We were reminiscing about our Chanukah celebrations over the years, and my daughter reminded us of her favorite Chanukah during a major storm 10 years ago.

On the 7th night of Chanukah, the electricity went off in our Indiana town. Temperatures were near zero, ice hung from the wires and the night was long and dark.

As the temperature in the house went down, we lit up our fireplace, and my children, then 8 and 10, brought out the sleeping bags. I cooked a simple dinner over the fire and we lit the menorah. The overwhelming darkness made our menorah shine brighter than usual.

We sang songs and played games and took turns keeping the fire going. All of us, including the cat and dog, were content. The next morning, my husband and I were a bit sore from sleeping on the floor, but the kids thought it was a great adventure. The outdoors was beautiful and we enjoyed the slowness of the day. We called neighbors to make sure they were all right, but we all stayed at home.

During the late afternoon, the electricity went back on. We rushed to turn on the computer, the television, and the stove. The normal routine hummed in our house.

That evening, as we lit the menorah for the last time, the oil seemed dimmer. My daughter sighed. “It was so much more fun with the electricity off.”

Talking to my friends, most complained about the blackout inconveniences, including being cooped up with the children all day.

"There was NOTHING to do. We had to be with each other ALL day," everyone grumbled.

I felt just the opposite — that the inconveniences were not intensified but rather were gone — the phone calls, the shopping, the chores, the interruptions — and here was an serene island of time that serendipitously had come our way.

I recently read a book, Turbulent Souls by Stephen Dubner, who was raised as a Catholic by parents who had converted from Judaism. He rediscovered his Jewish roots and returned to Judaism.

In his interesting memoir, he writes about the Jewish family. “Judaism is a home based tradition. Unlike Catholicism, where most pious acts and reverences are performed in the church, many of our Mitzvos are done at home.”

The family has a special place in Jewish ritual, for good reason. Time spent at home with Shabbos or Chanukah candles, cleaning the house before Pesach or for building the sukkah forces us to spend time together. Too often, our increasingly busy schedules take precedence. Work hours, meetings, shopping and socializing fill our days. Where are the extra hours that are needed for our families?

Dubner's words apply in a special way to Chanukah, the most visible Jewish holiday in a Christian country. The acts of "reverence" he writes about are not the presents, trips or the parties. The fight to preserve Judaism parallels our own generation's fight against assimilation and increasing consumerism.

The time we spend with our children surpasses any gift or trip. After the gifts are outgrown or thrown away, the memories of childhood and family filled with hours spent with parents, siblings and extended family become the foundation for our children's own parenting style.

These hours may be spent on a luxurious trip but they may also be spent together in simple moments, cooking dinner, shoveling snow or reading. The seeming simple moments are our strength and inspiration for future days.

That Chanukah night in Indiana a decade ago, sitting with my children in the dark, illuminated only by our menorah and fireplace, was one of our more memorable Chanukah nights. There were no presents, no movies -- we sang songs, told stories and just enjoyed each other's company.

The Rabbis debated where the menorah should be placed. Should the menorah’s light shine outside the home, or inside?

The conclusion was that under normal circumstances, the menorah should be near a window so that all on the outside could see its light. During times of trouble, the Menorah was placed to shine on the inside, hidden from the outside world.

Where should we place our menorah in our era? What kind of times do we live in? To paraphrase Charles Dickens, we live in the best of times and the worst of times. Today in America, we have the most freedom Jews ever had, yet we are uneasy.

Assimilation and divisiveness plague us, and we are anxious about terrorism in Israel and around the world.

Therefore, our menorah should be placed so its lights shine in and shine out. The lights should shine out so the world sees our determination to continue as a people. They should also shine inside our homes, reminding us that the victory of Chanukah was less a military one than a spiritual one. The fight against values that place the Jewish family and spirituality at the bottom of our priorities is as important now as in the Maccabees’ time. Our struggle is no less difficult now, but it is worth fighting.

May Chanukah shine on your family this year and for many years to come.