Sometimes, the most powerful miracles are not when an enemy is defeated from the outside - but when it begins to fall apart from within. As we watch events unfolding in Iran and across the region, much of the conversation focuses on military strength, strategy, and global alliances. But beneath the surface, something deeper may be taking place - not just confrontation between enemies, but fracturing within the very forces that project power. And that idea takes us straight into the heart of this Shabbos - Shabbos HaGadol. The great miracle commemorated on this Shabbos is described in Tehillim as: “למכה מצרים בבכוריהם” - Hashem struck Egypt through its firstborn. But our sages explain that this wasn’t a conventional blow from Above. It was something far more unusual. The Egyptian firstborn, sensing the impending plague, rose up against their own people. Egypt began to unravel - from within. This was not just another plague. It was the beginning of the end. Because when a system starts turning against itself, when its own inner structure begins to crack, its collapse is no longer a question of if - but when. Egypt, the superpower of its time, did not only fall because of external force. It fell because its internal certainty, its sense of control, began to disintegrate. And that is the deeper message of Shabbos HaGadol. Redemption doesn’t always begin with dramatic, open miracles. Sometimes it begins quietly, almost invisibly - when the very forces that once seemed invincible begin to weaken from within. On a global level, we may be witnessing moments like that now. Not just the clash of nations, but the instability of ideologies, the exposure of cracks in systems that once projected confidence and control. But as always, Torah is not just a lens to understand the world - it is a mirror to understand ourselves. Each of us carries our own “Mitzrayim” - our constraints, fears, habits, and limiting narratives. And often we wait for an external miracle to free us. We imagine that change must come from the outside. Shabbos HaGadol teaches otherwise. True freedom begins when the inner structure of those limitations starts to give way. When the voice that says “I can’t” begins to weaken. When the patterns that held us back begin to lose their authority. The miracle is not only that we are saved - it is that what once controlled us no longer can. That is the quiet beginning of redemption. As we approach Pesach, the festival of liberation, we are invited to notice these moments - both in the world around us and within our own lives. Moments when something shifts. When certainty cracks. When what once felt immovable suddenly feels… fragile. Those are not signs of chaos. They are signs of change. Because long before the sea split… Egypt had already begun to fall apart. And perhaps that is what Shabbos HaGadol is here to remind us: Redemption doesn’t only arrive with a bang. Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Ruvi New
Sometimes, it begins with a fracture.
Rabbi's Blog
The Beginning of the End
STRAIGHT DOWN THE LINE
In Tribute to my father, Menachem Mendel ben Yisroel, הכ׳מ
Dear Friends,
“I consider it an honor to have you on my flight.” No flight attendant had ever said that to me before my flight from Melbourne to LA en route to FLL on Thursday. But that’s because no flight attendant had ever asked me about my father until the one on my United flight, who casually asked me where I was from and where I was headed, which led to me telling her that I was coming from my father’s funeral, and sharing a little bit about my father with her. “I hope I can emulate him in some way,” she said. “You already have,” I said, by asking me about him and being genuinely interested in hearing about him!” The “honor” of which she spoke was not my honor, but my father's.
Being curious and genuinely interested in people was one of my father’s qualities. What does it take to be that way? To some extent, it can be chalked up to personality. Some people are naturally more interested in other people. But curiosity is not just about a personality type, it is a character trait that anyone can work on.
Understanding the difference between personality and character is critical to our growth as human beings. Personality is our nature, character is our nurture. It’s easy to hear about great people and say, well, I’m just not that type, I’m a different type of personality - it’s not in my nature to be that way. I am who I am - take me or leave me.
Not so, when it comes to character. Anyone can build a character trait. You just have to want to. And at the end of the day, that’s how people will remember you. These are the stories that people will tell about you. Sure, personality is part of your persona, and talent is part of your tool box, but that’s not where virtue lies. Virtue lies in the choices we make, specifically the type of choices that take us beyond ourselves.
In his sermon on Shabbos at the Yeshiva Shul in Melbourne where my father prayed daily since the day it was built over 60 years ago, Rabbi Zirkind who is the new Rabbi of the community, shared the following story: A few years ago before he took up the position as community Rabbi he was invited to spend the High Holiday season in Melbourne with the community and was asked to lead the Musaf service on Rosh Hashanah. He was hesitant to do so, because he knew that the community was accustomed to the way his late grandfather, Rabbi Yitzchok Groner who served as Rabbi for over 50 years, led the service with a very distinct and unique “nusach” - melodic style, and for the community that Nusach/style was sacrosanct.
Despite being Rabbi Groner’s grandson, he had a style of his own, hence the hesitancy. But the community insisted that he lead the service, so he did, his own way. After the service was over my father came over to him and said: “it was different to what we are used to, but that’s ok, we’ll get used to the way you daven your way.” Those words were just the relief and validation that he needed. “Mr. New was a master at making space for others” concluded Rabbi Zirkind.
In many ways, I think this story gets to the core of the hundreds of stories we heard throughout the week of Shiva. The core of humility, wholesomeness, genuineness, uprightness, kindness, sensitivity, generosity, curiosity, care, activism, engagement, commitment - all virtues my father had, is the ability to make space for others. That’s not a personality trait, that’s a character trait. It’s a deep seated conviction and choice to carve out space within oneself for another. And it’s not a one off, it’s day by day, minute by minute. Do I stay in my own exclusive space, or do I carve out space for another, be it for G-d or my fellow man?
In Chassidic language, it’s called “bittul,” yielding inner space to a calling. Only a Tzadik lives consistently in that space; for the rest of us it’s a challenge. But if I confuse personality and character, I may not even challenge myself, hiding behind the facade of personality. Like this guy who once said to me: “you know me, I’m a ‘straight up guy,’ I say like I see it, no filters.” That’s a classic case of the confusion between personality and character. Perhaps you have a more “unfiltered” kind of personality, but are you now off the hook for saying whatever you want to say in whatever way you want to say it? This is where character building kicks in - reigning in my unfiltered personality to one of more refined character.
This is the gauntlet being put before me, as I begin to process some of what I have heard about my father this past week of Shiva in addition to what I already knew. I share this because I think he challenges us all to work on our character and to be better, fuller versions of ourselves. And because he was a very down-to-earth, normal person, not a saint whose piety seems unattainable. He leaves a legacy of character that is very relatable, emulatable, possible, attainable, maybe not in its totality, but certainly in doses: daily, hourly, minute by minute.
Let me break that down.
Daily/Hourly
How I treat a day is a choice. Am I going to chill it or fill it?
My father’s days were full days. He was very accountable to time. He was always punctual and purposeful. His day, when I was growing up, was very regimented: He began with exercising and stretching his back. Morning minyan, breakfast, off to work before eight. He came home just before six for dinner and depending on the night, he either attended a Torah class, a meeting, went out fundraising or signed checks for the Yeshiva. He was not a fan of TV (much as his kids were..). He just saw it as a waste of time. His news source was the daily papers, which he read over breakfast.
Occasionally he’d watch some sports with us. After retirement, he was never idle, always productive. As much as he was always doing something productive, it was not in a frenetic, stressful way, it was more of a showing up to every minute kind of way. Which is why he was successful at balancing his family life, business career and community involvement. He showed up to each one fully present.
Minute by Minute
Let’s define that as fleeting moments, temporary opportunities of engagement or interaction.
Often I have a choice, I can notice you or pretend that I don’t. I can engage or ignore you. I’m not in the mood. I’m stressed. I don’t have one inch of space inside me for you.
My father was very big on greeting people and even in the briefest of exchanges, displaying genuine interest. Many of the younger generation who came for Shiva, shared how they didn’t know him that well personally, but that didn’t stop him from greeting them and inquiring about them. He made people feel noticed, feel like they mattered. Small gestures. Big impacts.
Reactionary or Proactive?
Most people will respond to a call to help to some degree. My father’s generosity was not just reactionary. Many shared stories of how he reached out to them with unsolicited help, because he could tell they needed it, either having heard something or seen something. Like the story we heard about a family who my father went to meet to discuss a tuition plan because they had fallen behind and noticed that one of the children was sleeping on the floor without a mattress. The next day a mattress and bedding were delivered to the home
Bend it or go Straight Down the Line?
In business we can choose to take short cuts or go about things “straight down the line” which is a phrase my father would often say. His impeccable ethical standards won the admiration of the business world, whether towards his fellow man or to G-d. A friend related at the Shiva a story he had heard from someone that did business with my father. They were negotiating a deal on fabric. My father started the negotiation at $70 a yard, knowing that the price would come down in the negotiation. The client offered $60. My father replied that the sale price will be $50 and explained that in his mind that was the price he was prepared to sell for and he wasn’t going to take the higher offer. From that point on his client said, no need to negotiate deals in the future. Whatever price you ask, you get.
A relative related how he consulted with my father as to whether he should use a Halachically acceptable mechanism to keep his retail store open on the Jewish Holidays by selling it to a non-Jew for the days of the Holiday. My father, who related to us many times over the years how non-Jewish clients respected him for closing his business on Jewish holidays, recommended to the relative that he should not do it and close the store. He didn’t listen. A short while later, his biggest customer who accounted for 20% of his business, suddenly took his business elsewhere. His lease was up for renewal and the landlord tripled the rent making it impossible for him to continue at that location. He leased a new space and decided that he would not remain open on the Holidays. Shortly thereafter the client who had suddenly taken their business elsewhere reached out and renewed their business relationship. It wasn’t hard for my relative to connect the dots. Whether with clients or G-d, best to do things “straight down the line”.
That's the Mendel New way.
This week we read the Torah portion of Vayikra which is dominated by the subject of Sacrifices/Korbonos. The word “Korbon” comes from karov—to come close.
But how does one come close to Hashem?
By offering something of oneself. By stepping aside. By yielding space.
Every korban is, in essence, a declaration:
“I am not the center. I make room for something greater.”
I am walking straight down the line!
Interestingly, it is customary for heirs not to take the shoes of a deceased parent. There are several reasons for this, but perhaps there’s a message here.
As I heard all these stories about my father with the occasional “you’ve got big shoes to fill,” I kept thinking there’s no way I can fill those shoes. But I don’t think that that’s what I or anyone ought to strive for. It’s not about filling the shoes; it’s about walking the straight line he paved, one step at a time, one moment at a time, one choice at a time.
I told my children and some of my nieces and nephews, if you are ever in doubt as to what the right thing to do is, ask yourself, what would Zeide Mendel do in this situation and you will never go wrong. You will always be walking straight down the line.
Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Ruvi New
“Welcome Mr. New!”
נשאת ונתת באמונה
One of my father’s many fine character traits was that he was very particular about recognizing, acknowledging and showing appreciation to people for even their efforts or gestures, large or small.
I am truly humbled by the outpouring of love and support I have received from so many of you. May G-d Almighty repay you for your kindness and compassion with abundant blessings and Simcha in every area of life.
I’m sharing with you an adapted version of the eulogy I delivered at my father’s funeral on Thursday, attended by many hundreds of local community members. Enroute to the cemetery, the Aron (coffin) passed by the Chabad educational institutions to which he was so dedicated, giving the students the opportunity to pay their respects. (see pics)
As I wrote in my previous email, I learned of my father’s passing shortly after singing “Baruch Habo” the traditional “welcome” - that begins a Chuppah ceremony. Upon some imaginative reflection, it occurred to me that perhaps as I was singing Baruch Habo under the sky, I was echoing a symphony of voices in Heaven welcoming my father’s soul, with “Baruch Habo” - welcome to heaven.
The first greeter is the Malach Michoel the Angel of Kindness: “thank you for the abundant kindness, compassion, empathy and generosity you brought to the world. Baruch Habo.”
The next greeter is the Malach Gavriel the Angel of Strength and Discipline: “Thank you for your strong and uncompromising commitment to Jewish life, to your honesty, integrity and authenticity, to your deeply anchored values and principles. We so admired your tenacity, like the way you mustered the strength in your advanced age to walk to the front of the shul to hear the Chazzan and be able to answer a Barchu, a Kedusha, an Amen Yehei Shmei Rabo. The Alter Rebbe was so right when he said that we the Malachim (angels) would give anything in the world for one Amen Yehei Shmei Rabo. Reb Mendel thank you for lighting up the heavens and giving us a taste of what a real Amen Yehei Shmei Rabo feels like. Baruch Habo.”
My father and his brothers were the first generation of his family born in Australia - the transitional generation from the Alter Heim (old home of Eastern Europe) to the New world. The future of Yiddishkeit (Jewish life) was in the balance. Could it survive in the modern, western world?
“Baruch Habo tayere (dear) Mendele” say his parents Zeide Srulik and Bobbe Rivtche - “thank you for being such a strong and stellar steward of our sacred Mesorah (tradition) for bringing the Alter Heim (old home) to the Nayer Shtub (new house).
Every weekday morning before my father left to work, my mother would make his tie with her signature Windsor knot - a double knot that Halacha (Jewish law) treats as a Kesher Shel Kayomo - an everlasting (knot) bond. With glowing radiance emanating from my mother’s Neshome, she now says to her beloved Mendel; “For seventy years we bonded in the world below, now we will enjoy our Kesher Shel Kayama eternally together in the world above. Baruch Habo my dear.”
Shomayim (Heaven) can be a pretty difficult place to navigate, there’s ‘Haicholois’ and ‘Nesivois’, portals and pathways galore. But my father need not fear ever getting lost, as my brother Chaim calls out and says “Baruch Habo Dad!” Let me show you around!”
Long before GPS technology, Chaim had this ability to arrive in a city he had never been to before and know exactly how to get around. And now my father’s right hand man is right there by his side again.
As they stroll the hallways of heaven, voices call out: “Mr. New, Mr. New! Remember me? I was a customer of yours who rediscovered Yiddiskeit through doing business with you. Thank you and Baruch Habo!”
“How about me?” cries out a woman who had been a lonely widow for many years. “I was a guest at your Shabbos table and you and your wife made me feel like a queen. I am forever grateful to you, Baruch Habo!”
“I could never afford the tuition for my kids at Yeshiva," says another, “but you made sure I was never turned away. You ensured that my children received a proper Jewish education! Baruch Habo!”
“And my family couldn’t afford a place for me in the Montefiore Home for the Aged, and you made sure I too was not turned away, that I could live out my years in safety and dignity. Baruch Habo!”
“I needed a loan for a down payment on my first house, and I didn’t qualify for a bank loan. Thanks to your loan I was able to provide a home for my family. You put me on my feet! Thank you and Baruch Habo!”
Chaim turns to my father and says: “Dad, this is starting to feel like your daily walk on Carlisle street - everybody knows you here!”
One of the most sacred areas of Heaven is the Mesivta D’rakia - the Heavenly House of learning. Chaim shows my father in, and there’s Uncle Louis listening to a shiur (class) in the Kollel section, when he looks up and sees his brother and says “my learning has never been the same without you. Baruch Habo, dear brother!” And so these two brothers, best of friends and Chavrusas (learning partners) begin to learn together where they left off about a year and half ago, pausing only when they hear a sweet and familiar melodic voice begin Ashrei. It’s unmistakably their elder brother Meyer’s voice. The brothers are together again.
Suddenly, there’s a buzz reverberating all over Heaven and Neshomas (souls) and Malochim (angels) are frantically headed in the same direction. “Come on Dad,” says Chaim. “Looks like there’s a surprise Farbrengen about to begin.” The Heichal (hall) is packed; unphased, Chaim seats my father right at the top end of the table near the Rebbe’s.
Uncle Shmilik has just struck up a Nikolayevdiker niggun (chassidic melody) as he sits alongside my grandfather (his brother-in-law) Zeide Isser who says “Baruch Habo Mein Tayere Eidim.” (welcome my dear son in law). “Remember when you got engaged, that I insisted you say a Maamer Chassidus (Chassidic discourse) at your Kabolas Ponim (groom’s reception) and you had no idea what I was talking about? It will all become clear to you now. You're about to understand a Chassidic discourse like never before.”
After the delivering the Maamer, The Rebbe motions to my father to come up to him, pours him a big cup of wine and with a big smile says “L’chaim V’lovrocho - a groisen yasher koach (a big thank you) for everything you did for my Moisdois (institutions) in Melbourne - the Yeshiva and Bais Rivka, bguf (physically) b’mammoin (financially) u’beneshome. (spiritually) Baruch Habo Reb Mendel!”
The Farbrengen is over and Rabbi Groner who led the Chabad institutions in Melbourne for over fifty years, makes his way over to my father and says, “Mendel! Mir Hoben Geakert un Geziet un Geboit, we tilled, we planted, we built. The Rebbe blaibt nisht kein bal chov. The Rebbe will see to it that whatever we started will continue to flourish and grow. Baruch Habo!”
The Talmud records that there are four questions one is asked by the Beis Din Shel Mal0 - the Heavenly Court. There was no need to ask my father, so instead the court didn’t ask them as questions, but declared them as statements:
Your business dealings were with honesty and integrity
קבעת עתים לתורה
You set aside time to learn Torah
עסקת בפרי׳ ורבי׳
You built a beautiful family
צפית לישועה
You prayed for redemption
ברוך הבא מנחם מענדל בן ישראל!
Welcome to Heaven, Menachem Mendel ben Yisroel!
May his life inspire us all to live life a little better, a little higher, a little humbler, a little deeper, a little kinder, a little nicer, a little more generous, a little more committed, a little more active, a little more connected.
Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom, with love from Down Under,
Rabbi Ruvi New
Thank You, Tucker and Candace
Thank You, Tucker and Candace Their names are Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens. And for that — strangely enough — we might almost say thank you. King David once wrote in Tehillim: “מֵאֹיְבַי תְּחַכְּמֵנִי — From my enemies I gain wisdom.” Sometimes our adversaries end up reminding us of truths we ourselves may not always articulate clearly enough. I had already written my weekly parsha article early Thursday morning when commentary began circulating online suggesting that Chabad was somehow behind the war with Iran as part of a plan to rebuild the Third Beis Hamikdash (Temple in Jerusalem). Around the same time, backing up Tucker, was Candace Owens, who posted that Chabad is building secret tunnels and poses a hidden danger to society. The accusations were so bizarre that they were almost too “delicious” to ignore. Yet in a strange way, King David’s words echo here: sometimes our enemies remind us of truths. Take the claim that Jews — or Chabad in particular — seek to rebuild the Beis Hamikdash, the Third Temple in Jerusalem. If by that they mean that Jews pray every day for the rebuilding of the Temple, then yes — guilty as charged. But it is hardly a Chabad idea. It is one of the most ancient and universal aspirations of the Jewish people. At the conclusion of every Amidah, three times each day, Jews pray: “Yehi ratzon… sheyibaneh Beis Hamikdash bimheira b’yameinu.” This is not a hidden agenda. It is printed in every Jewish prayer book. But the Temple, in Jewish thought, is not about domination or conquest. The prophets describe it as a house of prayer for all nations, a place from which moral clarity and peace will radiate to the entire world. When Hashem’s presence is openly revealed there once again, humanity will rediscover the harmony for which it was created. In other words, rebuilding the Temple is not about Jews ruling the world. It is about the world finally discovering peace. And what about the accusation regarding “secret tunnels”? Even that claim has a curious historical echo. Nearly 2,700 years ago, during the reign of King Hezekiah, Jerusalem faced invasion from the Assyrian empire led by Sennacherib. In preparation for the siege, King Hezekiah ordered the construction of a remarkable underground aqueduct to secure the city’s water supply. That engineering marvel — known today as Hezekiah's Tunnel — still runs beneath the City of David, and thousands of visitors from around the world wade through its waters every year. Jerusalem’s subterranean story does not end there. Jewish tradition also speaks of underground passageways that will one day connect the Mount of Olives to burial places throughout the Jewish diaspora, facilitating the resurrection of the dead in the Messianic era. So in their own distorted and hostile ways, these commentators have inadvertently touched on ideas deeply rooted in Jewish faith, history, and longing. And that brings us back to the deeper lesson of this moment. The Talmud teaches that Hashem once considered appointing King Hezekiah as Mashiach. Why did it not happen? Because despite witnessing the miraculous destruction of the Assyrian army overnight, he failed to sufficiently sing praise and gratitude to Hashem. History can be filled with miracles — yet we sometimes forget to acknowledge them. Today we too are witnessing extraordinary events unfolding before our eyes. The United States standing alongside Israel to confront evil. Astonishing developments on the battlefield that seem almost impossible by conventional calculation — including the sudden elimination of Iran’s senior leadership in a single strike last Shabbos morning, removing the “Haman” of our time. Observers ask: how could such powerful figures have exposed themselves so completely? The answer may sound familiar to anyone who has read the Megillah. It was Hashem’s doing. Just as in the story of Purim, Divine providence often works through what appear to be ordinary events. Coincidences align. Plans unravel. The hidden hand guiding history slowly becomes visible. And that may be the deepest wisdom we gain even from our enemies. They may mock, distort, and accuse — but sometimes they inadvertently remind us of who we are. A people who pray daily for the rebuilding of a Temple dedicated to peace. A people who believe history is guided by a Divine hand. And a people who must never forget, especially in moments like these, to recognize the miracles unfolding before our eyes — and to respond with gratitude, faith, and song. Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Ruvi New
When our critics accidentally remind us of Judaism’s deepest aspirations.
Dear Friends,
This week, two unlikely teachers helped remind Jews everywhere of one of the most central ideas of our faith.
“May it be Your will that the Holy Temple be rebuilt speedily in our days.”