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What Israel Means To Them Now: The Gift

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In the days following October 7, when the scope and horror of the Shemini Atzeret massacre became clear, I felt my mother’s experiences during the Holocaust come to life before my eyes. I felt overcome with grief and fear. 

Yet, in the days that followed, something else became abundantly clear, and I was overwhelmed by its power. 

I saw and heard how, on that terrible day, people put their lives on the line—and indeed many gave their lives—for fellow Jews they had never met before; how a divided Israel and a fragmented Diaspora Jewry came together in love and unity. I saw a new Jewish consciousness emerge, a realization that Jews share an essential bond with Israel and with each other that transcends all our differences.

To quote the Tanya, “It is on account of this common root, shared by all the Jewish people in the One G-d, that all of Israel are called siblings—in the full sense of the word.” Like siblings, we can disagree but the unbreakable bond is always there.

But this new consciousness has come at a terrible price. A passage from tractate Brachot has come to mind more than once these last months: “Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai says: The Holy One, Blessed be He, gave Israel three precious gifts, all of which are obtained through suffering [yisurim]: Torah, the Land of  Israel, and the World to Come.”

The Jewish presence in and allegiance to the Land of Israel tests our faith daily

The Talmud then brings a proof text: “As a man rebukes his son, so the Lord your G-d rebukes you” (Deuteronomy 8:5), and it is written thereafter: “For the Lord your G-d will bring you to a good land.” The Hebrew word yas-er, here translated “rebukes,” comes from the same root as the Talmud’s word for suffering. In this context, it is better translated as “challenges,” or “tests.” 

The Jewish presence in and allegiance to the Land of Israel tests our faith daily. We are a “sheep surrounded by seventy wolves.” Israel is threatened and attacked at every turn while the world condemns it, questions its right to exist, and, as we’ve seen in recent months, has made the Jewish people and our ties to Israel the object of horrible hatred and violence. After centuries of enduring such ignominy, it would make sense that we finally just give up—on our identity and our claim and connection to the Land of Israel, which we’ve held on to at such a great cost.  

Yet the Jewish people remain steadfast. There has been no mass emigration from Israel after October 7. Rather, Jews who left Israel have returned to serve in this war, and Jews continue to make aliyah. Every time during the last eighty years when things looked bleak, “G-d Blessed the work of our hands,” and we survived and thrived in the “Land G-d is giving you.” It seems impossible that our bond to the Land has become stronger yet. It seems impossible that the events that transpired in the Land of Israel, meant to destroy us, actually brought us together. 

What mysterious power does this Divine gift, the Land of Israel, hold! How awesome is Israel, the nexus—as the Kabbalah teaches—of spiritual and physical, of Creator and Creation, of G-d and G-d’s People.

Shlomo Yaffe is the Rabbi of the Alliance of Orthodox Congregations (Springfield/ Longmeadow, MA) and Dean of the Institute for American and Talmudic Law (Chabad of Midtown, New York, NY).

The Story of Private First Class Ray J. Kaufmann

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As war raged in 1943, Ray J. Kaufmann knew what he had to do, and he wouldn’t let a little thing like his age get in the way.

“He felt it was his duty to do so, like everyone else at that time, and he was proud to do so,” recalled his son Lenny. Kaufmann’s brothers were already in the army, and his father an auxilliary policeman.

At age 17, Ray J. enlisted in the U.S. Army, lying about his age to get in. After basic training, he was shipped off to Europe. Accompanying him was a mezuzah his mom had given him. Although mezuzahs are installed on doorways, people often carry a mezuzah with them, or keep it near their bed as a protective measure. Private First Class Kaufmann carried the mezuzah in a small metal case hanging from a chain around his neck.

His unit was deployed to man a fort on the Maginot Line near Metz, France, as the Allies pushed towards Germany. At 1 a.m. one night, PFC Kaufmann was awakened by his buddies. Climbing out of his foxhole, he was asked to escort a sick soldier to the aid station in the rear. 

“After we were about 10 minutes en route, I heard a tingling, as if bracelets or ringlets were banging together,” Kufmann recalled in his memoir. “I opened my jacket to see if my dog tag chain and mezuzah were the source of the noise. They were. As I touched them, I could feel where they had been damaged.”

“Then I passed out.”

Kaufmann had been hit in the chest by shrapnel from a German 88-millimeter artillery round. When he came to, he was on a stretcher being put into an ambulance.

“After the repair surgery was finished, and I was in the ward, I was told that a piece of shrapnel from an 88 had pierced my chest a fraction of an inch from my heart, proceeded through my left lung, pierced my diaphragm, and lodged somewhere in my bowels,” he wrote. 

“I believe that the shrapnel had been deflected away from my heart by my mezuzah, and I was lucky to be alive.”

Kaufmann came home a decorated veteran, with the Bronze Star for carrying his buddy to the aid station under fire, the Purple Heart for his wounds, and the Combat Infantryman Badge for engaging in ground combat with the enemy. 

But his greatest pride was his family, and he passed on the love for Judaism which had saved his life to his children and grandchildren.

“Dad and Mom made sure all six of us children were brought up in a very Jewish home and had a strong connection to Yiddishkeit,” said Ray J’s son, Bruce. “We got up every morning to make sure there was a minyan. They provided a strong Jewish foundation that was carried out to the next generation of children.”

Ray J. discouraged his children from following his footsteps and joining the Army. When his son Avrum was considering enlisting, Ray told him, “The military is no place for a Jewish boy.” 

“But Dad, you enlisted!” Avrum wondered. “It was different then,” Ray responded. “There was something that had to get done, so I got up and did it.”

Sixty years after Ray took off his uniform, something again had to get done, and another Kaufmann put the uniform on. Chaim Baruch Kaufmann, Ray J.’s grandson, is a captain in one of the IDF Paratroopers reservist divisions. What he does is classified, but he continues in the family tradition: proud of their Yiddishkeit, not eager and gung-ho, but ready to serve and risk life and limb for their country and the Jewish People.

CPT Chaim Kaufmann, IDF

Hundreds turn to Chabad for Rescue in Amsterdam

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On Thursday afternoon, as thousands of Israeli soccer fans gathered in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, to watch Maccabi Tel Aviv take on Ajax in a much-anticipated soccer game, Chabad reps were on hand at the city’s Dam Square, offering fans the chance to put on Tefillin and bringing Jewish joy to the streets of the city.

Hours later, those fans would turn to Chabad to save their lives.

As Jewish fans headed home, they were attacked by hundreds of antisemitic assailants. Many were injured, and many more were forced to hide as Jews were hunted in the streets.

As the violence unfolded Thursday night, Rabbi Akiva Camissar, who heads Chabad Amsterdam Tourists and Israeli Center, started getting requests for help. By the time the sun rose, hundreds of people had turned to Chabad for rescue. 

“We organized a fleet of volunteer-driven cars giving people rides to the airport,” Rabbi Dovi Pinkovitch, of Chabad Amsterdam Tourists and Israeli Center, told Lubavitch.com. 

On Friday morning, local Jewish doctors visited the city’s hospitals to get a sense of the aftermath of the attacks. A small number of individuals suffered minor injuries, which were treated in local hospitals.

“We arranged food for more than 250 people, and Shabbat meals and a place to stay for another 200 people,” Pinkovitch said.

As the sun set, hundreds of shaken Jews gathered at Chabad to celebrate Shabbat together, in the company of their fellow Jews.

Above The Fray

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Judaism is neither liberal, nor progressive, nor conservative. It is Judaism. It precedes all of these categories, cuts through them, and floats above them. The wisdom of an eternal Torah, given by an infinite G-d, and articulated by 3,000 years of organic tradition can never be contained by any man-made ideology or party platform. This does not mean that the positions of traditional Judaism, those espoused by the Torah, will never coincide with a particular political position. Nor does it mean that we are supposed to remain detached from all temporal matters and from politics of the day. It only means that we can’t let ourselves be defined by them.

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Building Jewish Pride on the North Shore

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Every few weeks, as the sun dips below the horizon on Friday night, casting a glow over the historic streets of Salem, Massachusetts, you might find a group of people sitting at a bar. But before they raise their glasses, a rabbi standing among them raises his glass and recites the traditional Kiddush prayer, welcoming the holy day of Shabbat. Between lively conversation, sips of craft beer, and bites of homemade challah, something special happens. Amid the charm of colonial buildings and curious onlookers a centuries-old tradition is revived.

This is Shabbat at the Bar, one of the many unique ways Rabbi Mendel and Fraidy Barber have helped make Judaism come alive since they, along with their three children, moved to the North Shore in August 2023 to establish Chabad of Beverly-Salem, the third Chabad center serving the area under the aegis of Rabbi Yossi and Layah Lipsker, who founded Chabad of the North Shore in 1992.

While Salem might be best known for its infamous witch trials of 1692 and the throngs of tourists that pour in every October, Rabbi Mendel sees the city through a different lens. “For us, it’s a place of connection,” he says. “We have the opportunity to reach both the 1,600 Jewish residents here and the countless Jewish tourists who pass through.” Home to waterfronts, museums, and art galleries, Beverly’s and Salem’s historic charm are the backdrop of a vibrant Jewish revival.

Chabad’s impact extends beyond local outreach. Chabad collaborates with local universities like Salem State and Endicott, bringing down speakers such as Holocaust survivor Endre Sarkany and survivor of the Nova Festival attack Daniel Vaknin. Programs like these help offer support and pride for Jewish students and locals.

For Sara Pouladian, a lifelong resident of the area, Chabad’s arrival couldn’t have come at a more crucial moment. She remembers the day she sold the Barbers their new home, unaware that they would soon become central figures in her life. “After October 7th, something shifted,” Sara reflects. “We needed Chabad more than ever – it’s really brought our community together.”

One of the first programs Sara connected with was the Jewish Women’s Circle, led by Fraidy Barber. “There’s something so special about coming together with other women to cook, to learn, to create,” Sara says. The Barbers, she adds, “are some of the best people I’ve ever met.”

David Finger, who moved to the area a few years ago, shares a similar sentiment. “Chabad makes Judaism feel real,” he says. For someone who long felt that the idea of keeping Shabbat “was slightly antiquated, Rabbi Mendel helped me understand the freeing nature of ‘disconnecting’ once in a while.” David’s wife Michaella now lights Shabbat candles every week, as they sit back and appreciate life’s blessings for a little bit.

David says that he’s noticed a rising tide of Jewish pride since October 7. “People are searching for connection now more than ever, and Chabad makes it possible. Without them, we wouldn’t have such an accessible way to explore it.”

Once Again, from the Beginning

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How does an ancient book find its way to our soul in a world overloaded with information?

Hypertexted and AI-driven, the Internet provides an avalanche in response to our every query. But, like sailors stuck in the horse latitudes with water everywhere but nary a drop to drink, we often go thirsty for meaning.

One response is to go back to the beginning. As Jews around the world begin the yearly cycle of Torah readings this autumn, a new edition of the Book of Genesis, Sefer Bereishit, invites us to engage more deeply with this fundamental text—and the ongoing conversation it generates. 

The text, in a new translation by the compiler, Rabbi Yanki Tauber, is divided by the Torah portion. Each portion is prefaced with a synopsis, followed by a lengthier introduction and an overview that prime the reader for what follows. Among the strongest features of the work, the introductions go for the soul of the story, the layering of narrative and meaning that characterizes much of Genesis.

In the very first parashah, for instance, the introduction points out that although Genesis is indeed a story of beginnings, below the surface runs a narrative of false starts. The expulsion of Adam and Eve, the great flood, and the repeated pattern of familial strife in which elder sons are replaced by younger all seem to prove, Rabbi Tauber notes, that “the first fifteen centuries of human endeavor have been one colossal failure.” He then takes us deeper, pointing to the essential divine aspiration in Creation—-the turning of the self back to G-d that is called teshuvah—-which is capable not only of redeeming the false starts, but of realizing a perfection that could not be achieved any other way.

From these introductions we are drawn into the text itself and the commentaries.

First, a word on the translation: The aim of most biblical translations has been to make the text as comfortably idiomatic in English as possible. This is true not only of the non-Jewish tradition—the King James Bible is one of the great works of English literature, even when we Jews object properly to the agenda-driven choices that it occasionally made. It is true of much of the Jewish tradition too, from Maimonides to the Jewish Publication Society. 

Rabbi Tauber’s translation, however, takes another approach. Using the text as a foundation, a jumping-off point in the ongoing search for meaning, it prioritizes the feel of Hebrew’s rhythm and syntax over fluency in English. This approach occasionally challenges the reader with coined words (“A fruitious son, Joseph” [49:22]), seemingly nonsensical phrases, and decidedly unidiomatic English, as when Abraham declares “I and the lad will go till like so” (22:5). While it may lack the accessibility and literary sensitivity of contemporary translations like those of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks and Robert Alter, Tauber’s Genesis evinces a deep respect for the text as it is, without adornment, as a source of profound and multifaceted meaning. And it achieves its aim: to pique the reader’s curiosity, sending us on a journey that will delve deep into the Jewish interpretive tradition.

As promised, Tauber gleans insight from more than five hundred commentaries, from biblical times through the twenty-first century, with no era lacking plentiful representation. The commentaries come from a range of perspectives, including the non-canonical Ben Sira in antiquity, diverse forms of rabbinic writing in the Talmudic period, Orthodox scholars using academic methods in Europe and America, and the renewed scholarship of the Land of Israel in all its richness. 

Among the strongest features of the work, the introductions go for the soul of the story, the layering of narrative and meaning that characterizes much of Genesis.

Tauber’s erudition gives us access to a varied menu of thinkers. The world of a medieval rabbi in Spain differs from that of a Polish rebbe in the eighteenth century; neither bears resemblance to the experience of a Talmudic sage living in Sasanian Persia. Of course the bulk of the commentators quoted lived in times that were much different from our own, and their tacit understandings may occasionally strike us as alien. Rather than apologizing for this, or soft-pedaling the differences, Rabbi Tauber has chosen to let us feel the partiality and the difference. 

Here, for instance, is a joined pair of commentaries spanning the centuries, illuminating the story of Abraham’s servant Eliezer, sent on a mission to find Isaac a wife. He prays to succeed (“G-d the G-d of my master Abraham please make happen before me today . . .”), and his prayer is answered. The core text (24:15) reads:

And it was that he had yet to finish speaking and here Rebecca was going out she who was born to Bethuel the son of Milcah . . . 

The first commentary brought here is that of the second-century mystic Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who tells us, “Three people were answered by G-d as their words left their mouths: Eliezer the servant of Abraham, Moses, and King Solomon.” A fascinating context that prompts the question: what ties three people as diverse as these together?

The next commentary provides an answer. Spanning a 1,700-year gap, and giving a dizzying sense of the story’s perennial relevance, the Lubavitcher Rebbe asks, “What is the common denominator among the three petitioners? All three involved the fusion of opposites.” The Rebbe goes on to develop that idea, connecting these diverse figures and highlighting their fusion of multiplicity and oneness, a theme that underlies much of Genesis. 

Not all the commentaries follow such a coherent thread. If there was a method—some criteria—by which the compiler selected the commentaries, it is unclear. Indeed, some do not immediately provide a deeper understanding of the text. Consider for example, the verse, “And Isaac sent Jacob and he went to Padan-Aram; to Laban the son of Bethuel the Aramean the brother of Rebecca the mother of Jacob and Esau” (28:5). It seems rather straightforward, yet Tauber saw fit to include Rashi’s comment on the words “the mother of Jacob and Esau”: “I do not know what this teaches us.” In this case, commentary on the commentary would have been helpful.

In other places Rabbi Tauber extends his trust in the reader a little too far. Given the focus on its English translation, one assumes that the book is intended for those who may be new to the study of Torah. Yet, when confronted with midrashic commentaries that stretch the bounds of logic or abrade the sensibilities of a modern reader, he steps aside and allows us to swim, or sink, on our own. 

Some of these omissions are remedied at the end, however. The Book of Genesis concludes with a long section of appendices, which provide context and help to organize the story, and which serve as a first step toward future research, as surely many readers will be inspired to do.

For Genesis turns out not to be limited to its text alone. The organic and complete Bereishit lives rather in the minds of those who wrestle with its meaning and its Author. With its superb and intuitive design, this volume invites the reader to join in this creative, soul-deepening, thirst-quenching conversation. It will require time and thought to access it meaningfully. But the effort is worthwhile.

Chabad’s Mobile Sukkahs Share Jewish Pride and Joy

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The eight-day Festival of Sukkot begins this year at sundown on October 16 and concludes with Simchat Torah, on October 25.

“Simchat Torah” — “The Joy of Torah,” is meant to be celebrated as the most jubilant day on the Jewish calendar. It comes after the intense High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and marks the completion of the annual Torah-reading cycle. But last year, the joy was woefully disrupted when Simchat Torah coincided with the October 7 massacre. 

This year, with the war in Israel and Jews worldwide feeling besieged, Chabad will invest greater effort to raise Jewish awareness of the Festival of Sukkot and present Jews everywhere with opportunities to celebrate with pride 

Chabad rabbinical students and representatives will be easy to spot with the lulav and etrog—the “Four Kinds” of species symbolic of Jewish unity, which are customarily brought together inside the Sukkah.

Pickup-truck-mounted “Sukkah-Mobiles” will be roving the streets of cities and towns everywhere, inviting pedestrians into the Sukkah to shake the lulav and enjoy a kosher treat. Sukkahs will also top trailers, cargo bicycles—even horse-drawn wagons, making the holiday accessible to all. 

The largest sukkah-mobile this year will be sailing the high seas.

As the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln continues its mission in the Arabian Sea defending Israel and deterring Iranian aggression, it will have a symbol of G-d’s protection aboard ship as well. Chabad-Lubavitch emissary and Aleph Institute chaplain Lieutenant Yehoshua Rubin, who is the chaplain for Carrier Air Wing Nine, arranged for the construction of a sukkah aboard Lincoln. 

Rubin’s first hurdle was finding a spot on the carrier open to the sky, as required for a sukkah. Once he found a spot on the ship’s weather deck, there were forms to fill and permissions to obtain, but it all came together in time for the holiday—as did Rubin’s set of the Lulav and Etrog, flown in from Bahrain on a carrier onboard delivery aircraft with a little help from Aleph, the Chabad organization serving Jews in the military.

For more information and to find a Chabad center near you, visit Lubavitch.com/centers

Celebrating this Year: Sukkot

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This week marks Sukkot, the holiday of booths (or huts). The seven-day Festival of Joy comes begins tonight, October 13, at sunset, commemorating the Clouds of Glory that G-d protected the Jewish people with during their travels in the desert following their exodus from Egypt 3,331 years ago.

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Preparing for Yom Kippur In Hurricane-Smashed Southwest Florida

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Less than 48 hours before Yom Kippur, Jewish communities in the path of Hurricane Milton are scrambling to pull themselves up from the damage so they can prepare for the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. Millions are without power, running water, and cell phone service across southwest Florida, but are grateful that the once-category-5 hurricane swept through with minimal loss of life.

“We are thankful that the community members are safe, but the property damage is enormous,” Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz, who directs Chabad of Sarasota, told Lubavitch.com. At Chabad Lubavitch of Sarasota & Manatee Counties, the hurricane tore down fences and outdoor structures, but the building itself remained largely intact. As power was slowly restored in the city, Steinmetz reached out to the office of Florida Governor Ron DeSantis. “I explained that Yom Kippur is the most important day of the year for us; more Jews than ever will attend synagogue services—and restoring power must be a priority.”

The Governor’s office responded quickly, sending a priority request to FPL—the local utility—which will try to restore power before the holiday. If that doesn’t work, Steinmetz is working on securing a diesel generator to power the synagogue for Yom Kippur—and if that doesn’t work, they’ll pray with battery-powered lanterns illuminating the Chabad house. 

“We will make changes to accommodate the current situation, but we must continue,” Steinmetz said. “I believe we are the only ones in Sarasota that will have services—for the stubborn Jews who are still there, Chabad will be the place to go.”

Chabad of Sarasota is expecting a smaller crowd, as 60-80% of the city’s residents evacuated, but for those who remain, Chabad will ensure they are taken care of, both materially and spiritually. “For the people who attend, it will be a memorable experience,” Steinmetz said.

Please consider supporting the relief efforts:

Chabad Of Sarasota: www.sarasotachabad.com/hurricanerelief
Chabad of Venice & North Port: www.Chabadofvenice.com/relief
Chabad of Brandon: Jewishbrandon.com/donate
Chabad of Charlotte County: Chabadofcharlottecounty.com/donate
Chabad of Downtown Sarasota: Jewishsarasota.com/donate
Chabad Chai – South Tampa: Chabadchaicenter.com/hurricane
Chabad of Bradenton: Chabadofbradenton.com/milton
Chabad St Petersburg: Chabadsp.com/milton
Chabad at USF: Usfchabad.com/donate
Chabad Of Southwest Florida – Fort Myers: Hurricanemiltonrelieffund.com

Chabad of Asheville, NC: www.chabadasheville.org/helene

Yom Kippur Escape . . . Nowhere To Hide

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Humans have been trying to hide from G-d ever since the days of Adam and Eve. We know it can’t be done, but we try to do it anyway. In my own life, I procrastinate, letting duties of the heart pile up like unopened bills on the kitchen table. Eventually, I realize I’m just fooling myself. Futility of futilities, writes Ecclesiastes. Alas, it turns out that resistance, too, is futile!

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Editorial: The People Of Israel Live

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It was a sunny, balmy day when I visited the site of the Nova Festival, and the Nahal Oz army base several months ago. As we stood in the charred remains of the observation room, where the young IDF heroines on duty on the morning of October 7 were burnt alive, a rabbi recited the Kaddish. The place was a charcoal shell, soot, ashes and the smell of smoke still filling the air. I heard myself uttering the plea–which we now say every day in the prayers between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur: Avinu Malkeinu, our Father or King, avenge the spilt blood of your servants. 

It reminded me of my visit to Poland some years back when I walked through the barracks and stood speechless at the ovens in the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp. The earth outside was covered in a carpet of fresh green grass, as if to conceal what happened there, as if to silence the voices of the murdered millions who continue to call out. But I heard. I heard their voices “crying out from the ground.” The sun was setting, the buses were leaving, but I couldn’t tear myself away. I owe them, I thought, as their unheeded cries thrummed in my head.

The October 7 pogrom opened an old pandora’s box. The questions asked about G-d during the Holocaust and through our long history of persecutions were raised again on that black day. Where was G-d? Where was His infinite mercy in our moment of need? Yet at the funerals of all the murdered, mourners chanted the Kaddish: Yitgadal v’Yitkadash Shmei Rabbah they said while burying their loved ones who were slaughtered when no one came to their help. The prayer extolls G-d’s greatness. Although confused by what felt like His absence, I too found myself crying out to Him to avenge the spilt blood of our people. 

A year later, when hostages are still being held and Israel continues to fight for its life, I am not sure how to understand this. How do we understand the Jews of the shoah who went to their deaths with the Ani Maamin–”I believe”–on their lips? What was this declaration of faith about? Why do we keep talking to Him even when He doesn’t seem to be responding? We deeply want to keep Him in our lives, to maintain our bond with Him even when we feel He fails us. Why?

I am not the first to wrestle with this question and I won’t be the last to accept that it remains unresolved–that I cannot plumb the depths of the mystery around this relationship, and around the unrelenting faith that the Jewish people continue to avow in times of great darkness and profound uncertainty. 

Just listen to the songs Israelis have been singing in recent months, and again on October 7. The lyrics are optimistic, promising that Israel will prevail. They are about our unshakable faith in G-d and His unbreakable covenant with us, his eternal people. About our strength to withstand all the attempts to destroy us. One song that has become wildly popular since October 7 declares the eternal survival of Israel: “For even in our highs and lows and in our most difficult hours, Hashem watches over us and none can overcome us . . . The people of Israel live.” 

On the first anniversary of October 7, I listened to Israeli radio. All through the night, every individual who was killed in this attack was named, talked about and remembered. That’s how it is in Israel–every person counts, every death leaves a vacuum. The void is therefore huge, with Israel in profound mourning. And even as it mourns, it is pursued by persistent, powerful and ruthless attempts to annihilate us. 

Why haven’t we given up? What is it that keeps the people of Israel going against an avalanche of evil bent on destroying us?

The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks considered this question. He suggested that perhaps it is not certainty that defines our faith, but the courage to live in its absence. Maybe that is why, as ravaged as Israel was by the October 7 massacre and the subsequent attacks, its people have become stronger, not weaker, more determined, not hopeless. 

Going into Yom Kippur, it is good to know that even as our questions stand in all their fullness, we are right to deepen our conversation with G-d. For it is especially in the great uncertainty of our time that this mysterious reservoir that we call faith makes it possible for us to gain and grow. Maybe this explains how we carry on instead of caving in, and why the brutal and barbarous enemies that surround us on all sides fail always to crush us.

Am Yisrael Chai. May the Jewish nation be inscribed and sealed in the book of life and peace.

Reflections on 5784

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We didn’t see it coming.

The dark ages were well behind us. We could laugh incredulously at the old tropes and ugly stereotypes shamelessly used to taunt Jews. Things were different now, we were convinced.

But one fine day, the veneer came off and we saw that we may just be living in a fool’s paradise. 

And Rabba bar bar Ḥana said: Once we were traveling on a ship and we saw a certain fish upon which sand had settled, and grass grew on it. We assumed that it was dry land and went up and baked and cooked on the back of the fish, but when its back grew hot it turned over. And were it not for the fact that the ship was close by, we would have drowned (Bava Batra 73b).

Rabba bar bar Hana, known for his fantastical anecdotes, was a Talmudic sage who traveled frequently between the Jewish centers of Israel and Babylonia, giving him a unique perspective. His allegories, like so much of aggadic literature, are said to contain coded messages of deep wisdom. 

This one in particular is of timely interest. Because like Rabba’s travelers desperate for dry land, we too are sometimes fools for appearances. Understandably. Our peripatetic history has made us eager to see what we wished to see, ready to invest and build on gossamer-thin foundations. And then on October 7, and every day since, we discovered that in fact we were not on dry land. In an instant, like Rabba bar bar Hana’s parabolic fish, our world flipped. 

Fortunately, we could reach for our trusty anchor and steady ourselves against the traumatic assault designed to throw us into the sea. A year later, the assault has not abated, but it has compelled us to see beyond deceiving appearances, and to look for what endures. 

***

In rural Saskatchewan, a man leaves a final request to be buried in a simple pine box. His wife doesn’t know why. 

Friday evening in Iceland, a professor impulsively follows a group of Jews on the street into the Chabad House. She has no idea what made her do it. 

In Israel, a young woman felt the urge to recite a prayer every day for months before she would be taken hostage. She could not explain it.

A startling wish, a random gesture, an inexplicable response—the stories that emerge from this kind of “seeing” spring unexpectedly and give evidence of something dynamic and vital that stirs beneath the surface, if only we look for it. 

In this issue, we try to convey some of the mystery that ordinary language cannot capture. We wanted a reprieve from the images of bloodshed and war that have flooded our visual senses during these last twelve months. So we invited artists and poets to let us look through their eyes, to see what they discern, sometimes hiding in plain sight, sometimes thoroughly obscured.

They remind us that art which moves us to see more deeply, think more broadly, and act with greater intention can be holy. We cannot shut out the images coming from Israel and around the world. But we can learn to practice a new way of seeing, an inner seeing that invites us into a more elevated space, even as the sea around us rages. 

May G-d bless this year with holy beauty.

Wishing each of you, dear readers, a good, sweet year.

שנה טובה ומתוקה

Chabad Rushes to the Aid of Hurricane-Ravaged Communities

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“Anyone know someone who has access to a helicopter?”

The post went out not long after Shabbat ended in North Carolina. Rabbi Bentzion Groner, a Chabad rep in Charlotte, North Carolina, was on a mission. The city of Asheville—some 125 miles west of them in the mountainous western part of the state—had been hit hard by Hurricane Helene. Torrential downpours and widespread flooding had blocked off all road access to the city. Power was out, people were trapped, some lost their lives, and many more were at risk.

Chabad of Charlotte assembled tons of supplies to bring to Asheville, and now they sought a way to transport them. Groner contacted Rabbi Shaya Susskind, of Chabad Lubavitch of Asheville and Western North Carolina. They spoke via iMessage, with cell phone and internet service all but nonexistent in the city. 

Rabbi Shaya Susskind coordinates emergency response in Asheville

The greatest need, Susskind told his colleagues, was for drinkable water—and its weight made helicopter transport untenable. So Groner and his colleagues loaded up a Sprinter van with thousands of bottles of water—plus nonperishable food, blankets, fuel, baby supplies, and other necessities—and set out on the perilous trip, uncertain whether the roads would be passable by the time they reached the city.

After a difficult, hours-long drive they made it into the city on a recently-reopened road. The devastation quickly became clear. Entire neighborhoods washed away. Homes and businesses damaged beyond repair. They saw a city that will need months to recover.

Meanwhile, Asheville’s Chabad reps had set up a round-the-clock relief team, checking in with local residents and reaching out to those who were trapped or who were unresponsive. As Rabbi Groner arrived with the vanload of supplies, relief efforts kicked into high gear. They cooked hundreds of meals, packed and distributed them to locals, many of whom had been without power for days.

“So grateful to you guys! You made a lot of people very happy this evening!” Laurie Johnson, a local resident, wrote. “This was the first warm meal my family has had since Thursday night.” 

On Monday morning, Rabbi Susskind headed out to the nearby communities of Weaverville, Burnsville and Barnardsville to check in on elderly community members trapped in their homes by the flooding. 

Chabad coordinated with Hatzalah—a Jewish volunteer emergency services organization—to deploy search-and-rescue crews to the area, setting up an online form for relatives to report missing or lost individuals. Jewish crisis response and emergency rescue teams including Achiezer and Matzil also deployed to the city, with Rabbi Susskind showing them the magnitude of the devastation and aiding in coordinating their efforts. By Monday night, Rabbi Groner, back from Asheville, had set out with a truckload of additional supplies and gear, including a 4×4 Bobcat vehicle to aid in rescues over rough terrain.

Elisa is a middle-aged woman living in Asheville. Trapped in her home without electricity, water, internet or cell phone service for five days, her situation was desperate. Elisa’s daughter called the Susskinds, who sent emergency-response-trained Matzil members from New York to check on her.

“I would like to give Chana Susskind the hugest thank you and love from our family,” Elisa said. “We have such good people in our tribe. They are available to assist Jewish and non-Jewish homes. I’m so glad they checked on me and were able to confirm for my daughter that her brother and I were safe. We are so grateful to Chabad for their community leadership!” 

In the wake of the storm, Chabad has become the address for many in need. “Chabad is the lifeline of our community! It’s where we learn, pray, and eat—and from now on it will be known as the place where we get safety, information, comfort, and peace,” Shifra Ahlers, another local resident, told Lubavitch.com. “Words will never be able to express our community’s gratitude for Chabad. Rabbi Shaya and Chana Susskind brought in a search and rescue team that in its first hours got positive information to families that had been waiting for days. G-d should bless the Susskind family as they have blessed us with their tremendous efforts. ”

As the Jewish community mobilized to come to Asheville’s aid in their time of need, Rabbi Susskind urged: “Submit your missing friends and relatives info at chabadasheville.org/helene, and WE WILL FIND THEM.”