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