Today is Lag B’omer. But this week has been an emotional rollercoaster.
On Monday, Edan Alexander became a free man once again after spending 584 days of being chained, tortured and starved in Hamas dungeons.
Then, on Wednesday, Tzeela Gez was shot and killed by a Palestinian terrorist while her husband was driving her to the hospital to give birth near Jerusalem. Her husband, also wounded, tried to stop her bleeding until the ambulance arrived. After an emergency C-section, their baby was delivered but remains in critical condition. Tragically, Tzeela did not survive.
This is the harsh reality our brothers and sisters in the Holy Land are facing each day. We pray for their peace and security, and most importantly, that they have the strength to take the right steps to live safely and securely. "Adon-ai Oz L'Amo Yiten; Adon-ai Yivarekh Et Amo Ba-Shalom" — May G-d grant strength to His people; may G-d bless His people with peace.
In times like these, one thing we must always be able to depend on is each other: the teachings of the Torah, and our love and commitment to one another, living the verse "Ve’ahavta l’re’acha kamocha" — love your fellow as yourself.
Just as we know we can turn to our family without hesitation, in moments of joy and in moments of pain, and they to us when they need strength, we must be able to feel that same unbreakable bond with our larger Jewish family, no matter where they are. Their pain is our pain. Their joy is our joy. Their struggles are ours too.
This is always important, but it feels especially meaningful today, as we celebrate a holiday that reminds us of this timeless value: Lag B’omer.
Lag B’omer commemorates the end of a devastating epidemic that raged among the students of the great sage Rabbi Akiva, resulting in the loss of 24,000 lives. Finally, on Lag B’omer, the plague ceased.
We are taught that this tragedy occurred because the students "did not act respectfully toward one another." Each, though deeply committed to Rabbi Akiva’s teachings, was so certain of their own understanding that they lacked the humility to make room for other perspectives.
The lesson for us today is both clear and necessary.
We must recognize that those who view things differently from us are not necessarily evil, immoral, or unintelligent. They may simply have a different perspective, background, or way of understanding.
Today more than ever, we must find within ourselves the ability to respect and love even those who we disagree with. We must be willing to engage in meaningful and thoughtful conversations with them. That is what loving your fellow means sometimes. 
There is also an added bonus. We just might learn something new from them, and they from us.

“Rabbi, what’s the secret of Chabad?”
It’s a question I’m asked all the time.
The truth is, it’s not really a secret, and it’s certainly not new. It was written 3,337 years ago on a piece of parchment in the desert. We read it in this week’s Torah portion: “Love your fellow as yourself.” Rabbi Akiva called this the “great principle of the Torah.”
But here’s the challenge; how can love be commanded? The Torah is a book of commandments, not suggestions. And love is a feeling, not an action. Can we really be expected to feel love for someone else as we do for ourselves?
This question has sparked many interpretations. Some commentators suggest the mitzvah is about action, not emotion: treat others with the same care and dignity you’d want for yourself. As Hillel famously put it, “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow.”
Yet the Torah’s wording is precise and eternal. It doesn’t just tell us to treat others well. It says to love them. As yourself.
Chassidic philosophy sheds light on this. The difficulty in loving another comes from seeing them as a separate physical being. But if we look deeper, past the body, past the differences, and see the soul, the divine spark, we realize that we are not two. We are one. Spiritually, we are both expressions of the same G‑dly essence. To love another, then, is to love a part of ourselves, just as one limb naturally cares for another.
At first this might sound like a lofty ideal that reads well on paper but doesn’t hold up in real life. “This just isn’t the lived experience!” some might protest. But if we think about it a bit more deeply, we realize this actually isn't something new we need to learn or be taught. We already know it. We already feel it. And in many ways, we already live it.
Just think back to how we felt on October 7. It was as if our own brother or sister had been attacked. How is that possible? How can we feel such a strong connection to people we've never met?
The answer is simple: we are one people, bound by a shared soul. We shouldn’t need a crisis to remind us of that bond. Let’s find ways to embrace and celebrate it, especially during the good days.
As one scholar paraphrased: a healthy body is one where every part works in harmony. Likewise, a healthy Jewish people is one big, caring family where each individual loves the other like his or her own self. Where we hold each other in pain, and celebrate each other’s joy. Where we rush to help, and turn away from judgment and shame.
Love for those closest to home nurtures love for the extended family of humanity, and from there, love for all G‑d’s creatures. But if love doesn’t start at home, from where will it come?
Some three hundred years ago, in a small town in Russia, the Baal Shem Tov taught that “A soul enters this world for seventy or eighty years just to do a favor for another.” His successors, the Chabad Rebbe’s, spent seven generations living and teaching this. If we can live this today, just imagine how much better the world would be. Let’s look at our fellow for who they really are, the very essence of their soul, and then we can truly love the other, just as ourselves, as the Torah commands.