While the settlers light the Hanukkah menorah on our stolen land, their flames consume the shadows where our children used to play, and where our homes and trees once witnessed life before being taken from us. Every candle they raise is a reminder of absence—of every demolished home, and every dream cut short before it could grow. Their light today is not just light… it is the echo of occupation, shining over the heart of the land we carry in our memories before their maps.