Rabbi's Blog

Dear Friends,

Shabbos ends, and with a cup of wine to keep some Shabbos energy in flow, a fragrance soul booster for some aromatic healing, and a candle to help navigate the dark spaces of life, we settle into a new week. The beautiful Havdallah ceremony helps to ease the transition from the sanctity and serenity of Shabbos, offering a soft landing into the new week.

But when a week starts off with a crash landing of shocking and unexpected news, you really gotta tap into the Havdallah energy moving forward.

The first message to light up my phone on Saturday night was of the sudden passing of my dear friend Michael Ackerman A’H on Shabbos morning. Ahuva and I rushed over to his home, where his wife Susan was trying to deal with the reality of her sudden loss. Per Jewish law, burial should take place at the earliest possible time after death, to allow the soul to begin the next phase of its journey. Delaying the funeral is sort of like keeping the soul delayed in the airport terminal or on the tarmac when all it wants to do is fly home.

Arrangements were made for a 3:00 PM Sunday funeral, giving enough time for his daughter Brooke and son in law Roi to fly in Sunday morning from NY. Michael’s son, Danny hopped on a plane in Israel late Sat night and was due to arrive early Sunday morning. Credit and Yasher Koach to Neshama funeral home and the South Florida Jewish Cemetery in W Boynton, for working so quickly, ensuring that the funeral could take place in a timely manner.

This week's Torah portion of Bo records the Exodus from Egypt, and how it happened in great haste. Why the rush?? We had been there for 210 years. Couldn’t the exodus have happened in a calmer, more “chill” (as my kids would put it) manner?

In his memoir of his horrific abuse of the legal system, Sholom Rubashkin describes the moment he was called to the wardens office on the last day of Chanukah in 2017.

President Trump had just pardoned him and commuted his draconian 27 year sentence. After twelve years in prison he was a free man. He rushed to his cell, packed up his stuff and went to wait for his wife to pick him up.

When the moment of freedom comes, you're out of there - in a rush, no time to waste. Once the soul has left the body, it’s in a rush to get home, and we should not interfere with that, but help facilitate it.

Highly sensitive souls live life in a rush, with a sense of urgency. They are the ones who get things done, without procrastination. Perhaps it’s driven by a sub-conscience sense that life has a limited shelf life, so if you can make it happen, make it happen today. For others the sense of urgency is born of idealism and responsibility. The world is a mess and I gotta do something about it !

Such was Michael. A tireless activist, who wore his Jewish heart and love for Israel  on his sleeve. A sleeve that he rolled up and channeled into action. His latest cause was the Florida Stands with Israel license plate project. Relentlessly, he stood for hours at community events all over South Florida encouraging people to sign up. Motivated, driven, passionate, methodical, organized, urgent, because defending Israel and Israel pride was a matter of urgency.

Michael did not live in a space of complacency. The status quo was never good enough. And at the core of it all, is the fact that we - like the Jews in Egypt - are still in exile. And one minute in exile is a minute too long. Because for someone, somewhere, it’s a minute of pain, of suffering, of hatred, of hunger, of jealousy, of war.

For Michael that was unacceptable.

Michael’s legacy lulls us out of our own comfort zones and challenges us to do our part to bring the world into redemption, with urgency, alacrity and haste!

Y’hay Zichro Baruch. May his memory be for a blessing. And a calling.

Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Ruvi New 

Dear Friends,

Last night was one of those rare evenings when music, memory, and mission fused into a single, unforgettable moment of geulah—redemption in real time. Music has the power not only to move us, but to mobilize us; not only to comfort, but to call us forward.

The concert was held in honor of my mother’s yartzeit and marked the shloshim of the Kedoshim (holy souls) of Sydney. Both remembrances converged into one shared message: when darkness strikes, the Jewish response is not retreat—but revelation. Light does not deny pain; it transforms it.

For me personally, the night carried an added layer of emotion and gratitude. To sing the songs I grew up with around my mother’s and father’s Shabbos table—songs that were woven into the soundtrack of my life—together with their composer, Yossi Green, was nothing short of surreal. These melodies have accompanied me and countless people all over the world, through decades of tribulation and jubilation, struggle and growth, family and community gatherings, touching our souls in profound ways, evoking a deep sense of connection to our higher and better spiritual selves. To now sing them with Yossi, shoulder to shoulder, felt like a full-circle moment—past and present harmonizing into one voice. And to sing Yossi’s composition, “Ima” - “mother”, accompanied by a collage of footage of my mother, I think made everyone present feel the loving embrace of their own mothers.

Cantors Aryeh Leib Hurwitz and Yaacov Young joined Yossi for a rousing rendition of Retzeih, as well as for a beautiful individual duet with Yossi, each one filling the room and filling hearts with their powerful melodic voices. 

As the final notes were due to be struck up, the screens lit up with powerful video messages about the launch of the Souls of Sydney Project from Rabbi Yoram Ulman of Bondi—Rabbi Eli Schlanger’s father-in-law—and from Rabbi Shmuli Schlanger, Eli’s brother. Their words were not speeches; they were charges. They reminded us that the greatest tribute to a holy soul is not silence or sorrow—but continuity. Not memory alone, but mitzvah.

And then came the final medley—four songs, one journey.

It began with Yossi’s very first composition, “Kol B’Ramah” — “the sound heard on high from Rachel’s tears”. A cry that rises from the deepest place of loss. Rachel weeping for her children. The ache of Jewish history echoing across generations. It is the voice that cries when fifteen innocent and holy souls are massacred in Sydney. It is the voice of pain and tears that G-d promises Rachel are not in vain. 

It is G-d’s voice echoed in the words of the next song of the final medley:  “Hineni Rofeh Lach”: So says Hashem, "I have heard your prayers and I have seen your tears, and I will heal you”.

But we wonder, after 2000 years of exile and suffering, is there really an end to it all? Then the music lifted us into “Anovim” — to redemption.

“When the King Moshiach will appear
When King Moshiach will be here
On the Temple rooftop he will stand ,
His voice echoing throughout the land
All of Israel will hear him declare

My humble people
The time has come
The time for your redemption is upon you
And if you can’t believe it’s true
After all that you’ve been through
behold my light that’s shining unto you”

Yes, redemption will come, when we behold the light that shines unto us all - the light first and foremost of Unity, beautifully captured in the final song: 

And finally, we arrived at Forever One: 
“Forever one, we will go far
It’s not I am but who you are
We need just to reveal it
Need to try and feel it
For never are we alone
We have each other as our own
Nothing can divide us for we are
Forever One.

The declaration that no matter where we come from, no matter how fractured the world may feel, the Jewish people are—and will always remain—one. One heart. One mission. One destiny.

That is why the Jewish response to darkness has never been silence. It has always been song, mitzvah, and unity.

This is the heartbeat of the Souls of Sydney Project. To transform tears into healing, healing into redemption, and redemption into unity—through action.

The Souls of Sydney Project is a call to you to be a  Souls of Sydney Mitzvah Project Ambassador.

Here is the mission, clear and simple:

For men and boys:
Commit to putting on tefillin daily—or commit to inspiring someone else to do so. For anyone who needs them, the Souls of Sydney Project will provide a beautiful pair of tefillin at no cost. No barriers. No excuses. Just action.

For women and girls:
Sign up to receive Shabbat Candle Lighting Kits, specially designed to be small enough to fit into a pocketbook. The vision is powerful in its simplicity: every woman carrying light with her—ready, at any moment, to share it with another woman or girl and help her usher Shabbat into her life.

This is how souls are elevated.
This is how loss becomes legacy.
This is how tragedy is transformed into redemption.

In Parshas Va’eira, G-d tells Moshe that redemption begins quietly—one act of faith at a time—until suddenly, the impossible begins to move. Last night, we felt that movement. Music opened our hearts. Memory deepened our resolve. And now, the mission demands response.

We are not asking you to attend another event.
We are asking you to become the event.

Carry the light. Share the mitzvah. Be an ambassador of hope.
Let the souls of Sydney live on—through your hands, your voice, and your action.

Sign up now at: www.BocaBeachChabad.com/SOS
Instagram: @souls.of.sydney

Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ruvi New 

Headlining the news this week was the U.S. raid in Caracas, a dramatic operation aimed at the inner circle of the Maduro regime. Images of power, secrecy, and a superpower confronting a defiant ruler filled the news cycle. Caracas—once again—was the setting for a clash between moral authority and entrenched power.

Those headlines transported me back nearly four decades, to a very different kind of “raid” in the very same city.

In May of 1987, I arrived in Caracas, Venezuela, as one of twelve yeshiva student-emissaries sent by the Rebbe for two years of study and outreach. The first Spanish word we learned was “¿Te pusiste…?” — “Did you put on…?”
You can guess the next word: tefillin.
The day after we arrived, armed with one Spanish verb and a lot of enthusiasm, we were already in the local Jewish high school asking students if they had put on tefillin.

Within weeks of landing, we were already running a summer camp—despite possessing, at best, extremely rudimentary Spanish. The kids had a blast. They also took full advantage of our linguistic helplessness.

Starving for English reading material, a year into our two-year Shlichut, one of the guys made an “illicit” discovery: Caracas had an English-language daily newspaper, The Daily Journal. Each week, one of us would sneak a copy back to yeshiva—pure contraband by yeshiva standards.

It was the summer of 1988, and one notice in the paper caught my eye: a reception at the residence of the Australian Consul, commemorating the bicentennial of Australia—200 years since its founding.

At that time, the Rebbe was speaking passionately about the Seven Noachide Laws—the universal moral code for all humanity—and the Jewish obligation to encourage their observance among the nations of the world. For most of history, Jews had been subjects of empires, rarely influencers of them. The Rebbe insisted that this era was over. Jews must no longer see themselves as tolerated guests in history, but as moral leaders responsible for the spiritual health of civilization.

Part of this campaign involved encouraging governments—federal, state, and municipal—to formally recognize the Noachide Laws as the foundation of a just and ethical society.

When I saw the announcement about the consul’s reception, it struck me: this is where diplomats gather; this is where ideas travel. An opportunity.

So on the appointed evening, Mendy Gansburg, a fellow student, and I donned our best suits, climbed into our thoroughly unimpressive car, and headed for the consul’s upscale neighborhood. As we approached, the streets were lined with limousines delivering dignitaries to the event.

And then came our turn.

Our battered vehicle rolled into the grand circular driveway, drawing looks of disbelief from anyone who saw our “limo.” We handed the keys to the valet and approached the front door, where the consul and his wife were greeting guests.

Two bearded, hatted figures, party crashers who were clearly not on the guest list.

The consul and his wife did their best to conceal their shock. I introduced myself confidently as the “representative of Australian Jewry” for this important occasion. The consul hesitated, then smiled politely. Encouraged, I asked if, as the representative of Australian Jewry, I might say a few words.

He gently explained that this was a poolside cocktail reception, not a formal dinner, and there would be no speeches.

So instead, we spent much of the evening in conversation with the American Consul, discussing—among other things—the Noachide Laws. That conversation would later have unexpected consequences for one of the Israeli students among us, who had repeatedly been denied a U.S. visa—but that’s a story for another time.

The next morning, we opened The Daily Journal. There was an article about the previous night’s reception—complete with a photograph. And standing there, unmistakably, were the two bearded, hatted raiders, chatting with the American Consul.

Our raid had made the news.

Which brings us back to Parshat Shemot.

The book of Shemot opens with the ultimate confrontation between power and morality. Pharaoh, the ruler of the world’s greatest empire, enslaves an entire people. Enter Moshe, armed with nothing but a Divine mandate, walking straight into the palace to demand justice.

Pharaoh and Maduro are separated by millennia, ideology, and circumstance—but they share a common trait: rulers who confuse power with permanence, control with legitimacy. Shemot teaches us that no regime—however entrenched—can withstand a moral challenge grounded in G-d’s truth.

Sometimes that challenge looks like plagues and miracles.
Sometimes it looks like diplomats and declarations.
And sometimes, it looks like two yeshiva students crashing a cocktail party in Caracas.

The lesson of Shemot is that Jews are not meant to stand on the sidelines of history. We are meant to enter the palace, speak with courage, and remind the world—again and again—that power is temporary, but morality is eternal.

And every now and then, even a small raid can echo something much larger.

Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ruvi New