Dear Friends,
Over the past few weeks, I have found myself davening in places I never expected. During this first year of saying Kaddish—the mourner's prayer—for my father, a"h, I have had to ensure that I have three daily minyanim (prayer quorums) wherever I happen to be. As I have been traveling weekly these past three weeks up north, this has taken me to communities throughout New Jersey, the Catskills and Monsey—and, on several occasions, into Satmar synagogues. For someone who has spent a lifetime in Chabad, it was a fascinating experience. I am also not exactly anonymous. Between the style of my hat and the "770" embroidered on my tallis (prayer shawl) bag, everyone knew immediately where I came from. There was a time when that might have made for an uncomfortable encounter. The relationship between Satmar and Chabad was once marked by profound ideological differences that, sadly, sometimes gave rise to painful division. Yet that wasn't my experience at all. In every synagogue I entered, I was welcomed with genuine warmth. Without hesitation I was invited to the amud (the prayer lectern) to lead the services, following the practice of giving that privilege to one in the first year of mourning for a parent. What struck me even more was the davening itself. It was passionate, powerful and unmistakably vocal. The entire room seemed to pulse with energy. At first, I could barely hear my own voice. Before long, however, I found myself carried by the rhythm, deeply moved by the sincerity and intensity that filled the room. It reminded me that there are different gateways into deveikus—cleaving to Hashem. Some souls naturally express that yearning outwardly, through spirited singing, visible emotion and unrestrained fervor. Chabad Chassidus has always sought to ensure that this fire also penetrates inward—that inspiration becomes understanding, emotion becomes internalized, and one's mind, heart and actions become united in the service of Hashem. The Alter Rebbe (founder of Chabad) did not come to replace passion, but to deepen it; not to diminish emotion, but to give it lasting form through hisbonenus (contemplation) and pnimiyus (inner spiritual depth). Watching their prayers gave me a renewed appreciation for both truths: the beauty of heartfelt passion, and the gift of transforming that passion into an enduring inner relationship with Hashem. Perhaps that also explains a quiet change that has taken place over the years. Here at Boca Beach Chabad, we are privileged to welcome a steady stream of Satmar families vacationing from New York who join us for minyan. Around the world—particularly throughout the Far East—many Satmar chassidim rely on Chabad Houses for kosher food, prayer services and a Jewish home away from home. Some have become among the strongest supporters of those Chabad Houses, and today it is no longer unusual to see Satmar chassidim visiting the Ohel—the resting place of the Rebbe—or attending events surrounding the annual Kinus Hashluchim (International Conference of Chabad Emissaries). This week's Torah portion, Re'eh, contains one of the Torah's most beautiful and challenging aspirations: "U'vo Sidbakun"—"To Him shall you cleave." The Torah is not merely commanding us to believe in G-d or obey Him. It is calling us to cultivate deveikus—a living, intimate bond with Him. The Jewish people have developed different traditions for expressing that bond. Some emphasize its outward expression; others its inward cultivation. But the destination is the same: to become more deeply attached to the Ribbono Shel Olam—the Master of the Universe. As I left those synagogues, I found myself grateful—not because our differences had disappeared, but because they no longer felt like barriers. I came away with a deeper appreciation for the sincerity of their avodas Hashem (service of G-d), and with an even greater appreciation for the gift the Alter Rebbe bequeathed to the Jewish people: a path that takes inspiration beyond the moment, drawing it into the very fabric of one's inner life. Perhaps that is one of the quiet miracles of our generation. We have learned that we can appreciate another Jew's way of serving Hashem without feeling threatened by it. On the contrary, when each of us contributes our unique strengths while remembering that we are one people serving one G-d, we move one step closer to fulfilling the Torah's timeless call: "U'vo Sidbakun" — "To Him shall you cleave." Good Shabbos and Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Ruvi New 
ב"ה