Last night, we lit the second light of the menorah at Mt. Rushmore. What never ceases to amaze me is how every year, I encounter fellow Jews who just happen to be visiting the monument, completely unaware that a menorah lighting is taking place at the same time.
Given the chilly weather and slower tourism season, these moments feel nothing short of extraordinary. Yet, every year for the past eight years, I’ve experienced these serendipitous encounters. 
Last night was no exception. In fact, several “random” Jews just happened to be there. As I was arriving at the site carrying parts of the menorah, a family of five excitedly rushed up to me. They could hardly believe their eyes. “A menorah at Mt. Rushmore!” exclaimed the little girl, while her father eagerly took out his phone to capture the moment. The girl was thrilled to receive a goody bag filled with Chanukah treats, including sufganiyot, a dreidel, and gelt.
There were also two students from Carleton College who happened to be visiting. For Jake, it was his first time lighting a menorah this year. Meanwhile, Sam engaged me in a quick game of Jewish geography—or more specifically, “rabbinic geography”—as we discovered mutual acquaintances.
But perhaps the most touching encounter was with a woman and her teenage son from Atlanta. As I led the menorah lighting, I noticed the two standing nearby, carefully following the ceremony and paying close attention to every word. I wasn’t sure if they were Jewish or simply curious onlookers. We are blessed to live in a country where we can practice our religion openly and proudly, and many non-Jews find inspiration in Chanukah's universal message of freedom, morality and light.
After the ceremony, I approached them with a warm “Happy Chanukah!” The mom smiled and shared that they were Jewish. She told me she hadn’t lit a menorah this year—or in several years—and her son had never lit one in his life. Always prepared for such moments, I offered them a menorah to take back to their hotel. They gladly accepted, and that evening, a light was re-kindled—not just on the menorah, but in their hearts.
As we gathered around the menorah, its warm glow flickering against the iconic backdrop of Mt. Rushmore, a sense of Jewish pride and celebration filled the air. The unexpected presence of these “random” Jews added an extra layer of significance. It was not just a celebration of the Chanukah lights but also a rekindling of the eternal light that burns within every Jewish soul.
When the Rebbe initiated the campaign for public menorah lightings, he wrote that these events have the power to bring Jews back to their roots. “I personally know of scores [of such people],” the Rebbe stated, “and I have good reason to believe that in recent years, hundreds, even thousands, of Jews experience a rekindling of their inner Jewish spark through the public kindling of the Chanukah menorah.”
This year marks 50 years since Chabad began organizing public menorah lightings. In that first year, there were just two. This year, I’m told, there are over fifteen thousand around the world. During this time, much has changed in the Jewish landscape. While some may have had hesitation or skepticism about public displays of faith and Jewish pride, the results over the past half-century speak for themselves. Last night at Mt. Rushmore, we witnessed it once again.

I’m sure I’m not the only one that struggles to find time for everything. Work, family time, study, spiritual growth, wellness, and leisure. Being pulled in so many directions I often find myself thinking that if only there was more time, I would be able to get it done. 
This week’s Torah portion gives a lesson on prioritizing.
After Jacob’s encounter with his brother Esau, during which Esau accepted the gifts Jacob had sent, they parted ways: Esau returned to his home in Se'ir, and Jacob journeyed to the city of Sukkot, eventually arriving in Shechem. The verse tells us that Jacob "built for himself a house, and made sheds for his cattle."
In this seemingly simple passage lies an important lesson for our personal lives, and a lesson that I try to think about often.
The Rebbe explains that Jacob's choices reflect his priorities. For “himself”—his true self and his most important values—Jacob constructed a "home," a place of permanence and stability. For “his cattle”—his material possessions and peripheral concerns—he provided a "shed," sufficient surely, but more temporary and not as central.
Life may present us with many demands. The key question is: What sits at the top of our priority list? What deserves our greater focus and attention?
This reminds me of a story involving Rabbi Sholom Dovber of Lubavitch (1860–1920) and one of his students, who had opened a factory to manufacture galoshes, boots. The student was blessed with success, but as his business flourished, it began to consume his every waking thought. He found himself constantly anxious about the challenges his business faced and elated by its successes. Gradually, his life became entirely centered around the factory.
Observing this, Rabbi Sholom Dovber remarked to him: “I’ve seen people put their feet into galoshes, but a head in galoshes…?”

One of the wonderful things about being a parent to four children, thank G-d, is juggling the many different needs of our unique little humans. It seems that any time I hug one child, the other three quickly line up for their turn. If one child gets a treat for achieving an important milestone they’ve worked hard on, it’s almost impossible to avoid sharing the joy (and candy) with everyone else. This has pushed me to think deeply about the feeling of envy and how to help my children overcome it. But could there be times when jealousy actually serves as a positive force?
This week’s Torah portion describes how, after Jacob married the sisters Rachel and Leah, Rachel saw that she had not borne Jacob any children and became jealous of Leah.
While this may seem like a natural but negative aspect of our matriarch’s story, the Rebbe takes us on a deeper journey beneath the surface, revealing a more profound meaning in the sacred words of the text.
Petty jealousy, the Rebbe explained, stems from the fear that someone else’s success diminishes our own self-worth. In contrast, Rachel’s jealousy was rooted in her admiration of Leah’s righteousness, which she associated with Leah’s fertility. This type of jealousy is constructive—it motivates us to improve ourselves. Similarly, our sages teach that jealousy among Torah scholars increases wisdom. In today’s terms, we might call this competition. When applied correctly and harnessed, jealousy can become a positive force that propels us toward growth.
This idea reminds me of a teaching from Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the Alter Rebbe. He once told a student:
“Spiritual and physical are antithetical in their very essence. A superior quality in the physical is a deficiency in the spiritual. In material matters, one who is 'satisfied with their lot' is of the highest quality. Such a person can accomplish greatness. In spiritual matters, however, being satisfied with one’s lot is the greatest deficiency, which can lead, G‑d forbid, to major decline.”
This highlights the importance of distinguishing between different kinds of envy. The secret lies in the outcome: Are we inspired by another’s accomplishments to strive for more, grow spiritually, and contribute positively to the world through acts of kindness and charity? Or is our jealousy selfish, driving us to focus solely on our material needs or personal gain?
We know ourselves best. By channeling our natural feelings of jealousy and envy into constructive actions, we can transform them into a force for good, driving us to become better versions of ourselves and enhancing the lives of those around us.