Rabbi Yossi's Blog

In the spirit of full disclosure I’ve got to warn you - you probably shouldn’t read this post. 

It's safer that way. 

Because if you actually think about what I’m about to say, you might have to, you know… change something. And that’s messy.

No, seriously - many people are perfectly comfortable cruising along in their life and prefer not to think too deeply about the direction they’re headed. 

I don’t blame them - it’s risky to think. 

Because let’s face it, if we actually take an honest look at where we’re headed, we might realize we need to hit ‘recalculate.’ 

And changing course? That’s hard work.

Still here? Fine. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Here’s the all important question no one likes asking: Why are we here?

There are various answers given but they generally fall into two categories: For ourselves (enjoy life, achieve something) or to serve a higher purpose (society, G-d). 

But the truth is that neither answer alone is entirely correct, both are true to a degree. 

This is where it gets difficult, because these two values seemingly contradict each other. Nonetheless we need to live our life with a balance that reflects this dichotomous reality. 

Think about it this way - if you are a healthy individual,  most likely you take care of yourself; you eat and sleep and generally take care of your physical self. 

You probably take care of yourself in more refined ways too; developing your character, advancing your career, learning new things. 

But all the accomplishment of self development is within a limited self-centered existence. 

And no matter how successful you are in that realm, you’re starving yourself of the deeper, more profound - and in many ways, more important for survival - purpose-centered part of existence.

Our role as human beings - and especially as Jews - is to do more than take care of ourselves. 

We need to think about the greater reason that we’re here, to serve a higher purpose: To make this world into a G-dly place. 

Every altruistic mitzvah that we do, every time we put on tefillin or light Shabbat candles, help another person or study Torah, we take another step toward achieving this goal.

There’s a counterintuitive dimension to all this; the more we invest on the purpose centric side of our life, the more complete we become in the self-centered element as well. 

So if you feel your life has become a dreary jumble of divergent responsibilities, take some time to invest in your purpose. 

Infuse your life with more value and significance and see the positive effects in every part of your life.

When the world feels noisy, divided, and unstable;

when we experience too many reminders of how fragile peace is and how loud the voices of anger and violence can be;

it’s easy to feel distraught and it’s natural to wonder: what can really make a difference?

When Aharon the High Priest experienced the sudden, tragic loss of his two sons, the verse records his reaction - just two Hebrew words: “Vayidom Aharon” - “And Aharon was silent.”

But his silence was not the silence of despair. It was the silence of strength, of inner faith, of connecting to something higher than words could ever reach.

After the Supreme Court ruled against prayer in public schools and following the attempted assasination of President Ronald Reagan, The Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, the most influential Jewish leader of the 20th century, encouraged silence as an antidote.

More specifically, he urged America to adopt a moment of silence in schools: a daily pause for children to reflect quietly, guided by their parents, on life’s deeper purpose.

Unlike spoken prayer, which can spark debate, a silent pause belongs to each student.

No teacher can impose beliefs, no peer can intrude.

Every child is free to connect in their own way - to values, to meaning, to G-d.

The Rebbe pressed for it to be universally adopted because giving children a habit of silence, reflection, and higher purpose is one of the strongest safeguards for a brighter, safer future.

And this practice is not only for children. In Elul - the month of reflection before Rosh Hashanah - it's particularly appropriate to find our own “moment of silence”:

To pause, to step away from the world’s noise, and to ask ourselves, "What am I living for? How can I bring more light into the world today?”

And you can make a difference for others too. In addition to taking on your own daily moment of silence as spiritual preparation for the new year -

Encourage your child’s school, local leaders, or representatives to implement and encourage this policy. Even one voice can make a difference.

Whether in schools or in our daily lives, when the world seems to be unraveling, there is something we can do.

It is deceptively simple, but extremely powerful: Carve out silence, and fill it with purpose.

As we approach the New Year, let us take moments of silence - not filled with emptiness, but with meaning, strength, and hope.

And may they open the way to a year of peace, safety, and revealed blessings.

Today the Jewish and Gregorian calendars line up in a striking way.

9/11 is remembered as a day of darkness. This year, with the recent wave of political violence culminating in yesterday’s tragic assassination of a political leader, the mood feels even heavier.

And yet, on the Jewish calendar, today is Chai Elul - the 18th of Elul, meaning “the life of Elul.” It marks the birthdays of two giants of Jewish history: the Baal Shem Tov and the Alter Rebbe.

Their leadership came after a particularly brutal period of Jewish suffering, yet they infused new life and vitality into the Jewish world. Their teachings continue to inspire and uplift to this very day.

Chai Elul reminds us that even in the darkest times, sparks of light can be found. 9/11 was a day of horror, but it was also a day of extraordinary courage and selflessness.

We, too, can be those points of light. By caring for others, offering a kind word, or extending a helping hand, we uncover the goodness in our world and empower others to do the same.

Yes, discrimination is good.

In fact, it’s an essential part of life. You literally can’t do anything without it.

Of course, I’m not talking about discriminating against people. I’m talking about discrimination when it comes to values, ideas, life choices, and priorities.

Life itself is built on discrimination. At its core, discrimination simply means recognizing and understanding the difference between one thing and another.

This week's Torah portion instructs regarding ensuring that an accessible roof must have appropriate safety railing installed.

In addition to the actual mitzvah, the verse is reminding us of something deeper: the importance of discrimination.

There are certain values and ideals that we need to create a protective barrier around, ensuring that they remain at a distance. Other ideas we can and should allow to influence us.

Every choice in life is also saying no to other choices.

Before we can evaluate which life choices to embrace and which to discriminate against, we have to ensure we have an appreciation of what’s truly valuable in life.

Then it’s imperative to discriminate and determine, does this choice align with my values and priorities?

When the Torah instructs us regarding the fence around our roof, it’s reminding us regarding the importance of discrimination.

The railing around the roof is not just a safety measure - the Torah isn’t simply sharing building codes.

It's a reminder that we must be deliberate in how we live, discriminating wisely between what lifts us up and what could pull us down.

And for the record, not making any choice regarding how to live and just “going with the flow” is a choice too. Just not a good one.

So as we step into the second week of Elul, heading toward Rosh Hashanah, it’s time to sharpen our discrimination.

Build some fences. Tear some down. And make sure the life you’re saying yes to is actually the one you should be living.

Saying “thank you.” Apologizing. Spending time with family. Expressing love. Simple gestures but not necessarily easy to do.

Living a healthier lifestyle; sleeping more, eating better and exercising regularly. All simple choices, but not always easy to accomplish.

Focusing on what we need to do now and not worrying about or trying to control the future. Simple in theory, but definitely not easy to achieve.

Our Torah portion reminds us of Moshe’s instruction to the Jewish people as they were about to enter the land: Be simple.

After warning them about falling for the false comfort of the various types of “future tellers”, Moshe tells them תָּמִ֣ים תִּֽהְיֶ֔ה עִ֖ם ה’ אֱלֹקיךָ - “You must be tamim with the L-rd your G-d” (Deut. 18:13).

Translations of tamim vary—“perfect,” “whole,” “complete,” “wholehearted.” But Rashi tells us that here the intention is simple or sincere: “Conduct yourself with Him with simplicity and depend on Him, and do not inquire of the future.”

Trust (bitachon) is more than an attitude, it is a spiritual posture, the deep awareness that G-d is guiding every detail of life.

It’s simple. Release the illusion of control and embrace what we can and must do: the next good deed. Here and now.

But it’s anything but easy. It’s difficult to let go of control, even when that control is nothing more than an illusion.

Simplicity and trust does not mean resignation. Simple trust in G-d imbues us with a fiery refusal to accept the world’s brokenness.

Trust propels us to action: to increase Torah and Mitzvot, to reject injustice, to add kindness and to prepare the world for Moshiach.

While it might not be easy, it is definitely simple.

I don’t drive a racecar, nor operate radar. But I do enjoy a palindrome or two. 

And I’m not confusing cars and cats, I’m just using a sentence that reads the same forwards as it does backwards.

Why? Because I want to bring your attention to a profound palindromic message embedded in this week’s Torah portion. 

The portion begins with the words: רְאֵ֗ה אָֽנֹכִ֛י נֹתֵ֥ן לִפְנֵיכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה See, I place (i.e. give, Notayn) before you today a blessing and a curse.

The Hebrew word, Notayn, give, (or Nossayn, in the traditional pronunciation) is spelled here as a palindrome. 

Life is not filled with objective blessings and curses; G-d guides us through life and we choose how to perceive it. 

If we observe life through the lens of blessing, we experience blessings. And the opposite is true if we do otherwise. 

We experience life as we choose to perceive it. 

That’s not to say that everything is always rosy. But what we highlight, what we give our attention to, is what becomes the defining part of our story

Just yesterday I heard someone relating about their fathers experience in the holocaust. He would talk about how a Nazi guard threw a raw potato at him. A cruel and degrading gesture - but one that saved his life, since he then had food for the day. 

On a similar note, our Torah portion discusses the mitzvah of giving Tzedakah. The same Hebrew letters we discussed above, נתן, Natan (or Nosson) mean to give. 

We often think about giving as depleting our resources when we give. And of course when we give our time or attention, food or money to another, we no longer have that time or that money. 

But the Torah reminds us that giving is never one-sided. Like the palindrome itself, what we send out comes back to us. Often in ways far greater than we expect.

Our perspective shapes our reality. Our giving shapes our returns. 

And while G-d controls the world, we hold the power to choose how we experience it. 

“But, I need it!” is an expression that my kids like to use.

And they roll their eyes when I prompt them to consider if it's a real need or just a want.

But it’s not just kids. “I need a new car” usually means my car is a few years old, I’m bored of driving it, and there are some cool new features that would be fun to have.

 “I need a new phone” usually doesn’t mean my current one doesn’t work, and “I need a new shirt” likely doesn’t mean I have nothing to wear.

Modern American life is often criticized as overly consumeristic—and there’s certainly truth to it. It’s no surprise that our perception of “needs” shifts as our wealth increases. 

In fact, this is exactly one of the warnings Moses shared with our ancestors as they prepared to enter the Holy Land for the first time.

To paraphrase: “You will have beautiful homes, plenty of food, growing herds, and everything you have will increase.”

Then Moses warns: “And you start feeling proud and self-important, forgetting the L-rd your G-d, who brought you out of Egypt, out of slavery…”

“And you’ll think to yourself, ‘I’m the one whose own strength and hard work earned me all this wealth.’”

Then he reminds them: “But remember the L-rd your G-d—it’s He who gives you the ability to earn wealth, so that He can fulfill the promise He made to your ancestors, as He is doing today.”

While Moses’ speech, found in this week’s Torah portion (Deut. 8), sounds like pure admonition, it’s actually a guide on how to live well with blessing. 

It’s about maintaining a healthy relationship with our possessions so they don’t end up defining or controlling us.

After listing specific examples of wealth - homes, food, herds etc - the Torah adds something broader: “and everything you have will increase.”

Commentaries explain this refers to the lifestyle changes that often come with success. People shop in different stores, move to different neighborhoods, and refine their tastes. 

The question is: As our physical lives improve, are we also growing spiritually?

The Torah’s guidance is clear: As “everything you have” increases, your mitzvot, your kindness, your Torah study, your generosity, all need to increase too. Otherwise, we risk slipping into the illusion that our success is ours alone.

Yes, our effort matters - but it’s only the vessel. 

The blessing comes from G-d. It’s possible to work endlessly and still not see results; it’s also possible for unexpected blessing to flow in with minimal effort. The Source is always Above.

Maintaining this perspective helps us keep a healthy attitude and a positive relationship with the “things” in our lives. 

It encourages gratitude instead of feelings of lack and guides us to make wiser, more thoughtful decisions as we navigate daily life.

We expect to be paid for our work. We expect loans to be repaid. And when someone makes a promise, we expect them to keep it.

When those expectations are met, we’re happy.

But when we don’t get paid, when money isn’t returned or when people let us down, we naturally get upset. 

And over time, as life goes smoothly with good health, steady work, a roof over our head - we begin to expect it. 

We start to subconsciously feel entitled to it. And when reality doesn’t match our expectations? We get upset and frustrated. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Va’etchanan, Moses makes his final plea to G-d to enter the Land of Israel. 

Our sages note that the word Va’etchanan is linked to the Hebrew for “gift.” 

Moses wasn’t citing his lifetime of achievements or his steadfast leadership. He simply asked G-d to grant him entry as a gift.

He understood that G-d didn’t owe him anything.

That’s always the case. Are we ever owed anything by G-d? 

His reality is utterly beyond ours; our finite actions are, by comparison, completely insignificant. 

No matter how influential we may be, no matter how many likes, views or reposts we get - it’s all negligible compared to G-d’s reality. 

The fact that our actions carry any cosmic weight at all is only because G-d chooses to value them. (Itself a powerful notion to consider). 

Moses modeled this humility when he asked to enter the land as a gift. 

And it’s a transformative mindset worth adopting. 

When we let go of entitlement, we stop feeling cheated when life doesn’t go as planned. 

And when we remember that G-d owes us nothing, our gratitude and joy can only grow.

Photo by Rafael Pol on Unsplash

Many of us struggle with feelings of inadequacy. We look around, compare ourselves to others, and quietly tear ourselves down.

Why is this? I’ll leave that to the psychologists among us. 

If I asked you to identify the most significant verse in the Torah, which would you choose?

There are many to choose from, maybe the Shema or the first of the Ten Commandments; maybe the Exodus or the Creation. Maybe “Love your fellow as yourself”.

All of these seem fitting. In fact, when the sages of the Talmud discuss this question some suggest verses similar to those mentioned above. 

But the verse they ultimately choose, found in this week’s Torah portion, comes as a surprise at first:

“The one lamb you shall offer up in the morning, and the other lamb you shall offer up in the afternoon.”

The verse describes the daily sacrificial offering in the Temple, the Korban Tamid. A twice daily lamb offering. 

While the Temple service is significant, what would prompt the sages to suggest this verse as being most significant? 

Nowadays it seems that we’re so distracted by overnight success that we forget what it takes to get there. 

In a world obsessed with viral hits and instant results, it’s easy to forget the truly significant factors that truly drive accomplishment. 

Behind almost every “overnight success” is either years of unseen work… or a miracle. Either way, it’s rare. And we can’t depend on it. 

The Korban Tamid reminds us of what actually builds a life of meaning: consistency. 

Consistency isn’t glamorous or exciting. Consistency doesn’t lead headline stories or go viral. 

But Hashem doesn’t ask for extraordinary stunts. He asks us to show up. He asks us to be present. Every day - especially when it’s not exciting.

Real success - in spirituality, relationships, character, or career - is built the way the Korban Tamid was offered: steadily, faithfully, one small act at a time.

Because at the end of the day, the most impressive thing isn’t going viral.

It’s being there, every single day, “in the morning… in the afternoon”, for something higher than yourself.

 Photo by Anika Huizinga on Unsplash

Join me for a little experiment. 

Look around the room and notice how many brown objects you can identify. 

Now, without glancing around again, how many red items did you see?

Consider this: you probably didn’t even notice the red items when you were looking for brown. Did you?

And most importantly, you likely counted some tan items as brown. And probably considered some burgundy items as red. Am I right?

In other words, we see what we’re looking for.

This is not only true about colors. When we’re focused on something, especially an idea or feeling, we subconsciously find ways to confirm it all around us.

We don’t perceive the world in an objective manner. We perceive the world in a way that reflects our mindset. 

Our perspective doesn’t just color our experience, it creates it. 

The way we see the world shapes what we feel, how we act, and ultimately, the reality we live in.

Shift your perspective, and you shift your life.

If we choose to look for goodness, kindness, and blessing — we’ll begin to see it everywhere.

“Living in the real world” is not an objective experience, it’s shaped by our mindset.

This theme is reflected in our Torah portion, Balak. The Torah relates that G-d doesn’t see negative in the love of His life, the Jewish people. 

Hashem only sees the good in us. Hashem made it that Bilaam could only acknowledge the good within us. 

And we too, should look at ourselves - and each other, the way that Hashem looks at us; with positivity. Only seeing the goodness that we possess. 

That’s how we’re meant to see ourselves, and one another.

To see the world with Hashem’s eyes: To notice the good. To highlight the light. To focus on the blessings.

And when we train our minds to look for the positive, we begin to live in a world filled with it.

Today, America celebrates freedom.

Independence and freedom, by definition, is often messy and imperfect. But the blessing is that it is within our collective control to perfect. 

Freedom perfected is not just the absence of tyranny, but the G-d-given right to live with purpose and to build a better world.

Freedom is not just the absence of oppression, it's living with a higher purpose. 

Freedom is not just freedom from - it’s freedom to.

Freedom to live by mission, not just by impulse. 

Freedom to rise above our limitations and be who we were truly created to be.

Freedom to reveal the Divine within the mundane and to transform darkness into light.

True freedom is internal. A person can live in a free country and still be enslaved - by fear, by habit, by ego. 

And one can be physically restricted yet spiritually free.

So as we celebrate the founding of this great nation, let’s ask ourselves:

Are we using our freedom to fulfill our higher calling?

Are we shaping a society of morality, compassion, and G-dliness?

Are we building not just a free life - but a purposeful one?

This July 4th, may we rededicate ourselves to the ultimate vision:

A world where liberty is guided by light, where freedom is paired with purpose, and where each of us is empowered to be a lamplighter in our surroundings.

Because true independence comes not when we’re free to do whatever we want - but rather when we choose to become who we’re meant to be.

Last night, we had a remarkable event.

It was incredibly powerful to hear their stories (and the many others that were shared afterward).

And it reignited my conviction that we are all capable of so much more than we allow ourselves to imagine.

As we prepare for Gimmel Tammuz - the anniversary of the Rebbe’s physical passing this Sunday - many are focused on memorializing the Rebbe.

But I don’t think we should be memorializing the Rebbe.

I want to live like the Rebbe. I’m striving to live with the Rebbe.

Because the Rebbe wasn’t just a charismatic or visionary leader.

He wasn’t just a man of profound insight or someone with an uncanny ability to form deep, personal connections with everyone he met.

The Rebbe is the Moses of our generation.

Yes, that’s a bold statement. Moses redeemed the Jewish people from Egypt, gave them the Torah, and led them through the desert for 40 years - right up to the border of the Promised Land.

But even more than that, Moses introduced the Jewish people to G-d. He taught them to trust in G-d, to rely on Him.

Moses spent years as a shepherd - first of sheep, then of people. He nurtured the Jewish people’s innate faith and helped them recognize G-d’s hand in their daily lives.

And Moses gave them the tools to carry on - even after his passing - and enter the Land of Israel.

The Rebbe did the same.

He guided - and continues to guide - the Jewish world.

After the devastation of the Holocaust, the Jewish people desperately needed redemption. We needed leadership.

The Rebbe provided that leadership - not only with direction, but by awakening a deeper faith and trust in G-d within every Jew.

Just like Moses.

But the Rebbe didn’t stop there. He envisioned a world of peace and unity, where Divine consciousness fills the air, and kindness and goodness are not only spoken about, but lived - each and every day; the era of Moshiach.

The Rebbe brought us to the cusp of redemption - right up to the threshold of the era of Moshiach.

And now, our job is to take the world across the finish line.

My hope is to integrate the Rebbe’s teachings and ideals into my own life - and to inspire others to do the same.

31 years after the Rebbe’s physical passing, I’m not looking to remember the Rebbe.

I’m looking to live with the Rebbe.

And through that, help usher the world into the Messianic era.