chief Rabbi of France lighting it by the Eiffel Tower. She assumed all the individuals lighting menorahs in other countries were prominent personalities. Then she saw a young boy, around eleven or twelve, lighting the menorah in Hong Kong. She figured he must be special as well.

The rabbi in Brooklyn then began to speak. She didn’t understand the language, but she followed the English transliteration at the bottom of the screen. She heard him say something she found deeply profound: that each night we add one candle to the menorah, and that one additional light brightens not only the room but the entire world—even when lit by a young boy in Hong Kong. She found this concept fascinating and planned to share it with her patients. She also decided to send it to her cousins, realizing that everything she had been seeking could be found in authentic Judaism.

The rabbi in Brooklyn then began to speak. She didn’t understand the language, but she followed the English transliteration at the bottom of the screen. She heard him say something she found deeply profound: that each night we add one candle to the menorah, and that one additional light brightens not only the room but the entire world. She found this concept fascinating and planned to share it with her patients. She also decided to send it to her cousins, realizing that everything she had been seeking could be found in authentic Judaism.

When my mother, her aunt, received the recording, she was thrilled that her niece was willing to reconnect with Judaism and her family. Little did the niece know that the rabbi on the broadcast was the Rebbe. My mother wrote a letter to the Rebbe, explaining that her niece had broken ties with the family and Judaism many years ago. Now, after watching the Rebbe’s Chanukah rally, she had sent them a recording. My mother asked the Rebbe for advice on how to help her niece reconnect with Judaism.

Rabbi Binyomin Klein, one of the Rebbe’s secretaries, called my mother with the Rebbe’s reply: she should check the mezuzah on her niece’s apartment. This confused my mother for two reasons. First, she worried that visiting her niece uninvited might seem intrusive and push her away again. Second, she knew her niece didn’t have a mezuzah, so there was nothing to check. She relayed this to Rabbi Klein, who responded, “What would you do if there was a mezuzah and you found out it wasn’t kosher? You would buy a new one. So now, buy her a mezuzah and send it to her. Even if she doesn’t place it on the doorframe, she will at least have something Jewish in her possession.”

That is exactly what my mother did. Soon afterward, my sister became engaged. My mother invited this niece to the wedding, as she had done for all previous simchas. Nobody expected her to attend—but to everyone’s surprise, she did, and this time she was not wearing the cross necklace. When my mother saw her, she ran over and warmly thanked her for coming.

During the Sheva Brachos, a family member recounted the entire story of how a half-hour of watching the Rebbe on television transformed this young woman’s life—especially the Rebbe’s statement about how one candle can illuminate the entire world. Everyone was silent, marveling at the hashgacha pratis of her stumbling upon the annual Chanukah Live broadcast. Suddenly, the chosson broke the silence and announced, “I was that young boy in Hong Kong fourteen years ago!”

It turned out that the newest member of the family had been the catalyst for this cousin’s return to her family and her Jewish identity. A few years later, she was blessed with a child and enrolled the child in a Jewish school. This story reminds us how the light of one candle truly has the power to illuminate the world.