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Jewish Thought of the Week (08/14/2026)

Fri, 14 Aug 2026 2:45:00 PM

Today we enter the month of Elul, the Jewish month leading up to the High Holidays.

This month of Elul is a time to prepare for growth, strengthen our connection with G-d, and increase in mitzvot—especially kindness and tzedakah, giving to those in need.

I want to share a story I heard from veteran Chabad Rabbi Shmuel Lew of London, England, may he live and be well.

A 12-year-old boy who looked different from his classmates was often excluded when they played together. His mother spoke to his Jewish school in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, but when the situation did not improve, she wrote to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson.

The Rebbe responded strongly. He warned the school that if they did not address the situation, he would personally come there (for context- this was unheard of)!

A few months later, the boy celebrated his Bar Mitzvah at a synagogue some distance from 770, the Rebbe’s synagogue in Brooklyn.

That Shabbat, the Rebbe would normally lead a farbrengen—a large gathering of teaching and song attended by thousands of people for a few hours. This was the community highlight in Crown Heights of the week.

But to everyone’s surprise, the Rebbe announced that there would be no farbrengen that day because of the boy’s Bar Mitzvah.

Now, there was enough time for people to attend the Bar Mitzvah and still return for the farbrengen. But the Rebbe wanted them to stay. He wanted the community to spend time with the boy, befriend him, and show him that he belonged.

Why was changing the whole community schedule so important?

Perhaps the answer can be found at the end of this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim.

The Torah describes what must happen when a person is found murdered outside a city and the killer is unknown. The elders of the closest town perform a special ceremony and declare, “Our hands did not spill this blood.” (Read the passage in Deuteronomy 21)

Our Sages ask an obvious question: Would anyone suspect these respected leaders of murder?

The answer is that they are declaring that they were not even indirectly responsible. Perhaps the victim passed through their town and no one offered him food or accompanied him on his way. Could they have done something that might have prevented the tragedy?

The Torah is teaching us that a community must take responsibility for every person.

Sometimes a person, especially a young person, feels lost or alone. They may be searching for friendship, meaning, or simply a place to belong.

Whose responsibility is it to notice and help?

The answer is: all of us.

The community could have said, “The way this boy is being treated is unfortunate, but it is not my problem.” They could have briefly attended his Bar Mitzvah and then hurried back to the Rebbe.

But the Rebbe was teaching something very different.

When someone feels excluded, we have a responsibility to help them feel that they belong. When someone is struggling, we cannot simply say, “It was not my fault.”

Every person matters. Every person belongs. And each of us has a responsibility to make sure they know it.

May this new month of Elul bring us closer to Hashem, and may we be blessed with a Shabbat of peace, joy, and true spiritual preparation for the coming year.

May we all be written and sealed for a good and sweet new year.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (08/07/2026)

Fri, 7 Aug 2026 3:11:00 PM

As the Jewish people prepared to enter the Promised Land, Moses shared a message with them that continues to speak to every generation, including ours:

“See, I give you today a blessing and a curse” (Deuteronomy 11:26).

Every word in this short statement matters.

“Blessing” reminds us that there is goodness in the world, placed within our reach.

“Curse” reminds us that there are negative forces we must reject and overcome. Being moral means recognizing the difference between good and bad—and choosing good.

“You” teaches that the choice is ours. We are responsible for what we do with the world placed in our hands.

“Today” tells us that our choices matter now. Their impact is not reserved for some distant future; it begins today.

But the most important word is the first: “See.”

Sight has a certainty that hearing and understanding do not. We may hear something convincing and still have questions. But when we see something ourselves, it becomes real.

That is why the prophets describe the Messianic era as a time of seeing: “Your eyes will see your Master” (Isaiah 30:20), and “All flesh together will see that the mouth of G‑d has spoken” (Isaiah 40:5). The world will not merely believe in G‑d. We will see the Divine truth within everything.

This is the message of the Torah portion Re’eh, which means “See.”

See the blessing. Recognize the goodness of G‑d, the world, and your own soul. The goodness is already there. Open your eyes and see it.

See the curse for what it truly is: a challenge meant to awaken your deepest strength and commitment. Darkness is only the absence of light. When we bring light, the darkness itself can be transformed into blessing.

See yourself. Know who you are: a child of G‑d, given the ability to become His partner in perfecting the world. Many of our limitations begin when we fail to recognize our own potential.

And see today. Do not leave goodness and G‑dliness as abstract ideas. Look for them in the world around you and bring them to light now.

In recent years, the Rebbe repeatedly asked: What remains to be done?

Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David, Solomon, Elijah, Ezra, Maimonides, the Baal Shem Tov, and generations of Jewish people each did their part to make this world a home for G‑d.

We experienced the Exodus and the Revelation at Sinai. We entered the Promised Land and built the Holy Temple. We studied Torah, spread across the world, endured exile and persecution, and survived the Holocaust.

What remains?

The Rebbe said over 30 years ago that everything is ready.

We only need to open our eyes and see.

So I ask you, dear reader, what does opening your eyes and seeing mean to you?

Email me at yhein@jewishpittsford.com - I would love to hear your thoughts.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (07/31/2026)

Fri, 31 Jul 2026 2:25:00 PM

There is believing—and then there is believing.

The founder of Chabad, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi (1745–1812), would exclaim at moments of great inspiration, "A Jew neither wants nor even can be separated from G-d."

The Rebbe would often quote the Midrash's description of the Jewish people as "believers, the children of believers." Faith is not something Jews acquire. It is who they are. Period. Sometimes it is obvious this person is a "believer". Sometimes it is buried beneath years of fear, pressure, or distance. Still, the MIdrash says, they are a "child of believers" and it is always there, waiting to express itself when the time arises.

This coming Monday, the 20th of Av, marks the yahrtzeit of the Rebbe's father, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson. We can imagine he was great man just by knowing his son, our Rebbe Menachem Schneerson. But let's take a look at this giant of a Jewish leader. As the chief rabbi of Dnepropetrovsk, one of Ukraine's largest cities, he inspired Jews to live proudly as Jews despite relentless Soviet persecution. In 1939, he was arrested and sentenced to five years of exile. Weakened by years of suffering, he tragicly passed away in 1946 shortly after completing his sentence.

Here is a story that took place a few years before his arrest:
One night there was a knock on his door late one evening. An elderly woman entered, looked around nervously, and quietly said:

"Rabbi, I have come from a distant city that I cannot identify. In one hour, at midnight, my daughter and son-in-law will arrive. They both hold high-ranking communist government positions, and coming here places them in great danger.

"I begged them to have a proper Jewish wedding. They finally agreed—but only on one condition: that the chuppah take place in your home."

Exactly at midnight, the couple arrived and were quickly escorted into a side room so no one would recognize them.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak immediately began preparing for the wedding.

There was just one problem. He needed a minyan.

It was well after midnight. The streets were empty, and anyone attending such a ceremony risked severe punishment. Somehow, he managed to gather nine Jewish men.

Only one was still missing.

Now in the same apartment building lived a young Jewish man appointed by the Soviet authorities to watch the building and report any suspicious religious activity in the rabbi's home.

Shockingly, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak sent for him.

When the young man arrived, the rabbi calmly said, "I need you to be the tenth man for a minyan so I can perform this wedding."

"Me?" he exclaimed, recoiling as though he had been bitten by a snake.

"Yes," replied the rabbi. "You."

The young man quickly shut every window and closed every shutter.

Then, without another word, he took his place.

The ketubah was written.

The bride and groom emerged from their hiding place. The bride's face was covered with her veil, and the groom tried to hide his own face so he would not be recognized.

The blessings were recited.

The ring was placed on the bride's finger.

"Behold, you are betrothed to me..."

A new Jewish home had been built.

By 1:30 in the morning, the bride, groom, and almost all the guests had quietly disappeared into the night.

Only two men remained with the Rabbi.

With tears in their eyes, they approached Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.

"Rabbi, we are members of the Communist Party. But from this moment on, we are with you. We do not want to be separated from you. All of this"—they said, holding up their Party membership cards—"means nothing compared to what we experienced here tonight."

And what about the tenth man—the government informant?

Until that night, he faithfully reported everything that happened in the rabbi's home.

The midnight chuppah never passed his lips.

The Rebbe undoubtedly learned from his father what he would later teach so often: every Jew is a believer, the child of believers.

Sometimes people don't need us to give them faith.

They need someone who believes they already have it.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak looked past the fear, the uniform, and the Party card. He saw the soul beneath it all. And when someone is seen that way, the faith that was always there has a chance to shine.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (07/24/2026)

Fri, 24 Jul 2026 2:41:00 PM

I watched a video this week that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

It tells the story of the Katz family following the tragic loss of their young daughter, Charlotte. The driver involved in the accident wasn't a stranger—it was one of the father's closest friends. In the midst of unimaginable grief, Charlotte's father made a choice few people could comprehend. Rather than allowing anger to consume him, he embraced his friend, forgave him, and helped him carry the unbearable weight of what had happened.

Then the family did something even more remarkable. They turned their tragedy into a movement called Shalom for Charlotte, encouraging people around the world to forgive someone, let go of an old grudge, or make peace with another person. Such a simple idea, yet so profound.

If you have a few minutes, I highly recommend watching the film and story here (I've also included it below). You can also learn about the Shalom for Charlotte initiative and take the pledge here: https://shalomforcharlotte.com/

When I finished watching, I found myself asking:

How does someone find the strength to do that? Inspiring, no doubt. But how does an ordinary person respond that way?

Here are some thoughts on that...

The film was released Wednesday night, just as Tisha B'Av, the Ninth of Av—the Jewish people's national day of mourning—began.

Yesterday we observed Tisha B'Av. We remembered the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem. We also remembered many other tragedies that became connected with this day throughout Jewish history, including the Crusades, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, and the outbreak of World War I, which ultimately paved the way for World War II and the Holocaust.

Most people know Tisha B'Av as a day of mourning.

What is far less known is that just six days later comes the 15th of Av. The Talmud makes a remarkable statement:

"There were no greater festivals for Israel than the Fifteenth of Av and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement)." (Taanis 26b)

The Talmud lists several reasons for this celebration: ancient divisions between the tribes came to an end, the tribe of Benjamin was welcomed back into the Jewish people, roadblocks preventing Jews from making pilgrimage to Jerusalem were removed, and other events that brought renewed unity and hope.

Yet you still have to ask:

Why does the Talmud describe this as the happiest day of the year—even more than Passover, celebrating the Exodus from Egypt, or Purim, celebrating the salvation of the Jewish people?

The Rebbe offers a beautiful insight.

The fifteenth day of every Jewish month is the full moon. Just as the moon reaches its fullest point, the fifteenth represents the fullest expression of that month's spiritual theme.

Passover falls on the fifteenth of the month of Nissan because it celebrates the complete redemption from Egypt.

Sukkot begins on the fifteenth of the month of Tishrei because it celebrates the complete joy that follows Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement).

So what is the fullest expression of the month of Av—a month identified with loss and destruction?

Our Sages teach something astonishing. On the very day the Holy Temple was destroyed, Moshiach (the Messiah) was born (Jerusalem Talmud, Berachot 2:4; Eichah Rabbah 1:51).

In other words, at the very moment the destruction began, G-d had already begun the redemption.

From our perspective, all we could see was darkness. From G-d's perspective, a new future had already begun.

Perhaps that is why the 15th of Av is seen as the high point of the month and described as one of the happiest days. It reminds us that even in moments we cannot begin to understand, G-d may already be bringing about something far greater than we can see.

This may seem like a perspective reserved for G-d alone—to see redemption where everyone else sees only destruction. Yet from time to time, G-d gives people a glimpse of that perspective.

Perhaps that is what Charlotte's father was able to do.

He didn't deny the tragedy. He didn't minimize the pain. He chose to live from a perspective larger than the tragedy itself. He believed that heartbreak would not have the final word. Instead of allowing suffering to create more suffering, he responded with forgiveness, healing, and hope.

This Shabbos is known as Shabbat Nachamu, the "Shabbos of Comfort," named after the opening words of this week's prophetic reading:

"Comfort, comfort My people," says your G-d. (Isaiah 40:1)

Why the double expression, "Comfort, comfort"?

Perhaps because after experiencing such deep pain, we need a deeper comfort. We need to know not only that G-d is with us in our pain, but that He is already preparing what comes next. The comfort is not only that suffering will one day end—it is that redemption has already begun, even if we cannot yet see it.

Faith doesn't always answer our questions. But it does remind us that G-d's story is bigger than the chapter we are living through. Even when we cannot yet see where life is heading, He has already begun writing the next chapter. Sometimes, He even gives us the strength to live with that perspective today.

As we enter Shabbat Nachamu and approach the 15th of Av, may we be blessed to find hope even in difficult moments, experience G-d's comfort, and merit to witness the ultimate redemption with the coming of Moshiach (the Messiah) and the rebuilding of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, speedily in our days.

Wishing you and your family a peaceful, meaningful, and uplifting Shabbos.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Yitzi Hein
Chabad of Pittsford

Jewish Thought of the Week (07/17/2026)

Fri, 17 Jul 2026 12:58:00 PM

Forty years.

That's how long Moses led the Jewish people through their highs and lows. He witnessed the Exodus, the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, the Golden Calf, the sin of the spies, Korach's rebellion, countless complaints, and countless miracles.

This week we begin the fifth and final book of the Torah, Deuteronomy. Moses is no longer leading the people through these events. Instead, he looks back, preparing the Jewish people for the next chapter by reflecting on the last forty years.

As Moses looks back, he teaches us how to look back as well. We don't ignore our failures or pretend they never happened. We can choose to see them as stepping stones that help us grow and bring us closer to our purpose and our shared Jewish mission.

Moses was an extraordinary leader. But perhaps his greatest gift was teaching us how to have vision.

That is also the message of this week's Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat before the Ninth of Av, when we remember the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE.

It is called Shabbat Chazon ("Sabbath of Vision") because the Haftarah begins with the words, "The vision of Isaiah." The Haftarah speaks about the failures that led to the destruction of the Holy Temple, but it ends with a promise of redemption if the Jewish people return to G-d.

The vision is also personal to each of us.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, an eighteenth-century Chassidic master, taught that on this Shabbat, G-d gives every Jew a special vision of the Third Holy Temple. He explained it with the following parable:

A loving father has a beautiful garment waiting for his son. The son is still too young to wear it, so the father keeps it safely tucked away. Every so often, he takes it out and shows it to his son. He isn't trying to frustrate him. He wants his son to remember what is waiting for him and to grow into the person who will one day wear it.

So too, on this Shabbat, G-d gives each of us a special vision of the future He has prepared for the Jewish people. That vision changes how we see both our past and our present. What feels like failure is no longer the whole story. It is one side of the coin. On the other side is the opportunity for deeper growth, greater redemption, and a stronger connection to our purpose. When we hold onto that vision, even our setbacks can become stepping stones toward the future G-d is calling us to build.

How do we carry this vision into the rest of the year?

By adding more Judaism to our lives. Every mitzvah and every Torah class helps us see life with greater clarity. The teachings of Chassidus, in particular, help us develop that vision.

This Shabbat, allow yourself to envision a beautiful future world. Think of one small mitzvah or a Torah class you could join weekly. Small steps change the way we see ourselves, our lives, and our future.

Shabbat Shalom! Good Shabbos!

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (07/10/2026)

Fri, 10 Jul 2026 11:39:00 AM

Dear Friends,

This month we mark Jewish Education Awareness Month, reminding us of one of Judaism's highest priorities. (See the end of this email for a special Jewish Education Month offer.)

We are all jugglers, trying to make room in our lives for everything that matters. But it is not enough that every priority is present. The order we assign to them is just as important.

Some classic examples how vital Jewish education are:

1) Before we even left Egypt, G-d commanded us, "Tell your son on that day..." about the miracles of the Exodus. The story of our people is meant to be passed from parent to child.

2) The Sages teach that G-d gave the Torah only after the Jewish people presented their children as its guarantors.

3) This priority is reflected even in the holiest place on earth. Wherever a Jew is, we pray facing Jerusalem. In Jerusalem we face the Holy Temple. In the Holy Temple we face the Holy of Holies. There, atop the Holy Ark, stood two golden figures with the faces of children.

4) At the very place where Heaven and Earth meet, the Torah reminds us what should always be at the center of our attention: our children.

The Torah makes this priority unmistakable. Although building the Holy Temple is one of the greatest commandments, we do not interrupt a child's Torah study even to build it.

The message : success is meaningful only if it does not come at the expense of the next generation.

This week's double Torah portion, Matot-Masei, illustrates the same lesson.

The tribes of Gad and Reuven, blessed with abundant livestock, asked to settle east of the Jordan where the grazing land was ideal. They told Moses they would first build pens for their flocks and then cities for their families before helping the other tribes conquer the Land.

Moses corrected them: "Build cities for your children and pens for your flocks." Rashi explains that they had reversed the proper order, putting their possessions before their children.

This is a mistake that can happen easily. When people are focused on building stability and securing their future, it is natural to become preoccupied with material needs. Moses, as their leader, reminds them to maintain the correct priorities: first ensure the well-being of your children, and only afterward attend to your possessions.

A beautiful story about the Rebbe brings this lesson to life.

Rabbi Shmaryahu Gurary (the Rashag), who oversaw the worldwide Lubavitch yeshivah network, was traveling to South America to raise funds. Since he had no contacts there, his cousin, the successful businessman Rabbi Zalman Gurary, agreed to accompany him—but only if Rashag arranged a private audience with the Rebbe.

During the meeting, Rabbi Zalman began asking for a blessing regarding a delayed shipment that was costing him a fortune.

The Rebbe gently interrupted him.

"You're known as a successful businessman," the Rebbe said. "I expected your first request to be a blessing that your children and grandchildren bring you true Jewish pride and joy."

Rabbi Zalman immediately replied, "That is what I truly want."

The Rebbe gave him that blessing.

We all have many responsibilities to juggle. The Torah does not ask us to neglect them. It asks us to keep them in the proper order.

Our greatest investment is never our possessions or accomplishments. It is our children—and the generations that follow.

Shabbat Shalom!

Good Shabbos!

P.S. In honor of Jewish Education Awareness Month, we're offering 10% off through July 31 for Bet Club (ages 3–4), JKids Hebrew School (ages 5–10), and Bar/Bat Mitzvah Club (ages 11–12).

There is no greater investment than investing in our children. We'd love to partner with your family.

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Chabad of Pittsford & Jkids/Cteen Rochester

Direct line 585.340.7545

www.JewishPittsford.com

Jewish Thought of the Week (06/26/2026)

Fri, 26 Jun 2026 2:38:00 PM

Dear Friends,

A person with clear vision doesn't just see the challenge—they can also see the opportunity hidden inside it.

This week's (first ) Parshah, Chukas, tells the story of the fiery snakes. In short, after the Jewish people complained once again, Hashem sent poisonous snakes that bit them, and many people died.

Realizing their mistake, the people turned to Moshe. Hashem told him to make a copper snake and place it on a pole. Anyone who had been bitten could look at it and be healed.

The Talmud points out something fascinating: it wasn't the copper snake that healed anyone. The healing came when people looked upward and turned their hearts to Hashem.

But if the goal was simply to get everyone to look up, why make a snake? Why use the very thing that caused the pain?

Chassidus explains that sometimes the challenge itself contains the key to our growth. The snake, which represents the Yetzer Hara (inner evil inclination) and the struggles we all face, isn't just something to avoid—it can become the catalyst that pushes us to discover strengths and faith we didn't know we had.

When we only look down at the problem, all we see is fear, frustration, and pain. Hashem tells us to look up—to search for the deeper purpose behind what we're experiencing. That shift in perspective doesn't erase the challenge, but it can transform what the challenge does to us.

It's interesting that even today, antivenom is made from tiny amounts of snake venom. In a very real sense, the cure comes from the source of the danger itself.

Many of life's hardest moments work the same way. We wouldn't choose them, but they often reveal resilience, courage, and spiritual depth that would have remained hidden otherwise.

This Shabbos is the 12th of Tammuz, marking the 99th anniversary of the release of the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe from Soviet prison. What looked like a devastating setback ultimately opened the door for him to leave the Soviet Union and dramatically expand Torah, Jewish life, and Chassidus around the world. His work was later carried forward on an unprecedented global scale by the Rebbe.

Looking back, the prison wasn't the end of the story—it became part of the story of redemption.

We don't always understand why challenges happen. But Parshas Chukas reminds us that if we learn to look upward, we may discover that what seemed like the obstacle was also preparing us for our greatest.

Shabbat Shalom!

Good Shabbos!

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (06/12/26)

Fri, 12 Jun 2026 12:32:00 PM

Dear Friends,

Sports history was made this past Wednesday night.

In Game 4 of the NBA Finals, the Knicks found themselves down by 29 points against the Spurs! Yet they mounted the biggest comeback in Finals history to win 107-106 with 2 seconds to go!

After the game, a reporter asked Knicks' point guard Jalen Brunson, “How on earth did that just happen?”

His answer: “One word that captures it all is just believe.”

And he went on to explain that it came from the players believing in each other, believing in the process, and chipping away one possession at a time. It wasn't going to be one big play that changed everything. It was about “hitting singles, getting on base,” and continuing to chip away.

What a lesson for all of us in our own high stress "games" in life!

The great Jewish Chassidic mystic the Baal Shem Tov taught that everything a person sees or hears contains a lesson for his life's mission and Divine service.

And like all life lessons, this one is incredibly well timed with this week's Parsha, Shelach, and the story of the spies.

The basic story: as the Jewish people stood poised to enter the Land of Israel, Moshe sent twelve scouts to gather information. He specifically asked them to report on the people living there, the cities, the land itself, and its produce. They came back and gave exactly that information with a negative conclusion: Despite G-d's promise , there is no way we can go up and conquer our Promised land. Only Kalev and Joshua were positive that despite the challenges they believed the Jewiih people could be successful.

At first glance, the story of the spies seems unfair. They were told to scout and report and they gave their honest assessment.

So why were ten of them punished?

The answer is that the truth isn't only about what you say. It's also about how you say it and why you're saying it.

The ten spies didn't just report facts. They interpreted those facts through the lens of fear.

Instead of saying, “These are the challenges we'll need to overcome,” they basically said, “There's no chance. We can't do this.”

They took accurate observations and because of their lens of fear they presented them in a way that crushed the people's confidence. They focused on the obstacles and ignored the promise that G-d Almighty had already given them: that they would succeed.

But Kalev and Joshua saw the exact same facts and reached a completely different conclusion.

They understood that challenges are not proof that something can't be done. Sometimes challenges are proof that something important is worth doing.

In many ways, Jalen Brunson was describing the mindset of Kalev and Joshua:

Believe. Keep chipping away. One possession at a time.

The Rebbe applied this idea to the social upheavals of the 1960s. Many people looked at a generation questioning authority and tradition and saw only danger. The Rebbe saw opportunity.

Just as the spies should have viewed the unusually large fruit as a sign of the Land's potential, the Rebbe saw young Jews searching for meaning as a tremendous source of future growth.

And history proved him right. Thousands of young Jews became committed, knowledgeable, and passionate about their Judaism.

The lesson for us is powerful.

G-d Almighty has promised that the world is moving toward redemption. That outcome isn't in doubt.

What is in doubt is how we choose to look at the obstacles along the way.

When we focus only on what's wrong, we can become like the spies—seeing every challenge as evidence that success is impossible.

But when we view challenges as opportunities to grow, create, and make a difference, we become like Kalev and Yehoshua.

The same reality can produce fear or faith.

The choice is ours.

Shabbat Shalom! Good Shabbos!
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (06/05/2026)

Fri, 5 Jun 2026 1:21:00 PM

Dear Friends,

At what age should a person retire?

In some countries and workplaces, there is a mandatory retirement age. In others, forcing someone to retire because of age is considered discrimination.

This week's Parsha, Behaalosecho, gives us an interesting perspective.

The Levites were instructed to perform their regular duties until the age of fifty. But they did not retire from serving.

The Levites served in the Mishkan, the portable Temple that accompanied the Jewish people in the desert. Their responsibilities included carrying the Mishkan's components during travel, providing music for the Temple service, and serving as guards at its entrances.

At age fifty, they stopped carrying the heavy parts of the Mishkan and no longer played the instruments. But they continued to sing, stand guard, and assist the younger Levites—important roles that were less physically demanding.

The Rebbe often discouraged the idea of retirement. If someone could no longer work at the same pace because of age or other circumstances, their workload could be adjusted. But as long as a person is able, they should continue contributing.

There are two important reasons for this.

The first is spiritual. Every day of life is another opportunity to make a positive impact on the world. That is why we are here. Time is precious whether you are twenty or seventy-five.

Hashem continued creating the world until the very last moments of the sixth day. This teaches us the value of every minute. As long as we are given another day of life, there is still something meaningful for us to contribute.

The second reason is practical. Many people notice that when they retire completely, they begin to age more quickly—both mentally and physically. Some have even suggested that people do not stop working because they have become old; rather, they become old because they stop working.

Two stories about the Rebbe illustrate this idea.

When the Rebbe turned seventy, some people advised him to slow down. Instead, he announced that Chabad would establish seventy-one new institutions during the coming year.

A few months later, Rabbi Aron Dov Sufrin, head of education for Lubavitch in London, visited the Rebbe. Rabbi Sufrin had just turned forty-two. He had achieved remarkable success, but he felt burned out. He wanted to step back from his position and take on something less demanding.

The Rebbe smiled and said, "Learn from me. I recently turned seventy and committed to building seventy-one new institutions. I would like you to undertake forty-three new projects."

These could include launching new programs, helping additional families, publishing articles, or finding other ways to expand his impact.

At the same time, the Rebbe understood that some people either choose or need to retire from their careers. For them, he established a worldwide network of Kolel Levi Yitzchak groups, where retirees gather daily to study Torah, socialize, and continue growing. Thousands of people have enriched their later years through these programs.

Another example is Jerry Grafstein, a successful businessman and former Canadian senator.

When he celebrated his eightieth birthday, he invited the Rabbi of the Kotel to attend. The rabbi was unable to leave Israel, so Grafstein asked him instead to pray for the success of a new business venture he was launching—publishing in Chinese and Japanese.

The rabbi was surprised. Why would an eighty-year-old start such an ambitious project?

Grafstein explained that years earlier, as he approached fifty, he had become discouraged. Looking back on his life, he felt he had not accomplished enough. His wife suggested that he seek the advice of the Rebbe.

During a private audience, the Rebbe asked him, "Who was the greatest Jewish leader?"

"Moshe Rabbeinu," Grafstein answered.

The Rebbe pointed out that Moshe only began leading the Jewish people at the age of eighty. How was that possible? Because Moshe was not focused on what he had already accomplished. He focused on what he could still accomplish.

People who spend their lives looking backward grow old. People who keep looking forward to new opportunities remain young.

Thirty years later, Grafstein decided to follow that advice and launch an ambitious new project.

Perhaps that is one of the secrets to staying young—not measuring life by what we have already done, but by the unique difference we can still make.

Shabbat Shalom!

Good Shabbos!

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (05/29/2026)

Fri, 29 May 2026 12:12:00 PM

Dear Friends,

How relevant are our private actions to anyone else?

This is a basic Jewish belief: nothing we do is truly isolated. Every mitzvah, every word, every choice—even one private thought—has an effect.

But how does that actually work?

Maimonides, known as the Rambam, teaches that a person should view himself—and the entire world—as perfectly balanced between good and evil. One action can tip the scale toward good and bring redemption to oneself and to the whole world.

At first, this sounds hard to understand. Can one private decision really matter that much?

This week’s Parsha, Nasso, gives us a powerful answer.

The Torah describes the dedication of the Mishkan, the portable Tabernacle in the desert. For twelve days, the leader of each tribe brought an offering to inaugurate the altar. The seventh day fell on Shabbos, and it was the turn of the tribe of Ephraim, a descendant of Joseph—Yosef.

Normally, a private offering in the temple does not override Shabbat. Only a communal offering does. Yet Ephraim’s leader was allowed to bring his personal offering. Why?

The Midrash explains that this was in the merit of Yosef, who kept Shabbos in Egypt even before the Torah was given.

But the Rebbe asks: how is this a reward? Yosef kept Shabbos, so his descendant was allowed to seemingly “break” Shabbos?

The answer is that Yosef’s greatness was not only that he remained righteous. He understood that his private choices were not really private.

Alone in Egypt, far from family, sold as a slave, and surrounded by corruption, Yosef could have said: “No one will know. No one will care.”

Yet when he was tested with Potifar’s wife to sin, he ran away.

The Talmud says Yosef saw the image of his father Yaakov. Our Sages teach that Yaakov’s appearance reflected Adam, the first human being. It was as if Yosef was being told: learn from Adam. One act can affect all of humanity.

That awareness gave Yosef strength. He knew his actions mattered not only to himself, but to the world.

Because Yosef lived with that sense of responsibility for the community, his descendant’s offering was treated like a communal offering. It was not a violation of Shabbos. It was an elevation of Shabbos.

This interconnectedness is the Jewish view of life.

Chassidus explains it this way: the world is like one living organism. Just as one part is not separate from the whole, one individual is not separate from creation. A small action in one part can affect the entire organism; in the same way, one mitzvah, one act of self-control, or one quiet moment of goodness sends spiritual energy through the world. Because G-d is the source of all life, everything is connected at its root. When one person brings more holiness into their own life, the larger world changes too.

The way we act when nobody is watching matters.

A kind word matters.

The content we consume matters.

Even choices no one else ever hears about leave a spiritual imprint.

A story: Reb Mendel Futerfas(1906–1995) was a Chassidic Jew who was sentenced to 9 years in the Soviet gulag for keeping religion alive in the former USSR. Being away from his family and community for so long, he would sometimes daven Mincha (afternoon prayer) alone in the forest. To strengthen himself, he would think: “This may be a place where no one ever prayed before. By praying here, I am bringing this corner of the world—and therefore the entire world—closer to redemption.”

That is the power of one hidden action.

The world is changed not only by public speeches and dramatic moments, but by quiet acts of integrity, courage, and holiness that nobody else may ever see.

Shabbat Shalom!

Good Shabbos!

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Because that's where the people are

Fri, 15 May 2026 2:26:00 PM

Dear Friends,

A journalist once asked a bank robber why he kept targeting banks.

The old bank robber just shrugged and said, "Because that's where the money is."

If you were G-d, which place would you pick to meet the Jewish people to give them the Torah?

There are so many beautiful, scenic, and majestic places in Israel that would seem like fitting backdrops for the giving of the Torah.
So why, then, was the Torah given in a barren desert, rather than waiting until the Jewish people reached a more comfortable environment?

The Rebbe offers an incisive explanation: the Torah was given in the desert because that is where the Jewish people were at that time. The entire purpose of the Exodus was to receive the Torah, and the desert was their very first stop after leaving Egypt.

The Torah is called Toras Chaim—a Torah of life. Life cannot be suspended, not even for a day or an hour. Regardless of one’s circumstances or level of comfort, the moment is more important than the place, the scenery, or anything else.

Seizing the moment is essential not only because of what we use it for, but because the moment itself is priceless and irretrievable.

This week’s Parsha, Bamidbar, means “in the desert.” It is always read before Shavuot, which commemorates the giving of the Torah in the desert—emphasizing that no time should be wasted.

We count the 49 days from Pesach to Shavuos to impress upon us the importance of time. Time, on one hand, is constant: each day consists of 24 hours, each hour of 60 minutes, and each minute of 60 seconds. Yet once it passes, it is gone forever.

On the other hand, we have the ability to make every day—and every moment—eternal by filling it with meaning and purpose.

A fascinating story is told of Rabbi Dovid ben Zimra (known by his acronym RADVAZ), who lived in the 15th and 16th centuries. In his long life, he authored many works, but he is best known for the thousands of responsa he wrote to seekers, scholars, and laypeople alike.

Here was a tragic letter he received: A Jewish man was imprisoned because he had fallen behind on rent payments. In those days, if you didn't pay up to the local landowner, you were imprisoned. This unfortunate Jew was told he would remain in the dungeon until the debt was paid. Unfortunately, this man had to stay there for a while.

The landowner visited him in prison one day and said: “I am a humane person, even though I had to imprison you. To prove it, I will allow you to join your Jewish community for one day. You may choose which day.”

The man wondered which day to choose. Perhaps Yom Kippur, the holiest day? Or Rosh Hashanah, to hear the shofar? Or maybe Purim, to hear the Megillah? He wrote to the Radbaz asking which day he should choose.

The Radbaz replied: choose the day you receive this letter.

The message is clear: by all means, set up the best arrangements possible. But if for any reason you find yourself in a “desert,” the Torah still guides and illuminates that very situation.

Please make sure to be in shul next Friday to hear the Ten Commandments and to receive special blessings for your life. Click here for our Shabbat Garden Party and Shavuot schedule.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Thought of the Week (05/08/2026)

Fri, 8 May 2026 12:41:00 PM

Hi Friends,

Whether you were a frequent flyer on Spirit (I wasn't) or a frequent flyer at all (I am not that, either), you can't deny the allure that was in the Spirit ads. "$19 flights to Orlando!" The only thing they forgot to mention was that the seatbelt will cost you an additional $9.99, and using the restroom will cost you another $19.99...

Was Spirit Airlines good for the airline industry? The jury is still out. Some will claim that Spirit is to blame for all the ridiculous fees. Before Spirit, a flight included a free carry-on, free luggage, and, of course, refreshments. Now, in many airlines, basic tickets include basically nothing.

But I see it differently. Yes, all the fees are annoying. And yes, the airplane felt like a flying bus, but Spirit gave people who couldn't afford it before the ability to fly. The other airlines essentially told you: if you want to fly, you have to do it with all the bells and whistles. Spirit said otherwise: a hard chair on a plane is still a plane.

On a SpiritUal level (get it??), many people fall into the same trap as the traditional airlines. They view the connection to G-d as an all-or-nothing proposition. I've heard so many people tell me, "I will not put on Tefillin, I am not religious," or "Rabbi, I don't keep Shabbat, so I won't be coming to Shul," and so on.

If you are one of those, remember: flying is flying. And unlike the shabby airplanes of Spirit, every Mitzvah is beautiful, every Mitzvah makes your soul soar, every Mitzvah connects you to G-d in ways that will bring great joy to your life.

So, should you do one Mitzvah even if you are not ready to commit to all of them? Absolutely: that's the Spirit.

( Thank you Rabbi Mendy Kaminker for sharing)

Good Shabboos/Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Not too late — Dr. Edith Eger & Today's Little Known Jewish Holiday

Fri, 1 May 2026 3:47:00 PM

Dear Friends,

This week, Dr. Edith Eger left this world. She was 98 years old.

But who was this well-known Jewish woman?

She was a teenager in Hungary when her family was put on a train to Auschwitz. On the very first day, her parents were taken from her. And that same night, she was forced to dance for the evil Dr. Josef Mengele!

While she danced, her mind went somewhere else entirely. She imagined herself on a stage. She heard music. She held onto something from before. She knew exactly where she was. But there was one place inside her they couldn't reach, and she refused to let go of it.

She called it the space between what happens to you and how you respond to it. That space, she said, is where freedom lives.

After surviving the war, she went on to become a psychologist, spending decades helping thousands of people find that same place inside themselves — people imprisoned not by barbed wire, but by grief, trauma, and the stories they couldn't stop telling themselves. She wrote about it in her memoir, The Choice. (The title alone is the whole message!)

I never met her. But reading her works and after listening to interviews this week, something felt deeply familiar — like ideas I had encountered before, in a different language. And perhaps that's why in recent years she ended up speaking at dozens of Chabad Houses around the world.

The soul is untouchable. You are not your circumstances. You can choose how to react and live. These are essential ideas of Judaism and Chabad Chassidism teachings.

She lived to 98. And from what I understand, she never stopped teaching.

Today is the little-known Jewish holiday of Pesach Sheni ("Second Passover"). And I can't think of a more perfect day to be writing about her.

If anyone ever had the right to say, "I am a victim of circumstance," it was her. And yet she refused to live there. And yet she refused to live there. Not because she denied what happened — she spoke about it openly, painfully, honestly, much of her life. But she made a distinction that sat at the core of everything she believed: what happened to me is real. But what I become because of it is still open.

That is also the essence of Pesach Sheni (The Second Passover).

When the Jewish people left Egypt, G-d instructed them to bring the Paschal offering on the 14th of Nissan. But there were those who were ritually impure — unable to participate through no fault of their own. And still they came to Moses and asked: does this mean we're left out? Is the story already written for us? G-d's answer was to create an entirely new holiday. One month later, a full second chance — Matzah, Maror, the whole thing.

While the practical Pesach Sheni was only observed in Temple Times, the Rebbe loved its timeless message and would repeat it again and again: it's never too late. You are not doomed to repeat. You are not stuck. (You can hear the Rebbe saying the words here)

We all have places where it feels like the story is already written. This is how I was raised. This is just my personality. This is the mistake I made.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard "Rabbi, it's too late for me." Too late to begin this particular Mitzvah. Too late to incorporate faith in my life. Too late to become a certain type of spouse or parent. Too late to join a strong Jewish community.

Pesach Sheni was given to us specifically to answer that.

As a mentor once told me " There are those who debate whether the glass is half full or half empty. And then there are those who realize the glass is refillable!" Lchaim!

Today is the annual reminder that wherever you are, whatever you're carrying, whatever feels finished — it isn't!
Good Shabbos/Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Oh, and many have a tradition to eat some Matzah today :)

Jewish Thought of the Week (04/17/2026)

Fri, 17 Apr 2026 12:51:00 PM

Dear Friends,

In this week’s parshiyot, Tazria–Metzora, we read about tzaraat—often mistranslated as leprosy, but in truth a spiritual affliction that could appear on a person’s skin, clothing, and even their home.

Maimonides and other Sages explain that it often came as a result of lashon hara—speech that creates distance between people. A person who was otherwise spiritually refined could, through careless words, introduce separation where there should have been connection.

The process itself is striking.

First, the sign would appear on the walls of the home.
If the message wasn’t taken to heart, it would move to one’s clothing.
And if still ignored, it would finally appear on the person themselves—requiring them to step away from the community and spend time in quarantine until they would address and repair the inner blemish and become pure again (there was a whole process for that too).

It sounds almost like a nightmare—your very surroundings turning against you.

But the Torah reveals something unexpected.

When the walls of a home were broken because of tzaraat, hidden treasures were sometimes found—wealth that the Canaanites had concealed in the walls before the Jewish people entered the land.

What seemed like a punishment (and it was) was also an opportunity to uncover a hidden treasure.

And perhaps that is the deeper rhythm of life itself.

Sometimes a breakdown is not the end—it is the beginning of a breakthrough. A moment that cracks something open within us, allowing for self-discovery and new, unparalleled opportunities we could not have accessed otherwise.

That is the essence of teshuvah—return, a realignment with our truest self—not just repairing what went wrong, but uncovering something deeper, and finding within the break a hidden treasure.

And when we begin to see what happens in our lives not as something happening to us, but as something happening for us—a message and invitation from G-d to grow—then the breakthrough comes faster, clearer, and with deeper impact.

Wishing you a Good Shabbos/Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yitzi

Jewish Week Think (03/06/2026)

Fri, 6 Mar 2026 11:37:00 AM

Dear Friends,

This week’s Parsha Ki Sisa recounts one of the most dramatic and painful moments in the Torah.

Just weeks after standing at Mount Sinai and hearing G-d speak, the Jewish people panic when Moses delays returning from the mountain. In their confusion and fear they create the Golden Calf, and a terrible mistake unfolds. It becomes one of the great spiritual failures of our history.

In the aftermath, G-d describes the Jewish people with a striking phrase:

“I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people.” (Exodus 32:9)

At first glance, that does not sound flattering. A stiff neck suggests stubbornness—an unwillingness to bend, to listen, or to change direction.

But later in the very same Parsha something remarkable happens. When Moses pleads with G-d for forgiveness, he actually uses that same description as part of his argument:

“…for it is a stiff-necked people; forgive our iniquity and our sin, and take us as Your inheritance.” (Exodus 34:9)

Moses seems to be saying, "Yes, we are stubborn." But that same stubbornness can also be our strength.

Because every human trait has two sides. A shadow side and a light side.

The shadow side of stubbornness is obvious. It can make a person refuse to admit mistakes, resist guidance, or cling to something they should let go of. That stubbornness played a role in the tragedy of the Golden Calf.

But stubbornness also has a light side. It can mean resilience. It can mean loyalty. It can mean refusing to abandon what is sacred even when the world pressures you to.

Jewish history is filled with that kind of positive stubbornness.

Empires tried to erase us. Cultures tried to absorb us. Ideas tried to replace our traditions. Yet generation after generation of Jews remained Jewish—sometimes quietly, sometimes heroically, but always with that same refusal to let go.

Parents insisted their children learn Torah. Families kept Shabbat even when it was difficult. Jews held on to their identity even when it cost them.

That is the light side of being a stiff-necked people.

And perhaps that is the deeper lesson of the Parsha. The goal is not to erase our personality traits. The goal is to channel them.

The same energy that can lead to mistakes can also lead to greatness when directed in the right way.

A stubborn people can also be a deeply loyal people.
A people who fall far can also be a people who rise high again.

And that, in many ways, is the story of the Jewish people.

Wishing you a wonderful Shabbat,

Shabbat Shalom ,
Rabbi Yitzi & Rishi Hein