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Custom Made: What is the Power of the Minhag?

June 12, 2025 | By Boruch Werdiger | 0 Comments

Stranded in the Australian outback, the small team of explorers were exhausted, hungry, and a thousand miles from home.

Robert Burke and William Wills had led their ill-fated expedition out from Melbourne in the winter of 1860, along with nearly twenty men, a small herd of horses and camels, and a two-year supply of food. They were the first Europeans to traverse Australia’s great southern land—but sadly, the two men ended up getting stuck and dying in the middle of the continent’s vast interior.

And yet somehow, other humans managed to live comfortably in this seemingly inhospitable landscape. In fact, when they were beginning to run out of food, Burke and Wills had made brief contact with a local aboriginal tribe called the Yandruwandha, who generously stocked them up on fish, beans, and some “nardoo” cakes made from the seed-like spores of a local semiaquatic fern. Clearly, the Yandruwandha knew enough about the local flora and fauna to find or forage all the food they needed.

The nardoo cakes—basically aboriginal matzah—seemed simple enough to make. Mimicking some of the native women they had observed, the two explorers gathered the nardoo seeds, pounded them into flour, and baked them into enough cakes to fill their growling stomachs. The problem was that, unless properly processed, raw nardoo contains the toxin thiaminase, and is basically indigestible.

Traditionally the nardoo flour would be leached in water, directly exposed to ash as it was heated up, and consumed together with mussel shells. As we now know, all of these steps help break down thiaminase and prevent its harmful effects. But, unfortunately, Burke and Wills missed a few steps, so no matter how much they ate, they just kept on wasting away.

The story of Burke and Wills is a staple of Australian folklore, a tale of heroic failure set against a harsh and terrifying landscape. But Harvard biologist Joe Henrich puts the story—along with the stories of other ill-fated British, Spanish, and Portuguese explorers—to slightly different effect in his book The Secret of Our Success. To Henrich these stories point to the limits of individual human ability, intelligence, and endurance. Although these explorers may well have been smart, resourceful, and brave men, their ability to survive in a strange land depended entirely on whether they were able to learn from the other humans who were already living there.

These stories, along with Henrich’s discussion, carried a strange resonance for me. Imagining those Yandruwandha women pounding nardoo seeds, soaking them in water, and mixing them with ash, faithfully following a process handed down from the early mists of prehistory, made me think of some of our own traditions: grinding maror, pounding willow branches, mixing charoset, folding hamantaschen, baking challah, and so many other Jewish traditions handed down to us through the generations.

And maybe the comparison isn’t as odd as it first appears. Not unlike us Jews, mutatis mutandis, pre-contact indigenous Australians maintained a remarkably conservative culture over thousands of years. Who knows how long they had been painstakingly processing that nardoo, without ever having heard, we can safely surmise, of thiaminase or knowing how it gets broken down? What kind of unknown power might our own customs possess, with their occasionally obscure origins and mysterious details?

Just a Custom?

But first, a step back. In Jewish law, one might say that there are three levels of authority; that is, three possible sources for any given practice. There are laws derived directly from scripture (“d’oraita”); these are the 613 commandments, along with all of their various components and subdivisions, from eating matzah at the Seder to the prohibition against cooking on Shabbat. Then there are laws legislated by rabbinic authority (“d’rabbanan”), from the entire festival of Purim to lighting candles before Shabbat. And then there are the minhagim—customs.

Of these, the category of the custom is the most amorphous. It covers everything from the preferred garb of a given Chasidic group, to the slow-cooked cholent served for Shabbat lunch, to the particular rite with which one chooses to pray. It includes practices and restrictions that have come to carry the mandatory force of Jewish law—like the evening prayer for men, or the Ashkenazic prohibition against eating rice on Passover—as well as many other customs that remain voluntary or allow for considerable variation between communities, like the kind of hat you wear on Shabbat, or the lullaby you sing to put your children to sleep.

And more than merely amorphous, minhagim are mysterious too. To be sure, the fact that a lot of Jewish people do something––say, enjoy their bagels with a bit of lox––is not enough to turn a popular practice into a legitimate minhag. Rather, a genuine minhag must bear some kind of religious meaning, and will invariably carry the endorsement of traditional spiritual authorities.

And yet, unlike any kind of scriptural or rabbinic law observed today, a minhag does not need a textual source. In fact, it is often the case that the origins and reasons behind a particular custom are shrouded in obscurity. A subgenre of literature has sprung up to explain the existence of specific customs, first presenting minhagim and then reverse-engineering their sources. And even where those sources elude us, failing to discover the rationale behind a genuine minhag is no reason to discard it. As an extraordinary statement by the great medieval sage Rabbi Shlomo ibn Aderet (1235–1310), the RaSHBA, has it: “A custom of the grandmothers of Israel [read: Jewish bubbies] may not be cancelled, even with 600,000 reasons to the contrary.”

More than that, one would think that the biblical or rabbinic laws, laid down to us at Sinai or by the sages of the Sanhedrin, would be more important or carry more weight than matters of minhag. And yet somehow we find that it is precisely those areas of Jewish practice which are based on mere traditions that attract the greatest devotion—sometimes, as some have argued, too much devotion.

So if minhagim are just customs, why do people take them so seriously?

A Question on the Four Questions

In a 1957 talk, the Lubavitcher Rebbe points us in the direction of an answer. The Rebbe wonders about the order of the Four Questions asked on the Seder night, and specifically about the first question: “Why is this night different from all other nights? On all nights, we do not dip [our food], but on this night we dip twice, first in saltwater and then in charoset.”

Putting the question about “dipping” before any other seems a little odd. Dipping the vegetable into saltwater isn’t the first unusual thing we do at the Seder—that would be the way we recline while drinking wine at Kiddush (the fourth question). Nor would it seem to be the most serious mitzvah of the night; surely that would be the matzah (second), which the Bible commands us to eat, whereas “dipping” is mere minhag.

Instead, the Rebbe suggests that the question on dipping comes first precisely because it is minhag:

There are those who say that a biblical commandment must be fulfilled with utter commitment, even to the point of sacrifice… but customs—if they come easily, then of course, but one need not make any sacrifices for them…

The order of the questions tells us that… the first thing a child notices, and which makes an impression is… a Jewish custom. That is what catches his eye, and has the greatest effect on him. (Likutei Sichot, vol. 1, pp. 244)

In so many ways, as the Rebbe goes on to say, the things that make Jewish life distinctive, that sets it apart from the surrounding culture, that make up the warp and weft of the Torah lifestyle, are so often minhagim. The formal obligations derived from the Torah, the Talmud, and the Code of Jewish Law are one thing, but to form a firm sense of Jewish identity, one needs an authentic, organic, lived Jewish culture, which is in turn defined by the minhag—the way we dress, the names we call each other, the food we eat, the songs we sing at the Shabbat table, and so on and so on.

If a child’s lifestyle and environment are similar to that of his non-Jewish surroundings—even if he regularly studies Torah, prays, keeps the mitzvot, and so on—since he [otherwise] acts in the same way as his surroundings, then it will not be apparent that he is a Jew. (Ibid.)

The sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe spoke up the minhag in similar tones:

In the previous generation, Jewish people knew well the concept of [the minhag], and kept them meticulously… They knew that, aside from the fact that Jewish customs are founded in holiness, and that they themselves are Torah, Jewish customs are the splendor of the Jewish people… (Sefer HaSichos 5700, p. 43)

But all of this is not quite enough to understand the reverence with which Jewish customs are held. In the classic formulation, a “minhag of the Jewish people is itself Torah” (see Tosafot on Talmud, Menachot 20b). It’s one thing to speak about the role of custom and culture in forming Jewish identity, but to say that a custom is part of the holy Torah, with all that entails, is quite another thing.

Again, a comparison between the three categories we began with is instructive. It doesn’t take much to appreciate why the biblical commandments are so important: G-d told us at Sinai to follow the commandments, and you can’t get any better than that. The Torah in turn tells us to respect the authority of the rabbis, whose expertise and spiritual attunement grant them the power to legislate and determine Jewish law. But a custom is, fundamentally, simply something that Jewish people do. What elevates it to the status of Torah? Without explicit revelation or rabbinic authority, where does the power of the minhag come from?

For that, let’s return – much like, one feels compelled to say, a boomerang arcing its way across the sky – back to the Yandruwandha women.

The Collective Brain

The lesson that author Joe Henrich draws from his tales of lost European explorers is one that he applies to the entire history of our species: the extraordinary success of human civilization depends less on raw individual intelligence than on our ability to accumulate and share knowledge at the group level. To put it simply, groups are smarter than individuals.

This may seem like a counterintuitive claim. The unwashed masses, the braying crowd, and mob rule never have had a good reputation. But as the writer James Surowiecki explores at length in his Wisdom of Crowds, while it is true that conformism and groupthink can lead people astray, groups are generally smarter and more knowledgeable, and better at predicting the future, solving problems, and much else.

At any rate, the simple fact is that there are hard limits on how much a person can figure out on their own. Think of poor Robert Burke, trying to get the nardoo preparation process right. Or think about how much we rely on the accumulated expertise of others every single day. A fun thought experiment to illustrate this is to imagine how many modern amenities you would be able to recreate if you were suddenly transported back to, say, the Bronze Age. Granted unlimited resources and manpower, how would you go about making an iPhone? Building an internal combustion engine? Producing antibiotics? Synthesizing fertilizer?

Now of course, I wouldn’t have the first clue how to do any of these things, but we do. In fact, nobody knows how to do every one of these things, and yet somehow we manage to do them every day. But what is this “we” exactly?

To understand the way a given population holds on to and transmits its technical knowledge and cultural traditions, Henrich refers to their “collective brain,” knowledge that is not housed in any one brain, a large library, or even a data center; instead it emerges from a group of individuals capable of transmitting information, as a function of the size and interconnectedness of that society.

If we turn all this to our own purposes, and make the leap from the sociological to the theological, the “collective brain” is strikingly reminiscent of an idea that can be traced back to the foundational texts of halachah. To take one example from the Jerusalem Talmud:

Any halachah about which there is some uncertainty in the courts, and you do not know what its status is, go out and see how the community is accustomed to act—and then act like them. (Jerusalem Talmud, Ma’aser Sheni 5:2)

This piece of jurisprudential advice—a testament to the power of custom—is repeated numerous times throughout the Talmud: go out and see what the people are doing. Again, considering that the Talmud is essentially a record of the intramural debates of a small circle of scholarly elites, this is exceedingly odd: If the rabbis who have devoted their lives to studying the Torah and preserving the traditions of the Oral Law can’t figure out what the law is, why would the people do any better? What do the masses have that the rabbis don’t?

Another passage, this time from the Babylonian Talmud, makes explicit the extraordinary rationale behind this principle. The Talmud is discussing the laws of the paschal lamb, the sacrificial offering that families brought to the Jerusalem Temple on the eve of every Passover. One year, the day before Passover happened to be a Shabbat. The sacrifice would still be performed in the usual manner, but a question was asked of the great sage Hillel: What if someone forgets to bring the knife they need to perform the offering at the Temple Mount? Normally, one may not carry anything on Shabbat—does that law still apply? To this Hillel replies:

I heard this halachah [from my teachers], but I have forgotten it. But leave it to the Jewish people; if they are not prophets, then they are the sons of prophets. (Talmud, Pesachim 66a)

That Shabbat, Hillel went out to see what the people were doing. Lo and behold, they had come up with a creative workaround to avoid violating the prohibition against carrying on the holy day: They made their animals carry the knives instead!

The next day, one whose paschal offering was a lamb stuck [the knife] in its wool; one whose paschal offering was a goat stuck it between its horns. [Hillel] saw the incident, remembered the halachah, and said: “This what I received from the mouths of [my teachers]…”

This remarkable story answers our previous question. The way some commentators have it, the reason the rabbis of the Talmud were able to defer to the halachic authority of the common folk was because those common folk are “the sons of prophets.” That is to say that the Jewish people possess quasi-prophetic powers, a kind of halachic sixth sense, that helps them intuit the way G-d wants them to fulfill the Torah’s commandments. Think of Henrich’s “collective brain,” only supercharged, spiritualized, and directed towards the observance of Jewish law.

In fact, the 18th-century Lithuanian rabbi and kabbalist Rabbi Eliyahu Ragoler explicitly refers to this intuition as ruach hakodesh, the “holy spirit” of spiritual perception typically only associated with the most pious and righteous leaders and sages:

…When a custom has become consensus within the Jewish people, it is a result of ruach hakodesh, whereby G-d has revealed Himself among them, just as He would guide a prophet. For when their will and their actions are directed for the sake of Heaven, G-d illuminates for the Assembly of Israel, with ruach hakodesh, the right way to act. There is proof for this idea from [the Talmud]: “If they are not prophets, then they are the sons of prophets.” (Yad Eliyahu, Pesakim, sec. 25)

A Custom as a Kiss

We have traveled a long way from pounding nardoo down under with the Yandruwandha. But the same concept that explains how a tribe of hunter-gatherers (or indeed, any human society) is able to access a body of transgenerational wisdom acquired organically, can, by way of analogy, also help us appreciate our own people’s ability to tap into a transcendent divine intelligence – through the popular practice of halacha, and in particular in the form of the minhag.

Previously we divided the sources of Jewish religious practice into three general categories: biblical law, rabbinic law, and customary law (minhag). By now we can better appreciate how all three are a part of the Torah; as the Chasidic tradition goes, even minhagim were given at Sinai, and were simply revealed later.

Typically, and reasonably enough, it is assumed that biblical law—those 613 mitzvot revealed to us straight from Sinai—is the most “important” of the three. But the truth isn’t quite as simple as that.

The minhag is an expression of ruach hakodesh—of the Divine will—not simply as it manifests in the Talmudic debates of the rabbis and the study halls of the scholarly elite, but as it manifests in the timeworn traditions of an entire people, in the collective hearts and minds of the Jewish nation.

The words of the Torah are G-d’s explicit communication with the Jewish people. But words can say only so much; our truest feelings, our deepest desires, our strongest passions, are hardest to articulate. Sometimes the things we leave unsaid mean the most, the implicit is more powerful than the explicit, the subtext deeper than text.

The Chasidic masters teach us that the same is true of G-d. The messages He did not put explicitly in the Torah—the implications He left for us to figure out, the laws and customs He left to our own discretion—are in some sense the deepest message of all.

It is true that the customs of Judaism, the minhagim, are not recorded in the Five Books of Moses. It is true that a good many minhagim carry neither obligation nor prohibition, nor any penalty for our failure to fulfill them. Instead G-d leaves them to us, and that is their power.

“When a father loves his son,” the Rebbe once offered by way of analogy, “he provides for his necessities (that is, things which are d’oraita); when the love is more powerful, he gives toys or other luxuries (d’rabbanan things); but when his deepest love is revealed, it cannot be expressed by any of these things, but only by hugging or kissing him.” (Toras Menachem, vol. 24, p. 128)

A minhag as a hug. That is, the customs and traditions that define the familiar contours of Jewish practice, filling it with so much color and life, are that unspoken kind of affection: They are G-d’s will, unstated but revealed within a nation of prophets, an expression of the love between G-d and His people, freely reciprocated. This is the power of the minhag.

This article appears in the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of Lubavitch International, to subscribe to the magazine, click here.

Chabad of Madison Unveils New Center Amid Jewish Growth

June 9, 2025 | By Leibel Kahan | 0 Comments

Despite rising antisemitism that makes headlines almost daily, Chabad continues its activities, building and growing Jewish communities across the country, reminding everyone that Jewish life is not only here to stay, but to thrive.

It was in this spirit that hundreds turned out to celebrate the grand opening of a new Chabad center in Madison, Wisconsin, last month. Addressing the crowd, Kathy Blumenfeld, secretary of the Wisconsin Department of Administration, captured the significance of the new Chabad center in today’s climate. “We’ve all seen the rising tide of hate and antisemitism and wondered, ‘What can we do?’ I think the answers are here at this center. Places like this help us bring people together to learn, to laugh, to recharge and to renew our obligations to one another.”

Founded in 1980 by Rabbi Yona and Faygie Matusof, Chabad of Madison started out serving Jewish students in the University of Wisconsin. After a few years, the Matusofs opened a small Chabad House on the ground floor of their home to cater to the local Jewish community.

“It was cozy, but tight,” said Rabbi Avremel Matusof. He and his wife Mushkie are second-generation Chabad representatives in Madison. His brother, Rabbi Mendel Matusof, now leads the Chabad presence at University of Wisconsin with his wife Henya.

Madison, the capital city of Wisconsin, is home to an estimated 5,000 Jewish families, in addition to hundreds of Jewish students attending University of Wisconsin. The city’s Jewish population has grown steadily throughout the last few decades, with families drawn by the city’s university, tech industry, and progressive culture.

“Over the years, the crowds at Chabad got bigger and bigger,” said Matusof. “We started holding events in the backyard or at rented spaces around town, but it was always a challenge.” High Holiday services and other big programs were held outdoors because of overflowing crowds.

Several years ago, search began for a new home for Chabad. In 2020, the perfect location was found: a property on Monroe Street, one of Madison’s most beloved thoroughfares. The area is known for its walkable charm, lined with coffee shops, bookstores, and locally owned businesses — and it sits just a short drive from both downtown and the University of Wisconsin campus. Providentially, the property was already zoned for community use, sparing Chabad the agonizingly long and tedious process for permits and approvals.

Soon after the purchase, Chabad of Madison launched a $5.4 million capital campaign to fund construction. More than 500 people contributed — from longtime supporters to first-time donors.

Local entrepreneur Isaac Showaki, founder of Octopi Brewing Co., was among the project’s leading donors. The new building now bears the family’s name: the Marissa & Isaac Showaki Family Chabad Jewish Center. Another lead gift came from the Irwin A. and Robert D. Goodman Foundation. The Goodman brothers, longtime owners of Goodman’s Jewelers in downtown Madison, were well-known in the city for decades.

With their help, the dream of a new Chabad center became a reality. “There’s room for Hebrew School, adult education, services, and events for all ages,” said Dr. Jim Stein, another key donor and organizer of the building project. “We’ve seen three times as many people coming since it’s opened.”

“I loved the little Chabad House we had before, but on holidays, you could barely breathe,” recalled Eileen Bruskewitz, a resident of Madison, Wisconsin who has been with Chabad for more than forty years. “Having a permanent home gives the community a real foundation — a place to grow. And of course — like every good Chabad House — it’s already too small!”

The grand opening for the Chabad center was held on April 27, with Monroe Street closed off as hundreds gathered to celebrate in front of the brand-new building.

Isaac Showaki, standing at the front of the building with his wife and three children, explained that his contribution was also for “the next generation — to teach our children the values of Judaism and to keep our faith going.”

Dr. Stein summed up the moment: “The entire Jewish community showed up — leaders from synagogues, the Federation — everyone was there. It was a beautiful moment of unity — a new chapter for Jewish life in Madison.”

For Madison’s Jewish community, the new Chabad center is more than just a building. It’s a response to the present — and a promise for the future.

Ep. 55: Chabad’s Return To Mumbai

June 8, 2025 | By Staff Writer | 0 Comments

Chabad-Lubavitch Headquarters presents Episode 55 of its podcast series about the personal struggles and achievements of Chabad representatives

The Story of Private First Class Ray J. Kaufmann

May 26, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 5 Comments

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.

Chabad Opens on Mykonos Island

May 21, 2025 | By Leibel Kahan | 5 Comments

“There was nothing Jewish here,” says Ori Philosof, a businessman who has called the island of Mykonos home for the past several years. “We were here, but completely disconnected. No minyan, no kosher food — nothing.” He used to arrange Shabbat and holiday meals for his Jewish employees, but it was always a struggle. “We’d have to ship kosher food from Israel or Athens and pray that everything worked out.”

With dozens of locals and thousands of Jewish tourists visiting each year, Mykonos — Greece’s glitziest getaway, known for its beaches and nightlife — has long needed Jewish infrastructure. Opening on the island this year, Chabad has made Mykonos a place where Jewish life can flourish for travelers and locals alike.

“I didn’t know much about Mykonos,” admits Rabbi Uziel Moshe Friedland. “But after visiting a few times, I realized there was a lot to be done here.” He and his wife, Shterna Sara, were recruited by Rabbi Mendel Hendel of Chabad of Greece to establish the island’s first Chabad presence. They arrived just after Passover and began laying the groundwork — meeting with locals, locating kosher suppliers, and finding a home for Chabad.

After searching for several months, they found the perfect location. “We signed the lease the day we flew out,” says Rabbi Friedland. Located right near some of Mykonos’s most popular beaches, the new Chabad House stands atop a hill overlooking the Aegean Sea. The same sunsets that draw partygoers now also shine over a Shabbat table.

Chabad will welcome a new Torah scroll right after Shavuot, just in time for the busy summer season ahead. “Services and Shabbat meals will be part of our regular programming,” says Rabbi Friedland. Upscale kosher catering is also available, which makes bar and bat mitzvahs, weddings, and other milestone celebrations now much more of a possibility.

For locals like Philosof, the new center fills a long-standing gap. “It was something we were truly missing,” he says. “Not just for tourists — but for all of us here year-round.”

Oranit Lion Mor, who has lived on Mykonos for five years, is grateful. “It’s finally possible to celebrate Jewish life on the island.”

Shabbat candles distributed across the island

Playing by Heart

May 13, 2025 | By S. Schreiber | 0 Comments

In January the largest satellite radio provider in America, SiriusXM, added a track to its “Spa” channel from a new, emerging artist. “Eyes That Sparkle,” a solo piano composition by Sarah Dukes, joined a rotation that includes new-age music pioneer Steven Halpern, the German electronic band Tangerine Dream, and Enya. By definition, this sort of ambient music strives not to attract attention; but Dukes’s work, which is born of her experiences as a psychotherapist and a widowed Chasidic mother raising six children, is worth a closer look.

As a composer, Dukes is entirely self-taught—her fluid, meditative music follows only the rules prescribed by her ear and her heart. They have not led her astray. Dukes’s 2016 album Life Sometimes earned a silver medal from the Global Music Awards and a Grammy nomination. Her work has been used in network television shows and featured on the in-flight entertainment systems of Singapore Airlines and EgyptAir, among others. In her own life, music has been both a mirror and a balm for her soul, Dukes told me, offering her a way to cope with extraordinary challenges while simultaneously sharing her resilience with others.

Dukes grew up in North Carolina and began composing at the age of eight, when her parents insisted the delinquent piano student spend at least twenty minutes at the instrument every day. “I started playing around with the keys and hearing different notes and just experimenting,” she recalled. “At a certain point I realized, Whoa, there are so many more sounds that can be created that go way beyond my piano books.”

As an adult, what draws Dukes to the piano is tension. “When I compose, I’m seeking a release for something—I don’t always know what triggers it,” she said. Her pieces are brief by new-age standards, around three minutes long, with recognizable melodic motifs that vary and evolve as she probes emotional territory. While her creative process allows for maximal freedom, it also has drawbacks: “Sometimes it can take me a lot longer, because I have to play around until I find the sound that’s like, Ah, that’s it.” In the occasional moments of stillness, one can almost hear her gathering her thoughts, taking a breath.

Even in the absence of lyrics, the determination to find beauty in pain—perhaps the defining characteristic of Dukes’s work—is unmistakable.

Following her ear also regularly brings Dukes beyond the range of her own technical skill as a pianist: all of her albums are performed by other musicians, many by Israeli composer and producer Yaron Gershovsky.

Though sadness is often the impetus for Dukes to begin composing, her music is never dark. Faith informs every aspect of her art. She hesitated for a long time to release her music, she told me, fearing the vulnerability that wide exposure would bring. “But at some point I realized that my attitude was disrespectful,” she said. “If G-d gave me this talent, then I’m meant to use it, I’m meant to share it.” Even after three albums and multiple singles, her music is so deeply personal that only a Higher Authority could convince her to publish, she said: “I write for myself. I share it for G-d.”

It was faith, and music, that sustained Dukes through her husband’s ten-month battle with Covid-19. A Chabad representative and founder of JNet, a platform that pairs people around the world for one-on-one study sessions, Yudi Dukes suffered extensive complications from the virus, including lung collapse, stroke, and liver failure. The family’s ordeal drew attention throughout the Jewish world and beyond, in large part because of Dukes’s social media posts at the time. She candidly shared her experience, asked people to perform mitzvahs on her husband’s behalf, and asserted her faith that her husband would recover. Occasionally she shared videos of herself at the piano. In the comments sections of her daily posts, a community of Jewish and non-Jewish admirers emerged for whom Dukes’s faith and music were one.

Throughout those ten “crazy, difficult” months she kept writing music. It was an outlet for her, as always, but she knew it wasn’t only for her. “I think that the power of music, and specifically instrumental music, is the interpretation left up to the listener—and that’s what healing is about,” she said. “That’s what can be an emotional catharsis for the listener.” Dukes’s newest release, Washed Away (featuring the hit “Eyes That Sparkle”), is her first EP since her husband’s death in 2021. The tempo is slower than in her previous work, the tones more subdued, but the impression is one of questioning and contemplation rather than grief. Even in the absence of lyrics, the determination to find beauty in pain—perhaps the defining characteristic of Dukes’s work—is unmistakable.

This article appears in the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of Lubavitch International, to subscribe to the magazine, click here.

Russian Jews Connect in Shanghai

May 13, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 0 Comments

Sporting kippahs and tzitzit, 800 Jews from Russia who completed a course of Judaic study, walked the streets of China’s biggest city celebrating their identity.

“I can’t fully explain it, but I believe it was a sudden awakening of Jewish pride within me.”

That’s how Zev Sharapov, a young Jew from Russia, described his experience on a tour of Shanghai, China with hundreds of his Jewish Russian compatriots.

Shaparov completed a series of weekly Judaic classes over the course of a year making him eligible for the all-expense paid trip. Sponsored by Yahad, a Chabad educational initiative by the Federation of Jewish Communities of the CIS, the tour features a different destination every year for Jews 18-28 who have completed the course.

In all, 800 participants from Yahad’s 60 branches spanning countries of the Former Soviet Union—from Eastern Europe to Siberia—joined this year’s trip to Shanghai.

“This is my second time joining Yahad’s trip, and I’d been looking forward to it all year,” said Chana Kusnetsova, a Jewish student from Novosibirsk, a city in Siberia. “The attractions and fun are amazing—but what matters most is that I found myself, my inner self.”

“Thanks to the devoted staff and to my Chabad leader from back home who joined the trip, I now feel ready to build a Jewish home—something I never imagined possible, or even wanted,” Kusnetsova said. “Today, I dream of raising children who will receive a genuine Jewish education and grow up as proud members of our incredible nation.”

The tour presents participants—many who could not otherwise afford it—a rare opportunity to travel abroad and see the world. More importantly, it is a profoundly enriching Jewish experience.

“This is the one week a year they can be who they are—proud Jews,” said Rabbi Mendy Wilansky, who directs Yahad. “They may not feel comfortable being the only one wearing a kippah in their hometowns. During the trip, they join hundreds of other Jews in seeing that you can walk around as proud Jews anywhere in the world.”

Shaparov concurs.“The atmosphere throughout the entire trip was so uplifting that I naturally found myself committing to put on Tefillin every day—as if it were the easiest, most natural thing in the world,” said.

The group met with Rabbi Shalom Greeberg, the Chabad representative in Shanghai, and learned about the city’s Jewish community and its storied history. They visited the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum, learning about Jewish life during the Holocaust. Of particular interest to them was the historical account about the students of Chabad’s flagship yeshiva in Poland who fled the Nazi invasion on the Trans-Siberian Railway to Vladivostok, ultimately finding refuge in Shanghai for the duration of the war.

Sporting kippahs and tzitzit, the travelers walked the streets of China’s biggest city and visited Shanghai’s Disneyland, where two Jewish couples resolved to marry and start a Jewish home together. During an inspirational Shabbat, many were moved to embrace Jewish practices.

“I’ve met many new Jewish friends from all over Russia during this trip,” said Beyla, a Jewish girl from Nizhny Novgorod, a city in Western Russia. “The trip was life-changing, giving me a sense of unity and pride in being Jewish.”

Chabad Opens in Niagara Falls USA

May 9, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 0 Comments

Daniel Treger, a college student from Buenos Aires, Argentina, was visiting Niagara Falls in January when he noticed the Chabad Mobile Center near the main viewing area. “Hearing Jewish music and seeing a rabbi assisting other Jews with Tefillin stopped me in my tracks,” Treger said.

Treger wrapped tefillin for the first time since his bar mitzvah. “ I came for the sights, but Chabad reminded me of my roots, and I’ll never forget it.”

With special permits from the State Park in place, Rabbi Yehuda and Yehudis Lorber, who founded Chabad of Niagara Falls, U.S.A, are bringing Jewish awareness and connection through their Mobile Center — a repurposed RV. The Lorbers had lived in nearby Buffalo, New York, where they worked in Jewish education. They also made frequent visits to the Falls on behalf of Chabad of Buffalo before formally launching the center in 2024.

Since their website went live, the Lorbers have received a near-constant stream of requests for Jewish resources — everything from kosher food to a place to pray to the location of the nearest mikvah from Jewish visitors to the Falls.

In October , visitors to Niagara Falls, U.S.A., saw signage pointing to a brand-new point of interest within the state park. Located at Terrapin Point, a giant sukkah welcomed more than 3,000 visitors during the intermediate days of Sukkot. The sukkah was a joint project of the New York State Park and Chabad.

“I was walking through Niagara Falls State Park with my kids when we spotted a sukkah right in the middle of the grounds,” said Sara Bergman from Los Angeles, California. “I couldn’t believe it. We were thrilled! The signs around the park explained the meaning of the holiday, and then we actually got to step into the sukkah, make a bracha, and shake lulav and etrog.”

“It was surreal—we were surrounded by tourists from all over the world, and here we were, celebrating Sukkot like we never left home,” Bergman said. “It made our experience complete. Chabad brought the joy of the holiday right into the heart of the Falls.

The Lorbers are looking forward to creating a visitor center, which will offer a space for prayer and relaxation, a mikvah, and kosher food. For more information, visit ChabadNiagaraFallsUSA.org.

Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar, 78

May 6, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 0 Comments

Rabbi Sholom Ber Lipskar, founder of the Aleph Institute and The Shul of Bal Harbour, passed away on Shabbat. He was 78.

Known affectionately as “The Rabbi,” he leaves behind a grieving community in Bal Harbour and Surfside, Florida, which he led for more than 45 years. His legacy will continue to serve countless Jewish U.S. service members. As well, his impact will continue to resonate among Jewish prison inmates and their families who benefited from the Aleph Institute.

When Rabbi Lipskar and his wife Chani founded The Shul of Bal Harbour in 1981, some homes in the neighborhood still had language in their deeds prohibiting sale to “anyone not a member of the Caucasian race, nor to anyone having more than one-fourth Hebrew … blood.” The Bal Harbour Club wouldn’t allow Jews onto its premises until the following year.

But buoyed by the Rebbe’s blessing that they would find good fortune in this new place, the Lipskars put down roots in South Florida. From humble beginnings in their tiny apartment and then a small storefront, The Shul now occupies a large property on Collins Avenue and 95th Street — at the border of the Bal Harbour and Surfside communities. With the guidance of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Lipskar established the now renowned Aleph Institute in 1981 serving Jews living on the margins of society.

In his decades of leadership at The Shul, Lipskar taught, counseled and guided thousands.

David Wolf was one of them. Some thirty years ago, Wolf joined one of Lipskar’s Torah classes. He says that from the start, he could see that Lipskar truly cared and saw his “Jewish soul.” Unaffiliated at the time, Wolf says he was “enthralled by the teachings in his class, and that began a long and incredibly positive impactful relationship with me.”

Lipskar officiated at the wedding of David and his wife Natalie, as well as at the brit milahs of their sons. Two-and-a-half years ago, Wolf — who is a Bal Harbor Village Councilman — became the President of The Shul. “As I became President, I became more in awe of his extraordinary wisdom, knowledge, empathy, and passion,” Wolf said. “I’ve never met another person whose entire being and energy — for five decades — was so completely dedicated to his mission.”

That mission also extended far beyond South Florida, as he founded and led the Aleph Institute.

Rabbi Lipskar founded the Aleph Institute, bringing light to Jews behind bars

The Aleph Institute became known as well for its bold and often dramatic initiatives. Among them, it hosted conferences for Jewish members of the military, rescued Afghans from the Taliban and provided aircraft carriers with Passover Seder provisions. Aleph also became a resource for Jewish members of the military, celebrating Jewish traditions with them as “a means of connecting with something outside of war, pain, and loss, something redeeming and very uplifting,” Lipskar told Lubavitch.com.

For the incarcerated, Aleph is a light behind bars. Rabbi Lipskar remained active in prison chaplaincy all his life, visiting Jewish inmates as recently as this past Chanukah.

With the growth and success of the organizations Lipskar led, he never lost sight of the individual. When a beachfront condominium collapsed in Surfside on June 24, 2021, Lipskar was at the forefront reaching out to families whose loved ones lay under the rubble.

“I have seen my community come together like never before,” Lipskar told Lubavitch.com in an interview at the time. “There is no way to deal with an event of this magnitude intellectually. There are no answers. Logic and even emotions fail us. The only way to process it is by tapping into the spiritual realm.”

Lipskar is remembered as someone who always demanded more. Staff at Aleph recall that upon receiving a report of the number of correctional institutions visited over Chanukah, or military bases where Seders were held, his first question would be: “How can we reach more Jewish people.”

“He charged everybody not to just do things, but to go ‘over the top,’” Wolf recalled. “I believe that the Rabbi’s legacy and his charge of ‘over the top,’ — which was his motto — will echo forward through the thousands of lives he touched, the tons of souls he elevated, and the acts of kindness he did.”

Lipskar’s Aleph Institute serves the needs of thousands of Jewish service members and their families

Ep. 54: Finding The Frozen Chosen

May 4, 2025 | By Staff Writer | 0 Comments

Chabad-Lubavitch Headquarters presents Episode 54 of its podcast series about the personal struggles and achievements of Chabad representatives

Today In Jewish History: 2 Iyar

April 29, 2025 | By Staff Writer | 0 Comments

Today is Bet (2) Iyar, the birthday of Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch, also known as the Rebbe Maharash. Rabbi Shmuel was born in the Russian town of Lubavitch in the year 1834.

After his father, Rabbi Menachem Mendel (aka the Tzemach Tzedek) passed away, the Maharash, who was the youngest of his 6 brothers, became the Rebbe of Lubavitch.

Rabbi Shmuel was fluent in multiple languages and used this skill when he traveled throughout Russia to lobby for better treatment of the Jews living there.

It was the Maharash who coined the concept of “Lechatchila Ariber,” (he famously declared, “The world says if you can’t go under [a hurdle], go over; I say, from the beginning, jump over!) which became axiomatic in Chabad—this is the idea of a kind of holy chutzpah that empowers the Chasid to confront challenges with courage and a boldness of spirit so that they don’t become obstacles on his path in avodat haShem.

The Maharash continued in his father’s path, but with new emphasis on certain ideas and themes that were not until then closely considered. One idea that was explicitly stressed by Maharash but wasn’t that central before is the perspective of reality despite the absolute belief in acosmism. Originally, Chabad taught that relative to Divine reality, our own reality is not authentic. In his discourse Mi Kamocha 5629 (1869), the Maharash argued that, notwithstanding Chabad’s attitude until now that all existence was perceived as null, the world in fact does have an authentic reality, even from a Divine perspective. The last Lubavitcher Rebbe would frequently pick up on this theme and employ it in his own talks and discourses to support his call to engage with our environment and effect change in the world as we know it.

Rabbi Shmuel led the Chabad movement from 1866 until 1882, when he passed away at the young age of 48 after years of illness. Many of his works have been published and are widely studied today.

You can purchase a full biography of the Rebbe Maharash and browse the full selection of his Seforim by visiting this link.

And There Was Light

April 28, 2025 | By Sarah Ogince | 0 Comments

Marnie Perlstein, an advocate against antisemitism in Sydney, Australia, calls herself an “accidental influencer.” When protestors burned an Israeli flag on the steps of the Sydney Opera House two days after the October 7 Hamas attacks, Perlstein turned her Instagram account—previously reserved for friends and family—into a channel for her rage. She has meticulously documented the surge in Australian antisemitism, called for the hostages’ release, and cursed the Australian government for its apathy. Within a few months her follower count climbed to the tens of thousands.

But on September 26th of last year Perlstein asked her followers to take a brief break from their indignation. It was the fiftieth anniversary of Chabad’s global candle-lighting campaign, and the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah. Perlstein invited her followers to join people around the world who were lighting Shabbat candles. “At this point I’m looking for anything that will make the world a better place and spread light rather than darkness, and love rather than hate,” she wrote.

The same day Elaine Chaya, a fashion blogger and influencer based in Los Angeles, appeared in an Instagram reel standing at her kitchen counter brandishing porcelain candlesticks painted pink and yellow with butterflies. “Stop your scroll,” she told her Jewish followers; “we need your help.” She explained the Rebbe’s candle-lighting campaign, and then called her followers to action: “Married, single, religious, not religious,” she said, “with our light, we can make a difference.”

One of Elaine Chaya’s followers, a woman I’ll call Sandy, saw the reel and hesitated. Living alone in Los Angeles, Sandy felt the Hamas attacks and their reverberations keenly. “I’m scared to be Jewish,” she said. “I’m worried that I have a mezuzah on my door. Fortunately it’s covered by the screen door.” Sandy also identifies as an atheist, with choice words for any deity who could allow all the suffering she’s witnessed. She wasn’t interested in a religious ritual.

Still, following influencers like Elaine Chaya who proudly defended Israel gave Sandy a feeling of community. And the idea of doing something at the same time with a lot of other Jews appealed to her. She recalled how, as a young woman, she had driven past Jewish homes on Olympic Boulevard on Friday evenings and looked through their large, illuminated windows at tables covered in white linen and crystal in honor of Shabbat, thinking she might one day have her own such table. “This was kind of a throwback to that time,” she said, “to hope.”

Armed with Light

In September of 1974, a year after the Yom Kippur War devastated Israeli society and a month after President Richard Nixon resigned in disgrace, the Rebbe introduced a new mitzvah-campaign. Jewish women and girls should kindle Shabbat and holiday candles to bring light into a world that was spinning into darkness and chaos, the Rebbe said—even girls as young as three should perform the mitzvah. “The Rebbe felt the children would bring more light,” said Esther Sternberg, who has directed Chabad’s Shabbat candle-lighting campaign for the past fifty years. “They will do the mitzvah when they’re young. Then hopefully they’ll keep doing it, and it will keep them anchored to Yiddishkeit.”

Phillip Roth described Shabbat candle-lighting as the single island of sanctity in the life of a young boy questioning his faith: “When his mother lit candles Ozzie felt there should be no noise; even breathing, if you could manage it, should be softened.”

Shabbat candles have always had popular appeal. Not mentioned in the Torah, the practice of ushering in the Sabbath by kindling lights may have developed in antiquity. Shabbat lamps bring joy, honor, and peace to the holy day, the sages said, including the practice as one of seven rabbinic mitzvahs. The Mishnah connects this obligation to women, and subsequently, in the post-Talmudic period, a blessing over the candles was instituted. So essential did the practice become that the eleventh-century commentator Rashi asserted that the Matriarch Sarah kindled a Shabbat lamp that burned all week.

For twentieth-century American Jews, Shabbat candle-lighting was an accessible observance not requiring synagogue membership, its association with mothers giving it a special aura of nostalgia. The Barry Sisters paid homage to the glory of “My Mother’s Sabbath Lights” in the forties, and in his 1958 story “The Conversion of the Jews,” Phillip Roth described Shabbat candle-lighting as the single island of sanctity in the life of a young boy questioning his faith: “When his mother lit candles Ozzie felt there should be no noise; even breathing, if you could manage it, should be softened.”

But few of the children who fondly recalled watching their mothers perform the mitzvah continued the practice, and by 1974 it was primarily Orthodox Jews who lit Shabbat candles—almost exclusively married women.

Because Shabbat candle-lighting is easily performed using common household materials, the Rebbe’s campaign was largely a matter of getting the word out. In America, it began with a full-page ad that Sternberg placed in the Yiddish daily Der Morgen Zhurnal, urging Jewish women and their daughters to light Shabbat and holiday candles, and to give a few coins to charity beforehand. That was eventually upgraded to a long-running notice listing Shabbat candle-lighting times on the front page of the New York Times.

The campaign had a practical side as well. The Rebbe supervised the design of a brass candlestick, since reproduced an estimated 8 million times and distributed all over the world, and the popularization of tea lights in the 1980s and ’90s made it affordable for Chabad high school girls to distribute candles on street corners every Friday afternoon. But in the campaign that came to be known as Neshek—an acronym for the Hebrew words “holy Sabbath lights” that also means “weapon”—the most potent ammunition was light.

Promoting Shabbat candle-lighting in Monticello, New York, circa 1975

Home and Homeland

Marnie Perlstein and Elaine Chaya created their Instagram posts at the request of Rivkah Krinsky, a Chabad activist, matchmaker, and podcast host who coordinated a social media blitz for the Neshek campaign’s fiftieth anniversary. Eighty-one influencers all over the world urged their followers to light Shabbat candles as part of #HomeofLight, reaching an audience of more than three million people.

The social-media campaign’s name is a reference to the domestic nature of the mitzvah. “Light, gratitude, everything starts in the home,” Krinsky said, There is also, she noted, a second, more current reference intended: “We’re one people, with one homeland.”

The task of dispelling darkness with light seemed particularly urgent in the aftermath of October 7. In a survey conducted last year by the Jewish Federations of North America, 43 percent of American Jews expressed a new interest in engaging with Jewish life. And for many, Shabbat candle-lighting was an easy first step. American and Israeli celebrities announced that they had incorporated the mitzvah into their weekly routines. In the week after the Hamas attacks, the Lubavitch Youth Organization of Brooklyn shipped fifteen thousand candle-lighting kits all over the world.

Even people who knew little about Chabad’s campaign made the connection. Kylie Ora Lobell, a Jewish writer and publicist, posted a video on social media last winter standing in front of anti-Israel protestors at a Jewish National Fund conference in Denver—in her hand was a large bag of tea lights. “They called me a baby killer. So I handed out Shabbat candles,” she wrote gleefully.

The gloom is particularly thick online—82 percent of young Jewish adults said they had encountered antisemitism on social media—and many Jewish influencers have spent the last two years in reactive mode, combating misinformation.

“I’m entrenched in darkness and negative stories,” Perlstein acknowledged. That made her post about Neshek particularly meaningful. “I’m not a religious person. It’s interesting that I was included and that it really resonated,” she mused. “There was something about everyone focusing on doing it [candle-lighting] at the same time. The call to action was definitely heard and heeded.”

Perlstein and Elaine Chaya’s posts garnered more than a thousand likes each. Some followers commented that they had been inspired to begin lighting Shabbat candles again after many years; some committed to do the mitzvah that week for the first time.

Campaign #HomeofLight reached 3 million Instagram users. Elaine Chaya’s post (right) alone received more than 300,000 impressions

“Layering Commitments”

Long before the advent of social media, the Neshek campaign found a large and receptive audience in the Soviet immigrants who flocked to America in the 1980s and ’90s. “We were hated and persecuted without knowing what it meant to be Jewish,” said Anna Vaysman, whose family settled in Chicago after her parents sought political asylum in 1991. Chabad’s Friends of Refugees of Eastern Europe helped the family access medical and dental care, and provided basic Jewish supplies, including tea lights for her and her mother to light on Friday evenings.

Shabbat candles are lit eighteen minutes before sundown on Friday, after which Shabbat officially begins. Timing is crucial—kindling a new flame on Shabbat is strictly prohibited, so it’s better not to light at all than to light too late. And for many people, this limitation is part of the appeal. Maintaining the practice, performing a small act each week at the same time with many others, nurtures discipline, attention, and a sense of belonging.

Often, as the Rebbe pointed out in talks about the Neshek campaign, the small flames become the point from which an awakening Jewish consciousness expands outward to transform an entire family.

Vaysman’s early years in the Soviet Union cast a shadow over her adult Jewish life. Now a mother herself, she has thought carefully about how she wants her children to experience their Jewish identity. “We’re still Soviet Jews,” she said. “My kids will practice Judaism in a different way than my husband and I do. I wanted them to do better, to really feel it and know it. They have the freedom to explore.”

Though her work schedule had made lighting Shabbat candles on time difficult, Vaysman committed to light Shabbat candles on time each week during the Covid pandemic. Five years later, she and her daughter are still lighting candles, the lighting now preceded by giving to charity and followed by a full Shabbat dinner. “Now we keep adding to that commitment,” she said. “It’s like we’re layering our commitments, and the things that we’re doing for our religion, our family, and our people.”

Step Away and Pray

In a pre-electricity world, Shabbat candles served a practical purpose. “The obligation [of lighting Shabbat candles] is due to shalom bayit, peace in the home,” the Talmud notes, and Rashi elaborates that without light, people might stumble over obstacles in their houses. But even where physical illumination is not required to prevent injury, peace and light have long been synonymous in Jewish thought: a Midrash states that G-d created light first during the six days of creation, because peace is the fundamental building block of the world. “A woman lights Shabbat candles and she raises children who illuminate their surroundings,” the Rebbe said to an audience of women and girls in 1974. “Together, they bring peace to the world.”

Twelve years as a fashion blogger and influencer left Elaine Chaya feeling in need of peace. “What I do is respond to what’s happening in the world. I have to always be on, to always come up with stuff,” she said. “It got really draining.” Observing Shabbat offered her a much-needed respite: “I really encourage people to step away and pray. I think there’s something to that.” Even one small act, she tells her followers, can make a difference in their lives.

After seeing Elaine Chaya’s post about lighting Shabbat candles, Sandy reached back into a kitchen cupboard for the tea lights a friend had given her years before. The next day, as the sun was about to set over the hills behind her house, she lit one of them and recited the blessing for the first time in twenty years.

The single flame on her kitchen counter brought back memories from the past, even as it gave her a sense of connection in the present. “I felt like I was standing in solidarity with my Jewish brethren,” she said. “Doing this all at the same time, it’s something to send out into the universe, to say, hey, we’re here, and you’re not going to destroy us.”

This article appears in the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of Lubavitch International, to subscribe to the magazine, click here.

Chabad at the Draft: Kosher, Shabbat and Tefillin in Green Bay

April 24, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | One Comment

As thousands converge on Green Bay, Wisconsin — the site of this year’s NFL Draft — this weekend, Chabad-Lubavitch of Wisconsin is providing kosher meals, Shabbat accommodations, and mitzvah opportunities for Jewish fans, agents and employees visiting the city.

The initiative is quarterbacked by Chabad of the Bay Area, which was established by Rabbi Michoel and Esther Feinstein in 2010. Chabad will serve as a hospitality hub during the Draft, with visitors stopping by for Shabbat services and meals, as well as for prayer services during the week.

In Titletown—the park outside Lambeau Field—a tent staffed by Chabad reps and volunteers will offer kosher meals, tefillin, and Jewish swag for fans.

Chabad centers from elsewhere in the state are joining in the effort as well. The Deli on Crown, a kosher restaurant that is part of Chabad of Mequon’s Peltz Center for Jewish Life; and the Friendship Circle Cafe and Bakery, a project of the Friendship Circle of Wisconsin will be providing their fare.
For more information about Jewish resources at the draft, visit Chabadatthedraft.com

Counting Days

April 22, 2025 | By Boruch Werdiger | One Comment

As we count the weeks and months since the deep traumas of October 7, the practice of Sefirat HaOmer offers insight

1,000 Gather for Chabad Kids’ Shabbaton; Jewish Knowledge Championship

April 16, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 0 Comments

More than 1,000 Jewish children and parents gathered in Crown Heights, New York for the CKids International Shabbaton, the largest summit of Hebrew School families. The weekend was a project of CKids International—the largest Jewish children’s network with more than 125,000 students in 700 communities. Participants came from twenty-six countries for a weekend of inspiration in an immersive, three-day Jewish experience.

The weekend began with a visit to the Ohel — the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s resting place. A first for Saúl and Ana from Bogotá, Colombia — who joined the weekend with their child — their visit to the Ohel “was a truly emotional experience.” “We’re so proud to give our child this amazing JewQ experience.”

Francine Venit from Chabad of Delaware, attending with her daughter Yacova, is a repeat participant. “This is our fourth year and it’s a chance for me to watch the fruits of my efforts as a parent grow, and also to watch my daughter cultivate her own growth. She brought JewQ to Delaware and is very proud of her own accomplishments and those of her friends in our Chabad as well.”

On Sunday afternoon, the visitors gathered for the 2025 JewQ International Torah Championship, as 63 finalists competed in a Jewish knowledge game show. Meanwhile, thousands of parents, friends and supporters gathered at Chabad Hebrew schools around the world to watch the live-streamed event and cheer on their local representatives.

“This year’s experience has left our hearts overflowing,” said Maya Mardechayev, whose 10-year-old son Uriel — a student at Public School 254 in Brooklyn, New York — won the 4th-grade championship trophy. “Today, I witnessed my flower Uriel bloom on stage… It’s a mix of pure pride, joy, and awe.”

JewQ is the flagship project of CKids, with 4,000 Jewish children from 250 communities participating in the Jewish study competition. Many are from public schools; often the only Jewish kid in their class.

“Back home, no one else knows what Shema is or why I don’t use my phone on certain days,” said Giuliana Aguilar Wolfman, a 6th-grade finalist from Buenos Aires who studied at Jabad Lubavitch Villa Crespo under the direction of Rabbi Mendi Birman. “Sometimes, it felt like I was the only kid in Buenos Aires studying Torah … But then I started competing in JewQ and now it’s the first time I’ll be in a place where I don’t feel different — I feel like I fit.”

Miami Hospitals See Surge in Jewish Resources Thanks to Chabad

April 15, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | One Comment

Chabad of Miami’s hospital chaplaincy initiatives is in the midst of a significant expansion. It has given hundreds of Jewish hospital employees, patients, and their family members new avenues for connection and spiritual support during challenging moments.

Emanuella Rabaev, 26, works at Mercy Hospitalin Miami, Florida. The nurse practitioner, a native of Israel who moved to Miami several years ago, knew that working in a hospital would present some challenges to her Jewish interests.

So Rabaev was thrilled when she walked into the lobby at Mercy Hospital this past Chanukah and was greeted by Rabbi David Gold, who was handing out donuts and menorah kits for Jewish patients and staff.

Rabbi Gold’s work is part of an initiative launched by Chabad of Miami and headed by Rabbi Mendy Fellig to provide Jewish resources to local hospitals including Mercy Hospital, Jackson Memorial — the largest hospital in the city — the University of Miami Hospital, the VA hospital and others. Gold’s patient and hospice chaplaincy initiative joins the Healing Hearts organization led by Rabbi Yochanon Klein, which offers medical referrals and religious resources for families in hospitals across Florida.

Healing Hearts operates a network of thirteen “kosher rooms” — and counting — which provide Jewish resources to families whose loved ones are hospitalized. Each week, Healing Hearts produces hundreds of Shabbat meals, as well as well over 1,000 other ready-to-eat kosher meals. Volunteers from local schools and summer camps, as well as local families, offer their time to pack the meals, which are then delivered to these kosher rooms. The rooms are also stocked with prayer books and other Jewish literature, electric “candles” for use in hospitals, and resources for Jewish holidays.

In advance of Passover, Healing Hearts will pack and distribute hundreds of Seder-to-Go kits for the families of patients, including all the foods and accouterments needed to celebrate the holiday.

Rabbi Gold has been distributing matzah to patients and hospital staff, as Chabad of Miami continues to ensure that Jewish people are able to live Jewishly in any circumstance. “Thanks to Rabbi Gold, I am able to enjoy my Jewish identity at my workplace,” said Rabaev.

Sons And Daughters At The Seder Table

April 10, 2025 | By Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky | 3 Comments

It was unseasonably cold on the first night of Passover back in 1979. Snow had fallen the day before and melted into slush puddles that made walking unpleasant. The evening prayers had ended, and everyone was hurrying home to finally begin the Seder.

Not the Rebbe. Before returning to his home to make the Seder with his wife, Rebbetzin Chaya Moussia, the Rebbe took an hour-long detour, visiting several large Seders in Chabad yeshivah dormitories. Among them was one for young women celebrating what may have been their first Seder ever, and another for children and teenagers from Iran: several weeks earlier, after the Islamic Revolution, more than a thousand Jewish girls and boys had been airlifted out of the country at the Rebbe’s behest—a stunning rescue operation conducted by the late Rabbi Jacob J. Hecht—and settled into homes in the community.

I was part of a small entourage that accompanied the Rebbe on those Seder-night rounds. I observed the Rebbe as he walked through the snowy streets, cold slush penetrating his shoes. The joy he took in visiting the students at their Seder tables, it seemed, eclipsed any discomfort he may have felt. To the Rebbe, Zman Cheirutenu, the Festival of Our Freedom, was a time flush with the power to make us—individuals and the Jewish collective—soar to a higher realm.

As far as the Rebbe was concerned, the matzah, maror, and four cups of wine were more than symbols of an ancient story. They were the very means by which we connect—to G-d, but also to each other. Earlier that day, the Rebbe had asked Rabbi Hecht, who had organized the Seder for the young Iranian escapees, for some of the maror that they would be eating. He wanted to partake of their bitter herbs, to feel their suffering.

***

Each year, during the weeks leading up to the Passover holiday, the Rebbe wrote a public letter, addressed “To the Sons and Daughters of Our People Israel, Everywhere.” In these letters, the Rebbe wrote often, with great pathos, about the “fifth child,” the one who does not show up to the Seder table. Who would look out for those children, adrift in a world far from the family?

Even before the advent of Chabad Houses, the Rebbe’s efforts to find these “sons and daughters” who had fallen off the radar are the stuff of legends. In the 1970s, Chabad Houses began sprouting up; the table extensions came out and the guests came in.

Around the same time, young Jews in search of meaning began making their way to Chabad’s adult men’s and women’s yeshivahs, among them young Jews who returned disenchanted from ashrams in India, spent by the countercultural movement, and Russian Jews who made it out of the Soviet Union for their first taste of freedom.

That night in 1979 was truly different from all others. The Rebbe visited the boys’ yeshivah, the women’s yeshivah, the Seder for Russian Jews, and the Seders of the recently arrived Iranians. At each place, he patiently took the time to note details, to see that everyone had what they needed. At each, he spoke to the students for a few minutes, and blessed them.

The Rebbe and Rebbetzin did not have children of their own. As I observed the Rebbe on that Seder night, I saw the love of a parent who longs for his children, and I understood. These were the Rebbe’s sons and daughters, and he, like a father, beamed with joy to finally see them at his Seder table.

Chabad of Michigan Reaches 16,000 Homes with Gifts of Shmurah Matzah

April 10, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | One Comment

More than 16,000 Jewish families across Michigan have received handmade shmurah matzah this year. The initiative, by Chabad Lubavitch of Michigan, enlisted the help of dozens of volunteers to canvass neighborhoods and rural counties to reach every Jew in the state, bringing this special type of matzah — considered ideal for use at the Passover Seder — to Jewish Michiganders.

The campaign, launched 71 years ago, in 1954 by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, distributes more than one million matzahs in advance of Passover. The Rebbe felt strongly about helping Jews celebrate the Seders with handmade shmurah matzah.

The state’s 30 Chabad centers and 50 Chabad representative couples chose to ramp up this year’s matzah distribution. “We are hoping we’ll reach every last Jew in the State of Michigan this year, whether they are involved throughout the year or not,” said Rabbi Kasriel Shemtov, executive director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Michigan.

Shoshannah Tulupman, a Ferndale, Michigan entrepreneur is one of the volunteers who joined the initiative. Back in the 70s, Tulupman had a newspaper route, delivering the paper each morning to hundreds of homes. Taking the week off work, she delivered hundreds of boxes of handmade shmurah matzah to local Jewish families in the Detroit suburb she calls home.

Tulupman heard about the campaign from the “Friday Boys,” as the groups of Lubavitch yeshiva students who visit local homes and businesses Friday afternoons are known. “They are such a joy; I look forward to them coming around each week,” she told Lubavitch.com. “I had time this week to do it. It’s a mitzvah; I’m more than happy to do it.”

Tulupman’s red SUV loaded with boxes of matzah is now known as “the matzah-mobile.” “It’s been a joy — I met all kinds of people. I will do it again next year as well.”

The matzah gifts come with an invitation to join one of the many community Passover Seders hosted by Chabad-Lubavitch throughout the state — from Traverse City to Downtown Detroit. This Saturday and Sunday evening, thousands–possibly hundreds of thousands will join Chabad-Lubavitch communal seders around the world.

To find a Passover Seder near you, visit Lubavitch.com/Centers.

Frissons Of Redemption

April 10, 2025 | By Staff Writer | 0 Comments

The theme of redemption is universal, and, perhaps this year more than ever, it resonates on many levels. Here, we invited some writers and poets to share their personal reflections.

Lubavitcher Rebbe’s 123rd Birthday Marked as Education and Sharing Day

April 8, 2025 | By Tzemach Feller | 0 Comments

In houses of legislature across the United States and beyond, the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s 123rd birthday — this year on April 9 — is being marked with proclamations honoring his life, legacy and lasting impact—and proclaiming his birthday to be Education and Sharing Day, a day to reflect on the crucial importance of moral and ethical education, as the Rebbe advocated.

At Binghamton City Hall in Broome County, New York, elected officials and representatives of local, State, and Federal houses of legislature gathered at a ceremony honoring the Rebbe.

“I don’t think there’s been an event that I’ve gone to [like this one], where you see all of our elected officials, the President of Binghamton University, the representatives from State and Federal levels,” Binghamton Mayor Jared M. Kraham said at the event. “That speaks to the magnitude of today’s event. The Rebbe is really a cornerstone of American history; someone who symbolizes all that is good. The themes that he has been preaching over the years really come home in communities.”

The Rebbe’s work was honored by governors across the country, from Georgia to New Mexico, and from Pennsylvania to Nebraska.

Kansas Governor Laura Kelly presented a proclamation to members of the Kansas Jewish community, including Rabbi Zalman Tiechtel of Chabad at KU and Rabbi Mendel Wenger of Chabad of Olathe — the newest Chabad-Lubavitch outpost in the state.

“The Rebbe promoted education and tolerance by preserving Jewish life and culture in the State of Kansas, establishing a network of Chabad Centers promoting educational values throughout the sunflower State,” the Kansas proclamation states. “Chabad of Kansas has been at the vanguard of Jewish outreach in the State of Kansas, bettering the lives of countless citizens, uniting a variety of faiths and religions for the common purpose of making the world a better place.”

In Texas, Governor Greg Abbott presented an Education and Sharing Day proclamation to some seventeen Chabad-Lubavitch rabbis representing communities from across the state—from El Paso to Lubbock to Houston and Dallas. The Texas State House and Senate issued similar resolutions as well.

“… Education entails more than the mere transmission of facts and figures; rather, it must prepare pupils for a life of responsibility, purpose, and honor. Few understood this profound truth better than Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe,” Abbott wrote. “A scholar and leader, he strove to advance a mode of education rooted in both knowledge and virtue. He believed that learning should inspire students to devote themselves to a higher calling and uplift others.”

“His work touched lives throughout the world, and his vision resonates to this day. Each year, on the anniversary of the Rebbe’s birth, leaders at every level of government observe Education and Sharing Day and recommit to the principles he championed.”

Echoing the Rebbe’s call to promote the universal value of tzedakah — giving to those in need — many Education and Sharing Day ceremonies also featured the ARK, a charity box shaped like an ark whose acronym stands for Acts of Random Kindness becoming Acts of Routine Kindness. An ARK was placed on every desk in the Texas House of Representatives, and back in Broome County, it is the centerpiece of an initiative that seeks to bring a spirit of giving into the halls of government.

“We’re proud to bring that spirit into the county workforce through the launch of the ARK initiative,” Broome County Executive Jason T. Garnar announced at the event. “Every County department will receive an ARK, collect change from their staff, and when it’s full, the department will choose where to donate it, and then start all over again.”

“It’s about making kindness routine; about taking small steps together that lead to lasting impact,” said Garnar. “It’s our hope that every time a staff member sees the ARK, it serves as a quiet but powerful reminder to be kind, give back, and be part of something bigger than themselves.”

A Bed, a Table, a Chair and a Lamp

April 8, 2025 | By Rabbi Yehuda Krinsky | One Comment

The Rebbe did not hold press conferences nor grant press interviews. So reporters would usually be directed to my office where I did my best to respond to their questions and provide them with information about the Rebbe and Chabad-Lubavitch.

Today in Jewish History: 11 Nissan, Birthday of The Rebbe

April 8, 2025 | By Staff Writer | 0 Comments

Tonight and tomorrow marks the 123rd birthday of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn of blessed memory.

On this day, Yud-Alef (11) Nissan, we celebrate the birth of a leader who changed the face of Judaism in the 21st century, who dedicated his life to a mission: to reach out to every Jew, everywhere, no matter their affiliation, knowledge, or level of observance.

Today, more than 6,000 Chabad emissaries continue working toward this goal, providing services to Jews around the globe.

The Rebbe’s legendary achievements focused on filling our world with loving kindness, and elevating our reality so that it is bright, joyful and holy. His legacy is perpetuated by the acts of goodness and kindness that we do every day.

What mitzvah can you do today in honor of the Rebbe?

Want to learn more about The Rebbe? Click here: Lubavitch.com/the-rebbe/

The Annotated Seder Plate: Insights, Tidbits, and Fun Facts

April 8, 2025 | By Boruch Werdiger | 0 Comments

Haggadah

Since escaping Egypt, the Jewish people have celebrated Passover by telling the story of the Exodus. Over time, the story became more formal and elaborate—the word seder means “order”—as customs developed and coalesced. Around the turn of the previous millennium, a selection of scriptural verses, a Mishnaic-era exegesis, and a guide to the laws and customs of the Seder night were compiled into a single text, and the Haggadah was born. The oldest physical fragments of a Haggadah (literally “to tell”), found in the Cairo Genizah, date back to roughly this time. Since then, the text has gone on to inspire an astonishing array of versions, commentaries, and companion works—more than any other book in the Jewish library excluding the Bible. According to the Encyclopaedia Judaica, since the fifteenth century there have been more than 2,700 editions!

Matzah

On all other nights we eat leavened and unleavened bread—tonight, only Matzah. The puffed-up and inflated character of bread, the Chassidic masters tell us, represents arrogance and ego, the inclination to evil itself. “Master of the Universe,” the Talmudic sage Rabbi Alexandri used to pray, “our will is to perform Your will, yet what prevents us? The yeast in the dough . . .” (Talmud Bavli, 17a). Strange, then, that we are so committed to eradicating chameitz on Pesach, but tolerate it the rest of the year.

The ego is an unavoidable part of the human condition, but it doesn’t need to be its organizing principle. For eight days, we surrender to a higher consciousness, an exercise in extremes meant to reorient our lives toward a higher purpose. Not just the base of the Seder plate, the matzah is the basis of the entire year.

Wine

The Kiddush cup is only the first of four drunk at the Seder. According to the Jerusalem Talmud, these cups of wine correspond to four promises G-d made to the Jewish people: “I will take you out . . . I will save you . . . I will redeem you . . .” and finally, “I will take you to Me as a people.”

The Israelites were rushed out of Egypt in a daze. Degraded by years of oppression, it would take time for them to process the remarkable relationship G-d had just initiated with them. All four “expressions of redemption” reflect this dynamic: G-d is the active agent, while we are passively acted upon. The last one, however, puts the ball in our court: Whether we are truly worthy of being called a “G-dly people” depends on us.

Zroa

The roasted chicken shankbone, or neck bone, in Chabad custom, represents the paschal offering.

In Temple times, each paschal lamb was brought by, and then subsequently distributed among, a mini-collective, like a large family or a few neighbors. While all other sacrifices are either individual or communal, the paschal offering was somewhere in between, or both at once.

Passover reminds us that we have both individual and communal identities. At times, these identities can clash, and we are called upon to rise above our narrow personal preferences on behalf of a greater whole. But the inverse is also true: no community is ever too big or important to let the needs of an individual member go unnoticed.

Beitzah

Like the roasted zroa, the cooked egg (roasted or boiled) on the Seder plate symbolizes one of the sacrifices brought in the Temple: the Chagigah, a “festive” offering that ensured there would be plenty to eat on the holiday. In many communities, the egg is peeled and eaten around halfway through the Seder, just before the main meal.

The egg is a symbol of latent birth. It is both fully formed, and not quite there, the birth only complete after the hatching. The Rebbes of Izhbitz explain that Pesach signifies only the beginning of a process that was fully realized with the giving of the Torah on the holiday of Shavuot. Even now, we recognize that the Exodus story remains incomplete until the future, ultimate redemption.

Charoset

From Morocco to Russia to the Italian Piedmont, there have been more takes on charoset than on any other Seder-plate fixture. Chabad’s minimalist version blends apple or pear together with walnuts and wine, although some texts recommend adding cinnamon and ginger, and the Arizal, that great mystic of Safed, was said to use seven kinds of fruit and three spices.

The name of the dish comes from the Hebrew for clay, cheres, since its paste-like texture is meant to recall the mud and mortar that the enslaved Israelites worked with in Egypt. Maimonides makes this clear with the recipe included in his twelfth-century magnum opus, Mishneh Torah: “How is it made? Take dates, dried figs, or raisins and the like, crush them, add vinegar, and mix them in with spices, just as clay is mixed into straw.”

Maror

Bitter herbs, intended to recall the sharp sting of slavery, are eaten twice during the Seder: First alone and then inside Hillel’s famous matzah sandwich. Both times, however, the discomfort caused by the maror is tempered by lightly dipping the horseradish or romaine lettuce into the sweet charoset relish.

One might wonder: If tonight is all about celebrating the sweet taste of freedom, why are we eating maror at all? In truth, says Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter of Ger, the bitter and the sweet often come together. In Egypt, the depths of our suffering prompted G-d’s miraculous intervention, and as we look back, we see how the slavery itself was just a step on the long road to true national liberation—this was G-d’s plan all along. So too, at the Seder, we wrap the bitterness of exile together with the bread of freedom. Suffering has a way of clarifying things, of ultimately leaving us stronger and more determined.

Chazeret

The Mishnah lists five different vegetables that may be used to fulfill the obligation of eating bitter herbs at the Seder. There is some disagreement regarding their modern-day counterparts, but tradition holds that one, called tamcha, is horseradish; and another, olashin, endives. The most common is chazeret, romaine lettuce.

According to the Talmud, chazeret is the preferred bitter herb, because, when left unharvested, the sweet leaves of the lettuce turn bitter and unpleasant, much like the Israelites’ experience in Egypt. In colder climates, however, such lettuce can be hard to come by in the spring. So for many Jews in Northern and Eastern Europe, horseradish became the herb of choice, and the custom stuck. In Chabad, the lettuce and the horseradish are used together for both the Maror and Korach stages of the Seder, and are therefore placed on both spots of the Seder plate.

Karpas

Several reasons have been suggested for the odd custom of dipping karpas—traditionally onion, potato, or parsley—in saltwater on the Seder night. The classic explanation, however, is just that: it’s odd. It is the first thing we do at the Seder that is conspicuously different from a regular Friday night meal: We make Kiddush, wash our hands, but then, instead of eating bread, we veer left, and dip an onion in salt water. This ploy is specifically intended to catch the attention of the younger Seder-participant, “to intrigue the children,” as it says in the halachic literature.

In our day, efforts to attract the next generation to the Seder continue. There are Passover-themed hand puppets, Martha Stewart-endorsed DIY Ten Plagues kits, and extravagant afikoman prizes. No matter how sophisticated or simple, the object remains the same: to make the Exodus story relevant and engaging to even the littlest among us. It’s the job of every parent and Seder-leader to include everyone at the table—especially those who might one day be leading a Seder of their own.

This article appeared in the Lubavitch International Magazine – Spring 2021 issue. To subscribe and gain access to previous magazines please click here.

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