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Rabbi's Blog

Can We All Fit Under One Roof?

 

Dear Friends, 

Every year around this time, an interesting convergence takes place.

As Jews prepare to enter the Sukkah, world leaders converge on New York for the United Nations General Assembly. Representatives of virtually every nation gather under one roof to discuss the challenges facing humanity.

And, inevitably, Israel once again occupies a remarkably prominent place in the conversation.

Perhaps Sukkos offers us a different model for what it means for very different people—and nations—to inhabit one world.

Chassidus teaches that the Sukkah and Noah’s Ark share something profound. Both create a protected space in which radically different inhabitants can coexist. Noah’s Ark contained animals that under normal circumstances would devour one another. Yet inside the Ark, predator and prey lived together peacefully. The Sukkah similarly surrounds everyone within the same embrace. Indeed, the Talmud teaches that “all Israel are fit to sit in one Sukkah.”

How is such coexistence possible?

The prophet Isaiah describes the Messianic era when “the wolf will dwell with the lamb,” and explains why: “For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of G-d as the waters cover the sea.”

The Rebbe Maharash explains that conflict is often a symptom of katnus hadaas—smallness or narrowness of mind. When my world is small, there is room only for my opinion, my perspective, my truth. Someone who disagrees with me doesn't merely see things differently; he threatens the limited space I inhabit.

That brought me back to something I spoke about on Yom Kippur: scarcity versus abundance.

Several people have since told me: “Don't let abundance remain a Yom Kippur sermon.” They are right. It needs to become a sustained call—to an abundance mindset and, even more importantly, to abundance action.

Perhaps daas—perspective and awareness—is where abundance begins.

Scarcity says: If you are right, there is less room for me. If you succeed, somehow I have less. If I acknowledge your perspective, mine has been diminished.

Gadlus hadaas—expansiveness of mind—says: There is room.

Room for conviction without hostility. Room to disagree without disconnecting. Room to celebrate another person's success without feeling diminished by it.

Sukkos then carries that message one step further. The Sukkah does not make us identical. It simply places all of us beneath something greater than ourselves. It is Sukkas Shlomecha — G-d’s “Sukkah of peace.”

And then comes Simchas Torah.

We leave the Sukkah and enter the circle.

We don't celebrate Simchas Torah by opening the Torah and testing who knows the most. We dance with the Torah closed and covered. Scholar and beginner, observant and searching, young and old — the Torah embraces every Jew as you are. You don't first have to become someone else to earn your place in the circle.

And we dance in a circle. A circle has no first and no last, no front row and no back. Every Jew has a place. Every Jew belongs.

From Yom Kippur to Sukkos to Simchas Torah, the message keeps expanding:

There is enough room. Under the Sukkah. Around the circle. Within our community. Within our hearts.

Come beneath the Sukkah. Come join the circle. Come as you are.

Perhaps that is the abundance mindset the world — and the United Nations — could use a little more of.

Good Shabbos and Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Ruvi New 

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The Yom Kippur Reset

 

Dear Friends, 

“Teshuvah” can feel like an intimidating word.

Where do you begin? Review an entire year? Identify everything you did wrong? Fix your personality? Become a different person by Yom Kippur?

Reb Zusya of Anipoli offered a remarkably practical alternative.

After hearing a profound teaching from his Rebbe, the Maggid of Mezritch, about the heights a person can reach through teshuvah—return—Reb Zusya declared that such a level seemed beyond him. So he broke the word TESHUVAH into its five Hebrew letters, each representing a verse and a pathway home. The Rebbe included these five steps in Hayom Yom for the days leading toward Yom Kippur.

Think of it as a five-part spiritual reset.

1. ת — Tamim: Be authentic.
“Tamim tihyeh im Hashem Elokecha” — Be wholehearted with G-d.

The first step is authenticity. Stop performing—for others, and perhaps even for yourself. Who am I really? What is working in my life? What isn’t? What do I know needs to change?

We live in a world that makes it remarkably easy to curate an image of ourselves. Temimus asks us to remove the filters. Teshuvah begins not with guilt, but with the courage to be real—with ourselves and with G-d.

2. ש — Shivisi: Find your center.
“Shivisi Hashem l’negdi tamid” — I place G-d before me always.

The Hebrew word shivisi also evokes hishtavus—equanimity, an inner calm that comes from knowing that Hashem is present in every circumstance.

Life pulls us up and down: compliments and criticism, success and disappointment, the email we wanted and the phone call we dreaded. When Hashem is truly “before me always,” I don't have to be emotionally tossed around by every development. There is a center that doesn't move.

Imagine having a spiritual notification running continuously in the background: Hashem is here. In shul, at the office, in traffic, in the difficult conversation. That awareness creates not passivity, but serenity—the ability to respond rather than react.

3. ו — V’ahavta: Repair your relationships.
“V’ahavta l’rei’acha kamocha” — Love your fellow as yourself.

Perhaps the most practical Yom Kippur inventory is not between us and Heaven, but between us and other people.

Who have I hurt? Whom have I ignored? Who needs an apology, a phone call, a little more patience? Is there someone I have reduced to a grievance rather than seeing as a fellow soul?

Loving another Jew, the Alter Rebbe teaches, is itself a pathway toward loving G-d. Sometimes the most meaningful teshuvah happens not in the synagogue, but in picking up the phone.

4. ב — B’chol: Look for G-d in your story.
“B’chol derachecha da’eihu” — In all your ways, know Him.

Review the year again—but differently.

Look for the unexpected meeting, the closed door that opened another one, the person who appeared precisely when needed. Train yourself to notice Hashgachah Pratis—Divine Providence.

The Hayom Yom remarkably notes that the person engaged in business may have an advantage here: real life gives us endless opportunities to watch G-d at work. Teshuvah means learning to read our lives not simply as a sequence of events, but as a story in which Hashem is present.

5. ה — Hatzne’a: Do something nobody knows about.
“Hatzne’a leches im Hashem Elokecha” — Walk discreetly with your G-d.

Perhaps no step is more countercultural today.

We live in the hyper-public world of TikTok, Instagram and social media, where almost every experience can become content and every accomplishment can be broadcast. If nobody saw it, photographed it, liked it or shared it—did it even happen?

Hatzne’a leches says: Yes. And perhaps that is precisely what makes it precious.

Choose one mitzvah, one act of kindness, one moment of self-restraint that nobody knows about. Don't post it. Don't mention it. Don't look for recognition. Let it belong exclusively to you and Hashem.

In an age of relentless visibility, there is something profoundly liberating about having a corner of our lives that requires no audience.

Five letters. Five tools:

Be authentic. Find your center. Repair a relationship. Notice Providence. Do something quietly.

And perhaps that is why we call it teshuvah—not becoming somebody else, but returning to the person we were always capable of being.

As we enter Shabbos Shuvah and prepare for Yom Kippur, we don't have to fix everything at once.

We just have to begin the journey home.

Wishing you Shabbat Shalom, Gmar Tov and and an east fast,

Rabbi Ruvi New



Who Inspires the Inspirer?

 

Dear Friends, 

This time of year, everyone is looking for inspiration.

We come to Rosh Hashanah hoping that the prayers, the shofar, a stirring sermon, a song—or perhaps just one quiet moment in shul—will awaken something within us and propel us into the new year.

But here is a remarkable thought: G-d, so to speak, is looking for inspiration too.

Our Sages teach that on Rosh Hashanah G-d says, “Tamlichuni aleichem” — “Crown Me as King over you.”

It is an extraordinarily vulnerable expression. G-d is G-d regardless of what we do. Yet He asks us to crown Him. The awakening must come from below. Our sounding of the shofar, our prayers, and above all, our decision to recommit ourselves to Him are what, so to speak, inspire the Divine response and draw forth His kingship for the year ahead.

Apparently, everyone needs inspiration.

And so, as one year makes way for another, I thought I would share some of what inspires me.

First, feedback.

This article goes out each week to thousands of readers. I  write, send, and then…  But every so often someone stops me and says, “That article really spoke to me.” Someone emails to say they forwarded it to a friend. Someone tells me that a thought they read here changed the way they looked at something.

One response can provide enough fuel to keep writing for weeks. Never underestimate the power of telling someone that something they did made a difference.

I am inspired by the growth of our community — not simply in numbers, but in participation, engagement and support. More people showing up, learning, praying, celebrating, contributing and taking ownership of our shared Jewish future.

I am inspired by the dedication of our staff, who invest enormous energy, creativity and heart—often far beyond what anyone sees—to make everything happen.

And I am inspired by our volunteers. The person greeting someone at the door with a smile. The person helping in the kitchen. Setting up décor. Making calls.. Sometimes the smallest act communicates the biggest message: This matters to me. This is my community.

Perhaps that is the deeper message of Tamlichuni aleichem.

Inspiration is not a one-way street. We look upward to Hashem for inspiration, while Hashem, so to speak, looks to us and says: Show Me what matters to you. Show Me what you are prepared to do. Inspire Me.

As this year draws to a close, I simply want to say thank you.

Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for inspiring one another. And thank you for inspiring our community to keep reaching higher.

May Hashem, in turn, be “inspired” by all of us and inscribe each and every one of us for a year of abundant blessing — a year of health, happiness and nachas; of prosperity, peace and purpose; and above all, a year in which our people and our world finally experience the ultimate blessing of peace and redemption.

Kesiva Vachasima Tova — may we all be inscribed and sealed for a good and sweet New Year.

Rabbi Ruvi New

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Soul Trek: To See — and Be Seen

 

Dear Friends,

This week, a group from our community embarked on what we called a Soul Trek — a day-long journey to connect more deeply with the Rebbe, and ultimately, with ourselves.

In a sense, the journey began before we even reached our first destination.

Upon arriving at JFK, our group spontaneously broke into song and dance. One participant later reflected on how powerful it felt simply to dance openly and proudly as Jews in a New York airport — particularly at a time when Jewish presence and identity in the city have felt increasingly challenged.

Before we had learned anything, prayed anywhere or visited any sacred space, we had already made a statement: We are here. We are Jewish. And we are proud.

It set the tone for everything that followed.

Our first stop was Soul Words, where we prepared ourselves for the day ahead, before continuing to the Ohel, the Rebbe’s resting place.

At the Ohel there was a stillness and intensity. We each had the opportunity to write a note, pray, reflect and connect. For some there were tears; for others, simply a profound sense of presence.

From there we traveled to 770 and entered the Rebbe’s room — the place where yechidus, private encounters with the Rebbe, took place. Yechidus connotes oneness — a soul connection. Each participant had the opportunity to sit quietly, close their eyes, and spend a few moments in profound reflection and connection.

We then entered the main synagogue at 770 — a dramatic contrast. From the silence of the Rebbe’s room to the pulsating energy of a place alive with Torah, prayer, song and Jewish life; the headquarters from which thousands of emissaries were sent to illuminate the world. It was especially exciting for me to be able to show the men in the group the precise places I stood in 770 for Farbrengens, Tekios (the Shofar blowing) and Hakafos (on Simchas Torah) 

Our final stop was the Rebbe’s home, where some were struck by the almost startling simplicity of the home and particularly kitchen. Here was the private home of a leader whose influence reached across the globe, yet there were no trappings of grandeur. Just simplicity, humility and purpose.

The Rebbe described his home as a place of ma’asim tovim — good deeds — and allowed it to be opened to the public so that those who entered would be inspired to add a good deed of their own.

Different participants later spoke about different parts of the day that moved them most. Yet perhaps all of these experiences were expressions of the same journey: a journey inward.

This week’s Torah portion opens: “Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem lifnei Hashem Elokeichem” — “You are all standing today before Hashem your G-d.”

To stand lifnei Hashem — before G-d — is to encounter ourselves without all the layers we accumulate: our titles, insecurities, accomplishments and failures. What remains is the deepest and truest self.

The Torah describes aliyah laregel, the pilgrimage to the Holy Temple, as coming “to see” and “to be seen.” Perhaps being seen by Hashem means learning to see ourselves the way Hashem sees us — not defined by our shortcomings, but by the pure soul within us and by what we are capable of becoming.

That, in many ways, is what the Rebbe did throughout his lifetime — and continues to do. To come to the Rebbe is to see and to be seen. The Rebbe saw beyond what a person thought they were and helped them discover who they could become.

But seeing differently must lead to living differently.

And so everyone on our Soul Trek took upon themselves a practical hachlatah — a positive resolution, one concrete mitzvah or good deed through which to carry the inspiration home.

And then, appropriately, we ended as we had begun: with a dance.

We joined together singing the old Chassidic refrain:

“Tayere brider, mir velen zich veiter zen; az der Eibershter vet geben gezunt un leben, velen mir forn tsum Rebn, mir velen zich veiter zen.”

“Dear brothers, we will see each other again. When G-d grants us health and life, we will travel to the Rebbe, and we will see each other again.”

But this time the dance meant something more.

We had arrived dancing with the pride of Jews unafraid to be seen. We left dancing after having looked more deeply within — having experienced what it means to see, to be seen, and to recognize something greater in ourselves.

And we returned home carrying that encounter with us — not merely as a memory, but as a hachlatah, a good deed, and a commitment to live more fully as the person Hashem sees us to be.

Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Ruvi New

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