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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.

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.

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. 

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. ”

Counted & Blessed

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As soon as we got into the car, the Rebbe expressed concern. Might the photographer have been offended by his blessing? After all, the Rebbe said, she wasn’t Jewish, and she would not be celebrating Rosh Hashanah as her new year. The Rebbe suggested that I call Mr. Goldman and ask him to explain to Ms. Washington that on the Jewish New Year we pray for all of humanity.

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Surprise! It’s a New Chabad House in a Growing Sun Belt City

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In 2000, the city of Surprise, Arizona had a population of just 30,000. The once-sleepy town, whose founder, legend has it, named it because she “would be surprised if the town ever amounted to much,” has since become a thriving metropolis with a population of 160,000.

As the town grew, so did its Jewish numbers, and with it the opening of the city’s first Chabad-Lubavitch center.

Chabad reps, Rabbi Shlomy and Batya Ceitlin estimate that some 2,000 Jews live in the city, which is located northwest of Phoenix. Many of the city’s newer residents are young families, and the Ceitlins plan to pull out all of their child-centric programs to serve this demographic. As well, they’ll be hosting synagogue services and events for seniors—another significant local demographic.

For Batya, whose parents, Rabbi Sholom and Chana Lew have directed Chabad of the West Valley for 25 years, moving to nearby Surprise is a homecoming of sorts. She is deeply familiar with the local community, and community members are excited the Ceitlins are putting down roots.

“I’ve watched the children grow up—I gave Batya sewing lessons,” reminisced Adrienne Kirshner, who has lived in Arizona since the 1990s. Kirshner says she looks forward to the New Chabad center, which she says is sorely needed. She expects the Ceitlins’ new center to provide “a wonderful, inclusive atmosphere—a place where young families and their children are welcome.”

The growth of Surprise mirrors the influx of new residents the state of Arizona has seen in recent years, and Chabad has kept up. Chabad-Lubavitch of Arizona, headed by Rabbi Zalman and Tziporah Levertov, now boasts more than 50 shluchim couples across dozens of cities around the state.

So when the Ceitlins moved to town to create a center in a booming Arizona city, it was no surprise at all.

Jewish Pride Tour Coming to Your Campus

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Encampments, protests, and antisemitic rhetoric may be ramping up as students return to campus this fall, but something else is coming, too: A Jewish pride tour will hit colleges and universities across more than forty states and Canada, courtesy of Chabad on Campus. 

The project, “Let HERE Be Light,” creates a complete Jewish pride festival, including stands with crafting, kosher food, Jewish swag, and an opportunity to buy your own letter in a Torah Scroll. 

More than eight thousand students are expected to join the tour along its stops. Last year, 73 percent of Jewish college students surveyed said they had experienced or witnessed some form of antisemitism since the October 7 Hamas attacks.

Jewish pride at the University of North Florida

At Binghamton University, one of the tour’s first stops, 450 Jewish students enjoyed carnival booths, s’mores, ice cream and waffles, with music from the ChaBand, Chabad’s student band and Jewish hip hop artist Nissim Black.

At Cornell, University President Michael Kotlikoff addressed the fair, saying that the school’s vibrant Jewish student community is “an essential part of the Cornell community,” and emphasizing the school’s commitment to listen to Jewish students and ensure their safety.

“Many of us have forgotten what it means to have Jewish joy, and the Let HERE Be Light event brought it back,” says Eva Shrayer, a Jewish student at Cornell. “It was so fun to listen to music and spend time with community members.” Shrayer notes that the fair had a lasting effect: “A few days later Chabad was packed for Shabbat dinner and everyone was excited.”

At the University of North Florida, Rabbi Shmuli Novack sounded the shofar and University President Moez Limayem spoke warmly of Chabad’s impact on Jewish life at UNF.

The tour will continue throughout the 2024–25 school year. “Bringing Jewish students together is so crucial,” says Shrayer. “In a time of darkness, we must lean on each other and strengthen the community from within.”

Cornell President Michael Kotlikoff speaks at the Let Here be Light Jewish Pride Tour
Jewish students pose with Miri Birk of Chabad on Campus at Cornell during the Let Here be Light Jewish Pride Tour at Cornell University
Students enjoy the Jewish Pride Tour at the University of North Florida
The Jewish Pride Tour on campus at the University of North Florida
The Let Here Be Light Jewish Pride Tour at Cornell University

Leading with Autism

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Gedaliah Shaffer wasn’t thrilled when his mother enrolled him in Shrub Oak International School. His mother, Liba Shaffer, was herself ambivalent about the decision.

But by the time he turned fourteen, Gedaliah’s disabilities—he is visually impaired and lives with autism as well as ADHD—made living at home untenable. 

Situated in New York’s Hudson Valley, Shrub Oak, a therapeutic boarding school for children with autism, has a selective enrollment that keeps its student body small. Liba met with faculty members for an interview and found that the 127-acre campus in Lake Mohegan checked almost all the boxes. Still, the thought of sending her son away from home was painful. “And the thought of sending him someplace not Jewish was worse.” 

She reached out to Rabbi Yehuda Heber at Chabad of Yorktown—not far from the school—with an unusual request. Would the rabbi appoint her son as the shliach, Chabad emissary, to Shrub Oak International School, Liba asked. It would be an unofficial appointment, but it would give Gedaliah a sense of purpose and responsibility at the school. Rabbi Heber, who had a relationship with Shrub Oak, was game, and the matter was settled.

As Gedaliah acclimated to his new setting, he took seriously his role as the school’s Jewish representative. “We actually call him the shliach of the school. He arranges all the Jewish programs there with the other boys,” Rabbi Heber says. In a school with some eighty students of all ethnicities, he’s even managed to rustle up a minyan so that one of his classmates would be able to say the Kaddish prayer on his father’s yahrzeit

The rabbi began a weekly Torah class at Shrub Oak with Gedaliah and another Jewish student. Soon a third boy joined, then a fourth and a fifth. Now, says Heber, thanks to Gedaliah’s efforts, seven students join the Torah class each week. They also visit the Yorktown Chabad House, where Rabbi Heber and his wife create opportunities for them to participate at holiday events while being mindful of their needs.

Recently, the subject of the class was the Biblical Joseph and his journey: from being sold into slavery to becoming the viceroy of Egypt, saving his family—and the world—from famine. “The story is like mine,” Gedaliah told Rabbi Heber. “I was very against coming to the school, but because I’m a shliach here, it’s worth it.”

A Jewish Burial in Rural Saskatchewan

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It started with a phone call. Rabbi Avrohom Simmonds got a call from an American phone number. The caller was reaching out on behalf of her sister Amy*, who lived in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Her husband of 35 years, Max* had passed away, and his final requests had been to be buried in Rural Saskatchewan—and in a simple pine box.

Simmonds is the Chabad representative in Regina, Saskatchewan. It made sense to call a rabbi, the sister thought. She had done some research and learned that burial in a simple pine box is a Jewish practice.

But Amy had no idea that Max was Jewish. Not once, in 35 years of marriage, had he mentioned it. Why would his final request be to be buried like a Jew? 

Could it be? Simmonds put them in touch with his colleague, Rabbi Raphael Kats, of Chabad of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.  

Rabbi Kats now did his own research, confirming Max was Jewish and even learning his Jewish name. Incredibly, Max and his parents had belonged to the same Cleveland, Ohio synagogue where Rabbi Kats and his wife Sarah had been married. Max’s widow had found a rural, Christian cemetery, and now, as she looked into the simple pine box, she had gotten in touch with Chabad. The rabbis, of course, suggested that Max receive a full Jewish burial.

“For me the most important thing is that it’s a pine box and a rural cemetery,” Amy told Rabbi Kats. “I want to honor him by giving him a Jewish burial, but that’s secondary to me; Judaism wasn’t a big part of his life.”

The first Jewish burial in Lipton, Saskatchewan, in more than 70 years

Amy was willing to follow the halachic guidelines for Jewish burial in a non-Jewish cemetery, which include purchasing the nearby plots and putting up a fence—essentially creating a Jewish cemetery within the existing one. But then the cemetery told her that they’d need a week’s notice to open a grave.

As it happens, Saskatchewan, of all places, has multiple rural Jewish cemeteries. They trace their existence to the beginning of the 20th century, when Baron Maurice de Hirsch founded Jewish farming settlements across the Canadian prairie. One such cemetery is located in the tiny village of Lipton, Saskatchewan, which was once home to a Jewish farming colony. The last time someone had been buried there was in 1951. 

Rabbis Kats and Simmonds had each independently suggested Lipton.  Then they got another call from the sister, who’d been doing her own research, and suggested a cemetery she had discovered—the one in Lipton. Now they turned to that option. Rabbi Simmonds called Beth Jacob, the Regina synagogue that tends to the cemetery, and asked about the possibility of someone being buried there. They gave the green light.

“I told the widow, ‘Look, we’re not prophets. G-d communicates with us through different events, serendipity, Divine personal providence.’” Kats related. “‘Max and his parents belonged to the same shul where Sarah and I got married—what are the chances of that? What are the chances you contact a rabbi who has that connection to the family? What are the chances that two rabbis—and your sister—each came up with the Lipton Jewish Cemetery independently?”

Amy agreed.

Rabbi Kats, who is a kohen, could not be directly involved in the process of preparing the deceased for burial. So two of Rabbi Simmonds’ nephews, rabbinical students Chaim Yitzchok and Menachem Mendel Heidingsfeld, drove six hours from Winnipeg, Manitoba to Regina, where they met up with Rabbi Simmonds. The trio then drove another three hours to Outlook, Saskatchewan, where the deceased was located and where they performed the taharah, the ritual cleansing of the body. 

They then drove another three hours to the Jewish cemetery in Lipton, where—for the first time in more than 70 years—a Jewish person was laid to rest.

As was his final request, Yehuda Dovid Ben Nosson was brought to his eternal rest in a Jewish rural cemetery, in a simple pine box.

*Names changed to protect identities.

L-R Rabbi Avrohom Simmonds, Rabbi Raphael Kats, and Chaim Yitzchok and Menachem Mendel Heidingsfeld