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
Rabbi's Blog
Jewish Thought of the Week (07/31/2026)
Jewish Thought of the Week (07/24/2026)
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)
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)
Dear Friends,
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