Rabbi's Blog - Chabad of Pittsford

Jewish Week Think (01/30/2026)

Friday, January 30, 2026 - 11:57 AM

Dear Friends,

This past week was a Jewish food week — and fittingly, this week’s Parshah Beshalach introduces one of famous Jewish biblical foods of all time (even before there was Kosher)

Our Up Close & Kosher event was truly an eye-opener (and a mouth-opener too!). Fifty people enjoyed Naf and Anna Hanau’s thoughtful cooking demo — a real labor of love for high-quality kosher food. Rabbi Mammon led a clear and engaging Q&A on kosher supervision, and everyone received a copy of Going Kosher in 30 Days, filled with practical, doable steps for kosher living. (If you’d like a complimentary copy to pick up from Chabad Pittsford, just reply to this email — limited supplies available.)

Food appears powerfully in this week’s Torah portion with the story of the manna.

What was the manna?

The manna (in Hebrew, מן, more accurately pronounced mon) was the miraculous food that fell from heaven each day during the forty years between the Exodus from Egypt and the entry into the Land of Israel, sustaining our ancestors throughout their journey in the desert.

When the manna fell each morning, people went out and gathered it. Some collected a lot, others only a little. But when they returned home and measured what they had gathered, something remarkable happened: each person ended up with exactly one omer — precisely what they needed for that day. The effort was real, but the outcome was not determined by how much one grabbed. The final measure came from G-d.

The manna could not be saved from one day to the next. Any attempt to store it spoiled. There were no reserves, no stockpiles, no illusion of control. Each morning required fresh trust that G-d would provide again today what He provided yesterday.

And then came Shabbat. On Friday morning, a double portion appeared. Moshe explained that it was for Shabbat, when no manna would fall. When G-d asks us to stop and rest, He also takes responsibility for our needs. That is why we place two loaves of bread on the Shabbat table — a weekly reminder that our livelihood ultimately comes from above.

Ok, but why does the Torah give so much description for a one-time historical miracle? Manna raining from heaven isn't happening anytime soon.

The answer: Manna was more than a historical food. It is a powerful lesson for today as work in the natural realm to put bread on our tables.

Manna is a reminder that effort matters — we are meant to go out and gather. But also a reminder that the results are not fully in our control, and that real calm comes when we leave space for trust.

This week, perhaps we can try something simple:
to work with a little less pressure on ourselves,
to let go of the need to control every outcome,
and to live with a little more faith — trusting that G-d will provide what we and our families truly need.

And then we will have a real Shabbat Shalom, a Shabbat of peace and tranquility from the whole week.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (01/23/2026)

Friday, January 23, 2026 - 12:23 PM

Dear Friends,

A 2013 Pew study found something striking: the most widely practiced Jewish ritual in America isn’t synagogue attendance or even Yom Kippur fasting — it’s the Passover Seder.

Put simply, out of every ten Jews:
about two attend synagogue monthly,
about five fast on Yom Kippur,
but seven sit down at a Passover Seder.

Why?

Short answer: it's because the Seder doesn’t live in the synagogue. It lives at home.

This phenomenon shows that knowingly or unknowingly, Jews are drawn to Judaism at home.

To understand this, we go to this week's Parsha Bo for the very first Seder. On the night before the Exodus, the Jews were commanded to gather as families and eat the Paschal lamb with matzah and bitter herbs inside their homes. They were also told to smear the blood on the doorposts and lintel and not to leave until morning, so they wouldn't be harmed by the Angel of Death in the plague of the slaying of the first-born (Exodus 12).

I get the Passover seder part, but why were they commanded to smear blood on the doorway? Wasn't there a better way to signal a Jewish home?

(Imagine how strange that sounds — going into Sherwin-Williams for a paintbrush and a quart of blood to paint your doorframe...)

Some commentators say the 'blood-on-doorposts' was to make a bold declaration to the Egyptian masters that we are a Jewish family fearlessly fulfilling our G-d's command.

However, Rashi notes, the blood was placed on the inside of the doorposts. In other words, the blood of the first commandment is not for the outside world to see, but for the Jewish family to see. The Torah’s message was profound. The doorway marked the boundary between inside and outside. By sanctifying it, the Jewish home itself became holy.

Redemption didn’t begin in the street.
It began at home.

And that is also why kosher matters.

Kosher isn’t just a set of dietary rules. It is Judaism’s way of ensuring that holiness continues to enter our homes — into our kitchens, onto our tables, and into everyday life.

That is the spirit of Kosher Awareness Month. And it is why next week’s Up Close & Kosher event is so timely — a chance to explore what kosher really means today and how ancient Jewish values shape modern food choices and recipes

I invite you to come take a closer look, pressure-free.

Come see how you can bring that seder feeling of Jewish-identity hominess to your table - 365 days a year.

Good Shabbos/Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (01/09/2026)

Friday, January 9, 2026 - 12:27 PM

Dear Friends,

As we move from Genesis into Exodus in the Torah Readings, the Torah itself changes tone. We move from the stories of great individuals to the story of a people. That shift isn’t just literary—it’s philosophical. It introduces one of Judaism’s core lenses for understanding life: exile and redemption.

Rabbi Adin Even-Yisrael Steinsaltz explains that exile in Judaism is not simply about geography. It is a state of dissonance—a sense that something is fundamentally not where it belongs. A person can live comfortably in exile, even successfully. One can adapt, advance, and make peace with the situation. But, as Rav Steinsaltz teaches, one who relates to exile only as a personal inconvenience will never leave Egypt.

And that word Egypt is telling. In Hebrew, Mitzrayim is related to meitzarim—constraints and limitations. Egypt is not only a place on the map; it represents the limiting situations, assumptions, and frameworks we find ourselves stuck within. Leaving Egypt means breaking free from what constrains our growth and sense of purpose.

Redemption, therefore, is not a lifestyle upgrade. It is a revolution. Judaism refuses to settle for better conditions; it calls for a reordered reality—one rooted in belonging and meaning.

In his letters and personal counsel, the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson often emphasized that real change doesn’t come from learning how to live more comfortably within a problem, but from stepping back and asking whether the entire framework needs to be rethought. Sometimes discomfort itself is the message.

A Pew study found that about 70% of Jews celebrate a Passover Seder. In a fractured Jewish world, that’s extraordinary. The Seder remains one of the most binding Jewish practices—even in 2026.

At its core, the Seder fulfills the Torah’s commandment:

“You shall tell your child on that day: This is because of what G-d did for me when I left Egypt.” (Exodus 13:8)

But many are surprised to learn that the Exodus was never meant to be remembered only one night a year.

The Torah commands us:

“So that you shall remember the day you left Egypt all the days of your life.” (Deuteronomy 16:3)

That line is why the Exodus appears in our daily prayers. Judaism insists that freedom is not just history—it is about reorienting our daily consciousness.

Which brings us full circle: remembering the Exodus each day is meant to keep us from growing comfortable in Mitzrayim—in our limitations. The goal is not to manage Egypt better, but to leave it.

Questions to Ponder:

Where in my life have I adapted to an “Egypt” instead of challenging it?
What might redemption look like—not as comfort, but as real transformation?

If these questions stirred something for you, I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to reply.

Good Shabbos/Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (01/02/2026)

Friday, January 2, 2026 - 12:15 PM

Dear Friends,

The French philosopher Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) taught that one of the most compelling signs of Divine providence is the Jewish people themselves. A nation exiled from its land, scattered across continents, pressured to disappear—yet remaining distinct, faithful, and enduring—does not fit the normal patterns of history.

Along these lines, this week's Torah portion VaYechi shares a core Jewish blessing and value that helps make the miraculous Jewish existence unfold.

In last week's Torah portion, we witnessed Jacob’s reunion with Joseph in Egypt. It was twenty-two years in the making and was tearful and joyful. Jacob finally knew Joseph was alive and knew he had remained faithful to the Hebrew/Jewish ideals.

But this was only the beginning.

When Joseph introduced his Egyptian wife and the two sons born to him in Egypt, this was entirely new for Jacob. One can imagine his hesitation as he asked, “Who are they, Joseph?”—and his relief and joy when he learned that Joseph had married according to Jewish law and that his sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, had been raised Jewishly, with faith and identity intact.

Years later before his passing, Jacob made a choice that would echo through Jewish history. Of all his grandchildren, he chose these two—Diaspora-born children—to become the model blessing for every Jewish child, still used today before Shabbat and Yom Kippur:

“May G-d make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.”

That choice is striking. These were the only grandchildren born outside the Land of Israel, raised in a foreign culture, surrounded by values not their own. Why not choose grandchildren raised in the holiness of Israel, immersed in Judaism from birth?

Because Jacob knew what was coming.

G-d had already promised him, “Ufaratzta yamah v’kedmah, tzafonah v’negba”—that his descendants, the Jewish people, would spread outward, west and east, north and south, across the entire earth. Jewish destiny would not remain confined to the Land of Israel. It would also unfold across continents, cultures, and centuries.

The Jewish future would largely be lived in exile. Jews would need to know that Judaism can not only survive outside Israel—but flourish. Not only under the presence of a patriarch like Jacob, but even before he arrived. Manasseh and Ephraim proved that a strong Jewish home can raise strong Jewish children anywhere.

That is why Jacob elevated them—making them tribes equal to his own sons.

And that is why this blessing speaks so deeply to us today.

The Diaspora Jew constantly swims against the current—especially at times of year when the street, the culture, and the calendar all pull in the opposite direction. Jewish identity must be chosen, protected, and reaffirmed daily. That takes strength.

The Israeli Jew lives in a tough “neighborhood” and faces physical danger; the Diaspora Jew, often in a more comfortable setting, faces spiritual danger. Both are real. But danger to the soul requires constant resilience.

When Jacob prepared to leave Egypt, he asked that Manasseh and Ephraim carry his coffin along with their uncles. The message was clear: I may be leaving you here—but you are strong enough to carry on. If they could thrive before Jacob arrived, we can thrive after he leaves.

That is why Jews everywhere—Diaspora and Israel alike—still bless their children with these names. Because Ephraim and Manasseh remind us that Jewish strength isn’t only inherited from our surroundings. It’s forged through commitment—and by listening to our Jewish soul’s call to live authentically.

And that blessing still gives us courage—especially when we need it most.

As we carry that message forward, this January we will be kicking off our next I AM YISRAEL CHAI Project: Kosher Awareness Month. Stay tuned next week for more information on how—no matter your kosher background—you can meaningfully upgrade this core practice of Jewish identity in your own life and home.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein
Chabad of Pittsford