Rabbi's Blog - Chabad of Pittsford

Jewish Week Think (07/25/2025)

Friday, July 25, 2025 - 11:37 AM

Dear Friends,

Today, 29 Tammuz, marks the yahrzeit of Rashi—acronmym for his name Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki—the 11th century Torah commentator whose words accompany nearly every page of Torah study. Ask anyone who's opened a Chumash or Talmud: Rashi’s commentary isn’t just helpful. It’s essential. His clarity has anchored Jewish learning for centuries, allowing us to approach the text with confidence and direction. Some state that Rashi can serve as an acronym for another moniker: RABAN SHEL YISRAEL - The Timeless Teacher of Israel.

Rashi famously said that his commentary was written for the ben chamesh le’mikrah—the five-year-old child just beginning to study Chumash in school. At first glance, that might sound simplistic. But in truth, it’s the opposite. It takes a rare kind of brilliance to distill complex ideas into language so clear, even a child can grasp it. Simplicity is not a lack of depth—it’s refined understanding. And in Rashi’s words, entire worlds are embedded.

That legacy of simple greatness was beautifully mirrored in a story shared by Rabbi Shmuel Lew, which he heard back in 1964 and later recounted. He was present at a gathering where the Rebbe’s mother, Rebbetzin Chana, offered a personal reflection. She had spent her life surrounded by Torah greatness—both her father and husband were renowned rabbinic scholars. Yet she said, “I’ve never seen anyone like my son. He is great because he carries himself with such simplicity.”

Her words weren’t just motherly praise. They captured something deep: that true greatness speaks quietly, with dignity and impact.

Not long after her passing, the Rebbe began a weekly series of Rashi Sichos—teachings delivered at the Shabbos farbrengens ( gatherings). This wasn’t just a choice of content—it was a statement. A tribute. A merging of what Rashi represented and what the Rebbe embodied: profound insight wrapped in accessible language, depth offered without pretense.

And it became a lifelong mission. Across hundreds of talks from 1964 onward, the Rebbe didn’t just reference Rashi—he carefully dissected each phrase and insight. Even the most familiar comments were treated with rigorous analysis, revealing halachic nuance, Chassidic depth, and practical guidance. Through these Rashi Sichos, the Rebbe transformed Rashi into a gateway for clarity and relevance, speaking powerfully to scholar and layperson alike. (If you want a taste of Rashi Insights and have 20 minutes, here is a great short Rashi class from my friend Rabbi Menachem Feldman).

In many ways, this ethos is reflected in the world around us. We increasingly admire leaders who show humility over grandeur. Even in professional life, our dress has grown more casual—not to diminish respect, but perhaps to elevate authenticity. It feels like a cultural shift toward valuing quiet integrity over loud status. Maybe this is a reflection of the same spirit—a zeitgeist that echoes the timeless truth of Rashi and the Rebbe.

It is taught that on the day of a soul’s passing, its legacy ascends and spreads—becoming more present and accessible to all who are connected to it. Rashi’s legacy: Simplicity isn’t a lack of meaning—it’s its sharpest expression. And quiet dignity doesn’t hide greatness—it reveals it.

On a personal level, we have a daily Chumash and Rashi Zoom class M-F 9:15am (which you can join live—see flyer below—or watch our daily recordings on our YouTube channel: youtube.com/chabadpittsford).

May we be inspired to live in that way: digging for depth, and expressing it simply and practically. To reach for truth that’s profound—and integrate it with clarity and grace into daily life. In doing so, we honor Rashi, follow the Rebbe’s example, and share light that uplifts quietly, clearly, and enduringly.

Shabbat Shalom / Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (07/18/2025)

Friday, July 18, 2025 - 12:49 PM

Dear Friends,

This week, I stopped by the JCC in Rochester to scout out the space for our upcoming August outdoor concert with Noam Buskila (stay tuned—ticket registration opens next week!). As I was leaving, I overheard a man ask the front desk if there were pick-up racquetball opportunities. They said no. I paused. Something about the moment felt tailor-made for my always-getting-pushed-off-to-start-exercising situation. I turned to him and said, “If you’ll teach me, I’ll be your partner.” And just like that, I began my journey into racquetball—and hopefully into better fitness.

In Chassidut, we call this hashgachah pratit—Divine Providence. Every moment is orchestrated by Hashem, and sometimes, a small encounter is really a personal invitation to step into another part of your life's missions. The Baal Shem Tov taught that nothing is random. Even the flutter of a leaf or the words we overhear can be part of a divine script written just for us.

This week's Parshat Pinchas begins with a man who understood this deeply. At a time of crisis, of a defiant rebellion that led to a plague spreading through the camp, Pinchas stepped forward. Others stood by—including the leaders of the Jewish people—but he noticed what was hidden to them. He saw that this moment was his to act. Because of his courage and clarity, the plague stopped—and Hashem gave him a covenant of peace. Pinchas didn’t wait for a formal assignment. He saw a need, felt the call, and responded.

Modern psychology echoes this wisdom. In their article Better Living Through Noticing, Drs. Jeffrey Loewenstein and Matthew A. Cronin write:

“Solving small annoyances is a pragmatic function of creativity that comes from noticing.” They argue that many life-changing insights begin not with dramatic events, but with paying attention to the small, overlooked details in our daily lives. Noticing isn’t just a skill—it’s a mindset that opens the door to creativity, clarity, and change.

Pinchas teaches us that life hands us missions—some bold, some quiet. The key is being present enough to notice them, and brave enough to respond. May we enter Shabbat with open eyes and open hearts, ready to say “yes” to the divine opportunities placed in our path—whether it’s a mitzvah, a conversation, or even a racquetball match.

Good Shabbos/Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (07/11/2025)

Friday, July 11, 2025 - 1:05 PM

Dear Friends,

They tell a story about a Russian duke who threw an extravagant party for his eightieth birthday—mountains of caviar, rivers of vodka, and, of course, a traveling circus for entertainment. Just before the show, the ringmaster sheepishly admitted they were missing one key ingredient: the lion.

Without missing a beat, the duke stormed into the street, grabbed the first Jew he saw, shoved a lion costume into his hands, and ordered him onto the stage. Terrified but with no way out, the man suited up and did his best to blend in among the trained animals.

Suddenly, a monstrous bear started lumbering toward him, mouth open wide. Seeing his last moments approaching, the “lion” screamed:
“Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu Hashem Echad!”

The bear stopped short, leaned in, and quietly whispered: “Baruch Shem Kevod Malchuso l’olam va’ed…”

That joke—humorous as it is—captures a deeper truth: the Jewish identity never truly disappears. Even when dressed in disguises, even when life leads us far from our source, something inside remains fully, unmistakably Jewish.

We see this beautifully echoed in this week’s Torah portion, Balak. Bilaam, a non-Jewish prophet, is summoned to curse the Jewish people. But upon seeing their camp—modest, dignified, full of spiritual purpose—he’s overcome, and instead pours out blessings.

Among them:
“Behold! A people that rises like a lion cub and raises itself like a lion.” (Numbers 23:24)

Later he adds:
“He crouches and lies like a lion, and like a lioness—who dares to rouse him?” (24:9)

The Rebbe explains this metaphor: a lion might appear tame, circus-trained, even subdued. But its lion essence is never lost. One day, it will roar again.

That’s the story of the Jewish soul. Life may lead us into quiet places. We may get caught in habits, distractions, even long absences from spiritual practice. But the inner core remains—ready to rise when stirred.

Before Israel’s recent preemptive strike against Iran’s military buildup, Prime Minister Netanyahu visited the Western Wall—the holiest site in Jerusalem. He prayed and inserted a note into the ancient stones. Later, the photo of his note went viral.

On that note?

A verse from this week's parsha:
“Behold, a people that rises like a lion.”

He was drawing strength from the Torah itself. In moments of deep challenge, we lean on timeless truths.

Speaking of crouching lions...last week I told you about meeting some great people on my return from Iowa. Here is one more story that happened during my long layover in Chicago. I searched and found a workstation to catch up on some work. An older gentleman sat beside me and we got to talking. He’s lived in Arizona for decades—but when I asked where he grew up, he said, “Irondequoit!”

Then he added, “I’m Jewish too.”

So I gently offered, “Would you like to put on tefillin?”

His eyes lit up. “I haven’t done that since my bar mitzvah,” but I could tell he was very eager and excited. We found a quieter area in the airport, and he laid tefillin and said Shema. You could see it moved him deeply. Later, he texted to thank me again and said he hoped to contact the local Chabad in Arizona.

Think: this was a Jew who hadn’t practiced for decades—and in a single moment, something stirred, something rose.

A crouching lion, awakening.

The Jewish spark is built into our very being. Even if we haven’t roared in years, it is always just beneath the surface to be unleashed.

So why wait?

Shabbat Shalom / Good Shabbos!
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

Jewish Week Think (07/04/2025)

Friday, July 4, 2025 - 1:51 PM

Dear Friends,

I found myself doing quite a bit of travel this past week. Sunday was the Rebbe's 31st Yahrzeit, so me and my friend Gedalia headed out to Queens with a few of the kids to mark the day with thousands of others at the Rebbe's Ohel. On the way back, we dropped Batsheva off at the incredible Camp Gan Israel Poconos.

Then on Wednesday, Mendel and I headed out to Postville, Iowa to bring him to a Yeshiva camp there. It’s quite a remote place—it took a flight to Cedar Rapids through Chicago, then another two-hour drive.

But I had some very interesting experiences on my flights back. My seatmate was a 23-year-old Irish student who had just graduated college in Iowa. We had some deep discussions about whether young people are truly prepared for life after college, and how to find a meaningful sense of purpose. Then on the return flight to Rochester, I sat next to a middle-aged woman, a lifelong Rochesterian who works for MCC. Somehow, we got into a similar conversation—about education, direction, and how to help the next generation find purpose in their lives.

In both cases, it felt like something meaningful took place. Here was a Chabad Rabbi sitting next to two random people—neither of them Jewish—and all of us were connecting around the same idea: how all of us, particularly the youth, are searching for ways to live with an active sense of daily purpose.

These conversations gave me a window into how deeply the world is longing for mission and meaning. And it got me thinking—how does that connect to this week’s Torah portion, Chukat?

Then this Torah episode hit me like this:

After forty years of wandering, the Israelites arrived in the wilderness of Zin. Miriam passed away—and with her, the miraculous well that had sustained the people dried up. The nation panicked. They gathered against Moshe and Aharon, crying out in frustration and thirst: “Why did you bring us to this barren place?”

Moshe and Aharon turned to Hashem, who instructed Moshe: “Take the staff, gather the people, and speak to the rock—it will give water.” But Moshe, overwhelmed by the people’s complaints, struck the rock twice instead of speaking. Water flowed in abundance, but Hashem’s response was swift: “Because you did not sanctify Me before the people, you will not lead them into the Land.”

But why were Moshe and Aharon denied entry to the Land for this? Doesn’t it seem a bit harsh?

There are many commentators who offer different explanations, but the Rebbe gives one that deeply resonates: this wasn’t just about disobedience—it was a missed opportunity. The generation standing before Moshe wasn’t the one that left Egypt. This was a younger generation, ready for a more refined spiritual message—that even a rock, the most unyielding element in creation, can respond to words filled with divine purpose.

By striking instead of speaking, Moshe reverted to an earlier style of leadership—one suited for a people who needed strong action to be inspired. But this new generation was ready for something gentler. For connection through speech, not force. And so, Moshe’s leadership ended.

In 2025, our generation is thirsty for the life-giving waters of purpose and mission. And the highly developed Divine message of 3,000+ years of Jewish wisdom is that water. Sharing even a drop of it—with sincerity, consistency, and gentleness—is what we’re being called to do.

I remember hearing Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, OBM, reflecting on how he attracted such a following for his BBC radio show, even in secularized England. In his words “The world today is hungry for a Jewish message.” He was so right.

Those of us who have the gift of Torah learning—who are striving to live and integrate it—must keep learning and internalizing in practical ways, and keep sharing its message with the people around us.

Because the people are thirsty.

Good Shabbos / Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yitzi Hein