This week, Sioux Falls made national news. Our mayoral runoff election came down to the wire, with just two ballots separating the candidates. The result is expected to trigger a recount and perhaps even legal challenges. One thing is certain: we likely will not know who our next mayor is for some time.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything a person sees or hears should serve as a lesson in our daily lives and in our service of G-d.
Watching this election unfold reminded me of a passage in Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, one the Rebbe quoted perhaps more than any other: 
"A person should always see himself as equally balanced between merit and sin, and the entire world as equally balanced between merit and sin... If he performs one mitzvah, he tips his own balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit, bringing deliverance and salvation to himself and to others."
When we read these words, it sounds nice and inspiring, but it can sound almost too lofty. Does my thought, speech and action really make that much of a difference? Can one small deed really have an impact? Can my single mitzvah really affect the destiny of the world? 
This week's election reminds us that it can.
We clearly see the power of a single ballot, and no doubt many people who didn't vote are wishing they had. A single vote may not seem like much, yet it could have changed the course of an entire city. 
The Rambam tells us to view our own lives the same way. When you offer someone a kind word, you cannot know how deeply it will affect them. When you give tzedakah, you may never know whose life you have changed. And when you put on tefillin, light Shabbat candles, or perform any mitzvah, you may not realize it, but you are doing exactly what the Rambam describes: tipping your own balance, and that of the entire world, to the side of merit.

Today is Gimmel Tammuz, the Rebbe’s yahrzeit.
I was a young child when the Rebbe passed away. We were living in Bournemouth, England, and I had the good fortune that my parents brought me to visit the Rebbe several times as an infant and young toddler. When the Rebbe fell ill, we included a prayer for his recovery every day. It has been many years since then, but the consciousness the Rebbe gave us is still here.
When I walk into the Rebbe’s synagogue at 770, stand near his office, or pray at the Ohel, there is a deep sense of reverence and awe that calls me to be better, to do more, and to engage more deeply. I do not always live up to the standard the Rebbe set, but I am challenged by it. The Rebbe’s message was comforting, but it was also very very demanding. It urged us to take responsibility for ourselves, for one another, and for the world around us. And perhaps most importantly, to never sleep at the wheel. “Man was created to toil,” the Rebbe would often quote from Job. To do any less would be to fall short of the purpose for which we were created.
The Rebbe gave us a sense of safety and purpose. Like an island in time, he created a place of refuge in a turbulent world. More than anything, he gave us a way of seeing ourselves, our fellow Jews, and our responsibility to the world.
For the widow, the Rebbe was a protector. For the orphan, a father figure. For the scholar and academic, an unbiased mentor. For the statesman and diplomat, a trusted source of counsel. And for the everyday person, the Rebbe was a man of the people. Never out of reach, but always able to see beyond the thirty-thousand-foot view. To each person, he gave love, but also a deep sense of accountability.
By living it himself, the Rebbe showed how G-d, through His Torah, gives each of us the blueprint and purpose of our lives. The Rebbe inspired a broken and perplexed people and taught us how to see the redemptive spark in our fellow man, in ourselves, and in the world around us. In the Rebbe’s world, we were not just tiny specks on earth; we were partners with G-d in bringing His purpose into the world.
In the words of the Midrash that the Rebbe quoted so often, G-d desires a dwelling place here on earth. Every act of goodness, every mitzvah, and every effort to bring holiness into daily life helps fulfill that mission.
Here was a man who, having lived through the Bolshevik Revolution, Stalinism, and the Nazis, witnessed some of the worst that humanity has to offer, but never gave up on a single human being. He believed in us, often more than we believed in ourselves.
Thirty-two years after the Rebbe’s passing, his presence and message are still felt strongly. That sense of accountability did not disappear, and the moral compass the Rebbe provided is very much with us. Today, Mussie and I try to carry the Rebbe’s mission and vision forward and to share it with our children. The road ahead is can sometimes seem uncertain, and the challenges can seem larger than our abilities. But the Rebbe taught us to focus less on our limitations and more on our responsibilities.
Just as Caleb trusted that if Moses directed the Jewish people to do something, they could accomplish it, every mission G-d gives us is within our ability to fulfill. The Rebbe never asked us to do the impossible. He challenged us to become the people G-d created us to be. As our Sages describe Caleb’s confidence in Moses: “Even if he were to tell us, ‘Make ladders and climb to the heavens,’ we would succeed.”
So today, on Gimmel Tammuz, join me in doing a mitzvah in honor of the Rebbe. Thirty-two years later, his voice still calls on us to do more, care more, and become more. May his holy soul continue to inspire us to bring more goodness, kindness, and holiness into our world.

This week, I spent two days in Washington, D.C., attending the Living Legacy Conference. The gathering celebrated the Rebbe's contributions to the Jewish people and humanity while marking the 85th anniversary of the Rebbe and Rebbetzin's arrival in the United States and the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence.
The Rebbe was always grateful for the blessings America provided him: a safe haven and fertile ground upon which to transplant and rebuild the Chabad movement, much of which had been decimated by Stalin and Hitler.
Throughout the program, we heard from elected officials, foreign ambassadors, peace negotiators, and academics, about the state of Jewish life across the United States and around the world. Breakfast was held in the Senate Judiciary Committee Hearing Room in the Hart Senate Office Building, and lunch was held at the State Department.
One highlight was a lecture at the Library of Congress on Chassidic philosophy. Rabbi Justice Marcus Solomon, a judge of the Supreme Court of Western Australia, addressed the nature of antisemitism and the Rebbe's approach to confronting it. He drew upon the biblical account of Jacob's fear of Esau's desire to kill him, and their ultimate reconciliation. (I reached out to his office and requested a transcript, which I hope to share here once I receive it.)
In his words, while governments and institutions often focus on commissions of inquiry, new legislation, or Holocaust education, the Rebbe recognized that antisemitism is a natural reality that will only end when the Moshiach comes. Until then, no inquiry will uncover anything new, and no law will eliminate the hatred. Still, the Rebbe believed that reconciliation was possible. Like the reconciliation between Jacob and Esau, it will not come through protests, diminishing our Jewish practices to match others, or trying to educate the antisemite, but through Jews being uncompromising in our commitment to Torah and living unapologetically as Jews.
As examples, Solomon cited French President Georges Pompidou, who imposed an arms embargo on Israel during a critical period, and U.S. Senator Jesse Helms, who was long viewed as one of Israel's harshest critics in the U.S. Senate but later became one of its strongest allies. In both instances, he said, the Rebbe advocated maintaining a firm Jewish position while preserving diplomatic relations, viewing this as the most effective way to influence others.
The final dinner was held at the Organization of American States, with military leaders in attendance. The U.S. Army Band performed the National Anthem. The parents of Edan Alexander, the last American hostage to be freed from Gaza, spoke about their visit to the Rebbe's Ohel and how it gave them hope in their darkest hour.
As I left Washington, I thought of the contrast between the challenges facing our people and the strength and vitality of Jewish life today. Eighty-five years after the Rebbe arrived on America's shores with little more than faith and determination, his vision continues to inspire and shape communities. The conference was a testament to how that vision continues to bear fruit, not only in Jewish life, but in the broader society that gave it room to flourish.

This week, Sioux Falls made national news. Our mayoral runoff election came down to the wire, with just two ballots separating the candidates. The result is expected to trigger a recount and perhaps even legal challenges. One thing is certain: we likely will not know who our next mayor is for some time.
The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything a person sees or hears should serve as a lesson in our daily lives and in our service of G-d.
Watching this election unfold reminded me of a passage in Maimonides' Mishneh Torah, one the Rebbe quoted perhaps more than any other: 
"A person should always see himself as equally balanced between merit and sin, and the entire world as equally balanced between merit and sin... If he performs one mitzvah, he tips his own balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit, bringing deliverance and salvation to himself and to others."
When we read these words, it sounds nice and inspiring, but it can sound almost too lofty. Does my thought, speech and action really make that much of a difference? Can one small deed really have an impact? Can my single mitzvah really affect the destiny of the world? 
This week's election reminds us that it can.
We clearly see the power of a single ballot, and no doubt many people who didn't vote are wishing they had. A single vote may not seem like much, yet it could have changed the course of an entire city. 
The Rambam tells us to view our own lives the same way. When you offer someone a kind word, you cannot know how deeply it will affect them. When you give tzedakah, you may never know whose life you have changed. And when you put on tefillin, light Shabbat candles, or perform any mitzvah, you may not realize it, but you are doing exactly what the Rambam describes: tipping your own balance, and that of the entire world, to the side of merit.