Rabbi's Blog

"Rabbi, I’m not religious, so I don’t really feel at home in the synagogue." – Words many a Jew has said to their rabbi.

When G-d commanded the Jewish people to build a Sanctuary, it wasn’t just meant to be a dwelling place for Him, it was meant to be a spiritual meeting point between G-d and His people.

But Moses, the insightful leader that he was, had a concern.

The people had just committed the grave sin of worshiping the golden calf. Yes, they were now seeking atonement, but would they truly feel at home in this sacred space? Could they believe that G-d’s house was also their house?

Though the community had given generously - more than enough materials to complete the project - Moses wanted to ensure that no one felt more connected to this space than another. That no one could say, I gave more of my talents or resources, so I belong more. And that no one, not even those who had given little or nothing, would feel like an outsider.

That’s why he ensured that the Sanctuary, in all its details, was identified with him as the leader, because Moses belonged to every Jew, so now the Sanctuary would belong to every Jew without exception.

And the message remains just as true today. A synagogue is not just a building, it’s a home. No matter your background, level of knowledge or observance, you belong here. The doors of The Shul are always open, for prayer, connection, growth and community. And we can’t wait to welcome you.

I once heard Senator Joe Lieberman share in a speech here in Houston that the morning after he lost the election, his wife Hadassah reminded him: “Don’t worry, Joe. In this house, you’ll always be vice president.”

We all know the truth: in every Jewish family, the woman is the boss!

But it’s not just in the home. Throughout our history, Jewish women have played central roles at the most pivotal moments for our people...

A few examples are: Yocheved and Miriam in Egypt; Queen Esther in the Purim story; Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka; and the list goes on.

Today, I want to focus on another extraordinary moment: the building of the very first synagogue, the Mishkan, the portable Sanctuary in the desert. When Moses called on the people to contribute materials for this sacred project, it was the women who stood out:

1. They gave more than anyone. Their response was so overwhelming that Moses actually had to stop the campaign. There was too much generosity!
2. They gave with joy and enthusiasm. Not out of obligation or pressure, but with open hearts and alacrity, they led by example in how to invest yourself heart and soul and give with genuine excitement.
3. They gave their most cherished possessions. Their jewelry and valuables, freely offered, were most beloved by G-d.

A longtime friend of mine from Detroit once said: “Everyone says you should give until it hurts. But I’ve learned you should give until it feels good.”

At the time of building the Mishkan, it was the women who set the standard. They gave until it felt good and inspired the entire community of men to do the same.

May we all follow their lead and step up even before we’re called upon!

Mordechai was the leader of the Jewish people when they were under the threat of Haman. When did Mordechai know that salvation was near?

When he met three Jewish children on their way home from school. With pure conviction, they expressed their unwavering faith in G-d and their belief that He controls every detail of the world. In that moment, Mordechai understood: as long as our children are strong in their Jewish values, not only at school but also at home, the Jewish people are untouchable.

Today, the same is true. When we invest in inspiring and educating our youth to be proud of their Jewish identity, we can be certain that redemption is close at hand.

Start by celebrating today with your family. Wishing you and your family a joyful, light-filled Purim!

Have you ever realized that there’s someone you see all the time, whether at the gym, the coffee shop, or in Shul every Shabbat, but you don’t really notice them until one day they’re not there?

Their presence was so consistent that they blended into the background until their absence suddenly makes you aware of how much they were a part of your routine. We find ourselves thinking about them more now that they are missing than when they were present.

This week’s Torah reading, Tetzaveh, presents a striking example of this idea. For the only time since Moses was introduced in the Torah, his name is completely absent from the text. Week after week, Moses is the central figure in our story, always mentioned by name. Then suddenly, in Tetzaveh alone, he is missing.

But is he really gone?

The truth is, Moshe’s absence is not a disappearance at all. The Parsha still speaks about him. His role and presence remain. The only thing missing is his name. This teaches us that a person’s true presence is not defined by how often their name is mentioned but by the lasting imprint they leave behind.

This idea becomes even more powerful when we consider that Tetzaveh is always read around the 7th of Adar, the Yahrzeit of Moses, which happens to be today. When a righteous person leaves this world, their physical presence may no longer be here, but their true essence becomes even more accessible. Their teachings, their influence, and their spirit remain, not just in memory, but in the way they continue to actively shape our lives.

Just like the person we only truly notice when they are absent, Moshe and the "Moshe" of our own time, are more present than ever before. Their impact, no longer confined to a physical form, is now everywhere, waiting for us to recognize it.

This week, we were blessed to formally welcome our new son into the Jewish people at his Bris. Esty and I are deeply grateful to all the family and friends who joined us for this momentous event, each of you helped turn it into a truly beautiful and joyous occasion.

CLICK FOR SOME PICTURES   (Thank you Joe Center.)

We chose to name him Moshe Chaim, in honor of both of our fathers, extraordinary individuals. Here is one way in which they stood out:

• Rabbi Moshe Zaklikofsky, my father, embodied a life of unwavering and consistent devotion to Torah, Judaism, and his family. He lived every day with equanimity and total commitment, never swayed by circumstances. Whether it was his best day or his hardest, you wouldn’t know - because he showed up to life with the same steadfast values and the same smile for everyone he encountered.
• Rabbi Chaim Gurevitch, Esty’s father, radiated a zest for life. He was upbeat, wore his emotions on his sleeve, and gave selflessly with a generous spirit. Before our wedding, he told me he wasn’t just gaining a son-in-law but a son - words that truly reflected his warm and open heart. His name, Chaim (which means “life” in the plural), was fitting for the boundless energy and love he shared with everyone around him.

Our son’s name represents a fusion of these two incredible role models - different in personality, yet deeply appreciative of each other. We pray that Moshe Chaim carries forward their legacy of commitment, joy, and generosity of spirit.

**

As we study the Holy Temple, we learn that at its innermost and holiest chamber stood the Ark, upon which the Cherubs spread their wings. These cherubs had the faces of babies. But why the baby face?

Rashi explains that they represented the boundless and essential love that God has for the Jewish people, a love so pure, reflected only in that of a parent for their newborn child. While a parent continues to love their child as they grow and mature, that love can become shaped by their child’s achievements, personality, or other attributes. But a parent’s love for their baby is different, pure and unconditional.

ith the blessing of Moshe Chaim, we are reminded of G-d’s infinite love for each of (us) His children - not dependent on how observant or Jewishly accomplished they are. It is a love that is never compromised, never diminished.

Now, it is on us to reciprocate that love.

When we received the Torah at Mount Sinai, we entered into a relationship with God, a marriage of sorts. In this divine union, God pledged to take care of all our needs, nurture and guide us, and we committed to uphold His Torah and live by its values.

A marriage is not only about shared experiences at home as a family or acts of love. It is a profound bond that remains intact whether together or apart. We may be away on a business trip, out with friends, or engaged in personal pursuits, yet a spouse still remains part of who we are, it is all-encompassing.

Likewise, our connection to Judaism is not limited to the synagogue, praying at the Western Wall, or attending a Shabbat or holiday dinner. It is woven into every moment of our lives, the way we eat, conduct business, and interact with the world. Even in the most ordinary moments, we approach them with the awareness of our identity and faith.

This might be expressed through wearing a kippah, a Star of David necklace, visiting Jewish sites on vacation, or that feeling of kinship that moves us to approach another Jew in an unfamiliar place, creating unexpected yet meaningful moments of Jewish conviviality.

At Sinai, God empowered us to be His ambassadors in the world. As we proclaim in our holiday prayers, "And You empowered us to be carriers of Your great and awesome name." This role is not confined to holy spaces but accompanies us everywhere, whether in a restaurant, an airport, or any corner of the world.

Let us embrace this all-encompassing divine mission with pride and joy.

As one would expect from a rabbi, I often find myself encouraging fellow Jews to come to Shul, wrap Tefillin, post a Mezuzah, or eat a kosher meal. But every now and then, someone will hesitate and tell me, "I appreciate the offer, Rabbi, but that’s just not me. It would feel hypocritical."

The reasoning goes: If I don’t live a fully observant Jewish life, then doing one Mitzvah is meaningless, it doesn’t reflect who I really am.

But the truth is that every single mitzvah, even if done just once with no intention to repeat it, has tremendous value. Here’s why:

1. A Mitzvah creates an eternal bond with G-d. The impact of that connection can never be undone. You may do one single mitzvah, but its effect is infinite.

2. Success breeds success, and a Mitzvah whets your appetite for yet another Mitzvah. This isn’t just an idea, it’s a tried and tested fact of life.

3. History has often been shaped by a single deed that changed the course of someone’s life, a community, or even the world. We may not always see the immediate effect of what we do, but a mitzvah carries the potential to create ripples far beyond what we imagine.

This Shabbat marks the 75th anniversary of the Rebbe assuming leadership of the Chabad movement. One of his powerful teachings was this: A Jew doing a Mitzvah is never a hypocrite. On the contrary, if anything a Jew is a hypocrite only when he is not doing a mitzvah. Because when a Jew does a Mitzvah, no matter how long it’s been since his last, he is expressing his truest self. He is actualizing his real identity.

So please don’t hesitate. Do that mitzvah. You’ll be reconnecting with who you truly are at the core and simultaneously making the rabbis day!

Agam Berger, released this week from the hell of Gaza after 482 days, taught me something profound.

There is a difference between leaving slavery and attaining freedom. We may be free from oppression, but what are we free for? Freedom isn't just about escaping bondage; it must define something greater. We are free, but now what?

When the Jewish people left Egypt, they were no longer slaves, but were they truly free? Only at Mount Sinai, when we received the Torah and embraced God as our master, was our freedom solidified forever. From that moment on, no human force could ever truly own us again.

A living testament to this truth is Agam. Her captors stripped her of everything, her family, her community, her dignity, but they could not touch her soul. In the depths of captivity, she didn’t just turn down the Quran she was offered, she also refused to eat bread on Passover, refused non-kosher meat and in so doing she refused to let terror define her. In a place designed to break a person, she stood unbroken. Even in darkness, she clung to the light of her faith, proving that no captor, no evil, can claim a Jewish soul.

Agam joins the ranks of the giants in Jewish history, those who, in the face of unimaginable darkness, stood unwavering in their commitment to God and Judaism. Her story is a testament to the indomitable Jewish spirit, the unbreakable bond between a Jew and their faith.

Agam’s story challenges us to think: Being Jewish is not just about what we aren’t, it’s about what we are. It’s not just avoiding other religions, but actively embracing our identity and living with purpose. How can I strengthen my connection to Jewish learning and observance? How can I express my Jewishness with joy and conviction, not just in a time of crisis but in everyday life?

Are you an Augmenter or a Reducer?

Let me explain.

When we are on the receiving end of someone’s kindness - whether they’ve hosted us for a meal, given us a thoughtful gift, or gone out of their way to offer assistance - there are two ways we can react.

One response is to walk away deeply impressed by their generosity, speaking about how kind, gracious, and giving they are to extend themselves in such a way. The other response, however, is to downplay their efforts. We tell ourselves - and perhaps even others - that the person didn’t really go out of their way. “They were eating anyway,” we might say, or “They had extras they didn’t need,” or even, “They probably had an ulterior motive.” In doing so, we reduce the significance of their kindness, making us feel less indebted to them.

In the book of Ezekiel (this week’s Haftorah), we read about the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar laying siege to Tyre. Although this was part of God’s plan, Nebuchadnezzar’s motives were entirely self-serving, driven by his own strategic ambitions to conquer the region. Yet, despite his motivations, Nebuchadnezzar was rewarded by God for carrying out what He needed to be done.

This teaches us a powerful lesson: we should strive to avoid being ‘reducers’, those who diminish the kindness of others. Instead, we should aim to be ‘augmenters’, acknowledging and giving credit to anyone we benefit from, even if they don’t fully deserve it.

By choosing to magnify the good in others, we not only express gratitude but also train ourselves to think more positively about people and their actions, cultivating generosity and goodwill in our own hearts.

We typically start life brimming with energy, curiosity, and a hunger to make a difference. Yet, as we grow older, something shifts. With maturity comes wisdom and a sense of contentment in our accomplishments, but often at the cost of our youthful enthusiasm. Our curiosity wanes, and we risk becoming jaded.

Does maturing mean we must lose the innocence and vitality of our youth? Is it possible to mature without losing that spark?

Before the Jewish people left Egypt, G-d empowered Moses to lead their redemption. In doing so, He affectionately referred to them as “My first-born son, Israel” a term that conveys maturity, as a nation. Elsewhere, however, G-d describes the Jewish people as His “youngest child,” (ki naar yisrael) evoking the pure, unconditional love a parent feels for an immature baby.

So which is ideal? The love for a young child, pure and untainted, unearned by accomplishments? Or the respect and admiration for a mature adult, shaped by growth and achievement?

The answer lies not in choosing one over the other but in combining the two. True maturity doesn’t require sacrificing innocence or purity. Instead, it should build upon these qualities. As we grow, our achievements and talents should be inspired by the sincerity and devotion we possessed in our youth.

This balance is the secret to spiritual and personal fulfillment. To embody the maturity of G-d’s “first-born son,” using our gifts to accomplish great things, while retaining the purity and untainted devotion of a “youngest child.” Our growth should never diminish our humility, nor should our achievements overshadow our sense of purpose.

When we harmonize these aspects, we can remain deeply inspired even as we mature, driven by the same pure energy that first inspired us to make a difference.

We conclude with an urgent prayer that G-d, in His infinite love for each of His children, extend that love to the 98 remaining hostages, including Kfir Bibas who recently turned two. May He swiftly and miraculously reunite them ALL with their families, bringing them home in safety and joy, Amen.

This week, our hearts go out to those affected by the devastating fires in Los Angeles. The path of destruction left by these raging fires is unimaginable, leaving many in a time of deep uncertainty and pain.

For starters, let’s make it a priority to reach out to anyone we know who might be affected or who has family in the area. A simple check-in can provide tremendous comfort and strength. Sometimes, just knowing someone cares is all they need to forge ahead.

Secondly, a number of my colleagues and their Chabad centers and/or communities have been directly affected and are in need of immediate support. Please consider sending relief assistance by clicking here. 

In addition, let us engage in heartfelt prayer that these fires come to an end and that those impacted are granted safety, strength, and peace.

At Rochel’s Bat Mitzvah this past Wednesday, I shared a remarkable story of resilience, faith and which speaks of the power of prayer.

Sapir Cohen, one of the hostages taken during the October 7th attacks, was freed after 55 harrowing days. In a twist of divine providence, six months before the attack, Sapir felt a sense of unease. She sought medical advice but came up with nothing substantive. She stumbled upon an Instagram post encouraging the recitation of Psalm 27 daily for 30 days for health and blessings.

Though it would be her first time ever praying, she committed to the practice and concluded her 30 days on October 7th, having memorized the chapter. To her surprise, Psalm 27 didn’t speak about health but instead about salvation from war. She wondered about its relevance to her, until the 30^th day when she was unfortunately taken hostage.

During her captivity, Sapir continued to recite Psalm 27 daily, which opens with the words “G-d in my light and my salvation”. It gave her the strength to endure and inspired her to find purpose in the darkness. She cared for younger hostages, ensuring they had food, and even the captors recognized her light, saying, “You are my enemy, but you are light.”

This story reminds us of the power of prayer, a tool used by Jewish people in circumstances of joy or sorrow, that transcends time and space. We too can utilize this incredible gift to pray for our brothers and sisters facing hardship in Los Angeles.  Let us pray for an end to the raging fires, for the safety of the people, and that they find the strength to rebuild in due time.

Let us also continue to pray for our brothers and sisters in Israel and the courageous soldiers of the IDF, that they be blessed with an immediate and miraculous victory, bringing an end to the bloodshed. Let us pray that they are shielded from harm and granted strength, courage, and lasting peace. Amen.

We’ve just concluded a spectacular eight days of Chanukah. From record-breaking crowds at the Chanukah Festival to illuminating the city with public menorah displays, the spirit and joy of the holiday resonated throughout the community.

Read Article in the Jewish Herald Voice

On the final night, our children visited many families in the neighborhood, spreading the joy of Chanukah by offering Menorahs and candles, delivering delicious jelly donuts and sharing warm holiday wishes. They were delighted to know that almost every home had already lit their Menorahs that evening.

Did you know that when lighting our menorahs, we ideally should do so using olive oil? That’s because it produces the purest and brightest flame.

But there’s more to it. The Jewish people are often compared to an olive, which, only when crushed, produces oil that brings light. Over the past 14 months, our community has faced some crushing challenges, from attacks in Israel to rising anti-Semitism the world over. Yet, like olives, it is often only when crushed that our greatest power and purest oil emerges, like with so many rediscovering their faith and heritage over the past year.

A powerful example of this resilience was seen at Harvard University, where Chabad responded to the removal of 50 Mezuzahs from dorm rooms by offering students a free replacement. The response was extraordinary: 100 Mezuzahs were affixed, including 50 by students who had never had one before.

Let’s use that oil to continue shining our light all year round!

Public speaking is one of the most common fears in the world. Some surveys even suggest it’s feared more than death itself. Can you believe it? Standing in front of a crowd to speak at a funeral is, for many, scarier than being in the coffin!

I’ve always envied those rare ‘naturals’, people who seem born to command a crowd effortlessly. When I tell congregants that I still get nervous before delivering a sermon, they’re often surprised. While I’ve developed the skill and gained experience over time, the jitters remain, even if they’re not obvious to the audience.

This dynamic, acquired versus natural, made me think of our relationship with Judaism as well.

For some, Judaism might feel like an acquired identity or something they dabble in from time to time. Attending services a few times a year or celebrating the major holidays can certainly be meaningful, but it falls short of the true depth of Judaism. When we don’t engage regularly, we might find ourselves feeling like ‘strangers in our own home’ unfamiliar with the prayer book, the language, or the customs.

But something extraordinary happens when we bring Torah study into our lives and start growing in Jewish knowledge. With each step, Judaism begins to feel more natural to us. We become more at ease in Jewish spaces, more fluent in the rhythms of Jewish living, and we uncover our innate ‘natural’ connection to our heritage.

I have personally watched this happen to tens of people.

Whether it’s five minutes a day or an hour a week, let’s commit to growing in Torah,  in person or on your phone, and watch it transform us into the 'naturals' we were always meant to be.