Rabbi's Blog

Dear Friends,

Anyone who grew up in mainstream Middle America or a college town knows what a homecoming is. Over the years it has developed into somewhat of a pageantry: the celebration when the local football team returns home, former students and players come back, school spirit runs high, a homecoming king and queen are crowned, of course there is the big game, and a day or two later everyone gets dressed up for the big dance.

Well, we stand now a few days away from Jewish homecoming. Let me explain with a fundamental idea in Judaism that leads to becoming a better version of ourselves:

One of the most common terms associated with the Day of Atonement is Teshuva, often translated as “repentance,” implying regret.
And that can create two problems. Some people think, “I don’t have anything to regret, so what am I doing here?” Others think, “I’ve done so much wrong that G-d could never forgive me, so why even try?”

However, the correct translation of Teshuvah is not repentance, but return.​

The Chassidic masters explain that every soul is truly “a part of G-d above.” When that soul comes down into this physical world, it can become distant from its source.

But on Yom Kippur, G-d calls to every soul: Come home. Every Jewish “graduate” is called to come back home to Judaism and to synagogue.

And just as homecoming has a coronation of king and queen, the Jewish nation has its own coronation a week before its homecoming: Rosh Hashanah.

On Rosh Hashanah, we blow the shofar, and one reason is to crown G-d as King. Just as horns are played at a coronation or inauguration, we blow the shofar to proclaim G-d King of the universe. 

And then comes Yom Kippur: Game Day.

We are the players and it is the battle between the two souls within us: the divine soul that is inclined to do good, and the animal soul G-d also places within us that shleps in the opposite direction. And when the battle is over, we blow the shofar at the end of Yom Kippur as a sign of victory.

But the homecoming still isn’t over!

A few days later comes the dance—the night everyone dresses up, celebrates, and lets loose. For us, that is Simchat Torah, when we dance with the Torah and celebrate with tremendous joy.

Let us focus, though, on what is right in front of us.

Yom Kippur is a day with a special power to bring Jews home. This is our annual homecoming, when we show up, reconnect, and celebrate our belonging. 

See you there! You can RSVP for Chabad Pittsford Yom Kippur Services at JewishPittsford.com/highholidays to join for homecoming!

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Yitzi

This week, Rishi and I took the kids on a last-minute getaway to Penn Yan and the Keuka/Seneca Lake area. With a few of our kids heading off to schools out of town next week, family bonding time is especially precious. Kudos to my wife Rishi for making sure our family has these experiences and memories.
 

Fittingly, this week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, contains several mitzvahs relating to marriage. One particularly beautiful mitzvah says that during the first year of marriage, a newly married man is exempted from military and certain communal obligations so that he can “bring joy to the wife whom he married” (Deuteronomy 24:5). The Torah is telling us something profound: marriage requires time, attention and investment.
 

But before building a marriage comes another fascinating question: How do two people find each other in the first place?

The idea of a “soulmate” fascinates many people. In Jewish tradition, it is often connected with basherte—the idea that two people are destined from Above to marry.
 

If someone is truly my soulmate, can anyone prevent us from getting married?

And if yes, what does it mean to say the match was “meant to be”?

The Jewish answer is surprising:
 

Yes and yes.

There is an element of Heavenly decree in marriage, but human choice is also involved.
 

The Talmud teaches that forty days before an embryo is formed, a Heavenly voice announces who that person will marry.
 

Yet the Talmud also teaches that a person’s match is connected to his or her deeds. The Talmud resolves the apparent contradiction by distinguishing between a first match and a subsequent match.
 

But how do we live with both ideas?
 

When a person seeks a life partner, Divine Providence can lead that person to the right one.
 

But we still have to make the decision.
 

We cannot know everything about another person or what the future holds.

We use our judgment. We look at character, values, kindness and compatibility. We make the best decision we can, pray for guidance, and surrender the outcome to G-d Almighty.
 

Jewish mystical tradition speaks of husband and wife as two halves of one soul.
 

But marriage is not simply about finding your “other half.” It is about what those two halves create together.
 

Hopefully, a family and children! But also everything else they build: a home, a business, a community and a life of meaning.
 

Sometimes people who are dating worry that a prospective partner is too strong for them.
 

A wise Rabbi once said: If you see yourselves as competitors, you have a problem.
 

If you see yourselves as a creative team, you may eventually thank Hashem that your team has that extra strength.
 

Your partner’s strength does not have to compete with yours. It can complement yours.
 

Veteran Chabad Rabbi Shmuel Lew of London once shared a beautiful lesson from a Yechidus, a private audience with the Rebbe, in 1974.

Rabbi Lew mentioned a communal figure who disagreed with Chabad over a particular matter.
 

The Rebbe responded: There are 613 mitzvos in the Torah. If he disagrees with us on one, let’s work with him on the other 612.
 

What a wonderful prescription for marriage.

When we focus on the one thing we disagree about, it can become larger than everything we share.
 

This does not mean ignoring serious differences. It means remembering that a relationship is bigger than any single disagreement.
 

Build on what you share.
 

Perhaps that is part of the meaning of basherte.
 

The meeting may be guided from Above. The opportunity may be placed before us by Divine Providence. But choosing one another—and continuing to choose one another—is our responsibility.
 

Heaven may bring two people together. What they create together is up to them.

Shabbat Shalom! Good Shabbos! Kesivah vaChassimah Tovah!
Rabbi Yitzi Hein

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 

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 [email protected] - I would love to hear your thoughts.

Shabbat Shalom/Good Shabbos

Rabbi Yitzi Hein

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

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

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

 Dear Friends,

--

Dear Friends,

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

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