We just celebrated an amazing Purim, and there was one part of the Megillah that kept sticking out to me as I read it that seems so relevant this year.
The Megillah describes how Achashverosh promoted Haman above all his ministers and ordered that all the servants kneel and bow before him. Yet the verse tells us, “Mordechai would neither kneel nor prostrate himself.”
When the other ministers asked Mordechai why he refused, he told them simply that he was a Jew. Haman was enraged and plotted the destruction of the Jewish people.
Soon enough Mordechai learns of Haman’s plan. So what happens the next time he sees Haman?
He does not hide. He does not cower. He does not bow. The Megillah tells us that when Haman passed by, Mordechai remained where he was, “v’lo kam v’lo za mimenu,” he neither rose nor was shaken because of him.
We all know the end of the story, how ultimately Haman’s plot failed and the tables were turned, and the gallows he built for Mordechai were used for him. But when I read the Megillah and think about the times we are in now, I cannot help but feel that it was also this spirit of Mordechai that was so important for the Jewish people going through that time. His confidence, clarity, and pride helped define the strength of our people and lead them through it.
When discussing the laws of Megillah reading, the Talmud says, “One who reads the Megillah backwards has not fulfilled his obligation” (Megillah 17a). Simply put, this means the Megillah must be read in order.
But the Baal Shem Tov explained a deeper meaning. He taught that if someone reads the Megillah “backwards,” as a story that happened long ago without relevance today, they have missed the entire point.
The story of the Megillah is not just ancient history. It is the story of Jewish life in every generation. It is the story of G-d’s hand working behind the scenes, and of the Jewish people finding the strength within themselves to stand proudly and remain faithful no matter the circumstances.
In many ways, Jews have faced moments like this throughout history. Even in places like South Dakota, where we are few and often far apart, the lesson is the same. Jewish life continues when we stand proudly for who we are, when we strengthen our communities, and when we invest in the future of the next generation.
The lesson of the Megillah, and of Mordechai’s unwavering pride and determination, must continue to guide each of us today.

This past Monday marked the 22nd of Shevat, the 37th Yahrzeit of Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka Schneerson, the Rebbe’s wife. It was also the weekend of the Kinus, the Chabad women's leadership conference in New York, where some 6000 women joined for the annual celebration.
Rebbetzin Chaya Mushka, often called Moussia, was born in 1901 in Babinovitch, Belarus, into the leadership of the Chabad movement. A woman of spirituality and intellect, when facing Soviet oppression her father entrusted her with the authority to handle all legal matters on his behalf. In 1928 she married the future Rebbe. Together, they witnessed the rise of Nazism while living in Berlin, later escaping the Germans from Paris, before arriving to the safe shores of the United States in 1941. Tragically, her sister Shaina was murdered in Treblinka.
For the next 48 years, she faithfully stood with her husband, and played a pivotal role at crucial moments for the Chabad movement. She was known for her attention and care for the rapidly expanding network of Chabad shluchim, and their children.
In 1988 at the age of 86, she passed away after a brief illness. During the shiva, the Rebbe said that any number of words that could be shared about her would be insufficient, since "her true greatness is only known by G-d." In her memory, the Rebbe established a charitable fund to support educational and social services for women and girls, and encouraged others to learn from her life.
In May 1940, as France faced Nazi invasion, the Rebbe and Rebbetzin fled to Nice in southern France. During their flight, a devastating bombardment ensued. Amid the chaos, the Rebbetzin observed a shell heading towards a man nearby. She pushed him to the ground, to avoid being hit, and possibly saved his life. Decades later, she is said to have told a friend, "True, I may have saved his life, but for pushing a Jew down, one must do teshuvah."
Chana Sharfstein visited the Rebbe during the shiva and noticed the immaculate condition of the couch in their home—completely white and spotless. The pain she felt that day for the Rebbetzin's passing was magnified by her recognizing up close that the reason the couch remained pristine was due to the Rebbetzin's lack of children or grandchildren to play on it.
Although the Rebbetzin was not blessed to have children of her own, in the years since her passing, thousands of girls have been named in her honor. Numerous schools, mikvahs, sefer Torahs, and charitable organizations bear her name, and the world's largest conference for Jewish women's leadership takes place on her yahrzeit. Today, there are hundreds of women dedicated to leading communities who proudly carry her name. 
Mussie is one of those women.

This week, Chabad was in the news. While the incident remains under investigation, the main synagogue and movement headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway in New York was the site of a car-ramming attack. Thousands of people were gathered there that night. Thank G-d, no one was injured, and the perpetrator was arrested at the scene.
The reason so many were assembled that night, is because that day marked seventy-six years since the Rebbe assumed leadership of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, after succeeding his father-in-law, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn.
Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak had bravely stood against Stalin, preserving Judaism in the USSR by organizing a clandestine network of Jewish day schools, mikvahs, and kosher food supplies. His defiance led to his arrest and imprisonment by the NKVD, where he initially faced a death sentence. Miraculously, and through American diplomatic efforts, he was exiled and eventually expelled from Russia.
Now in America, Jews faced a new reality with different challenges. Reeling from the devastation of the Holocaust, many were simply trying to piece their lives back together. Others, having witnessed the extermination of European Jewry, felt completely apathetic toward Judaism. After all, where was G-d?
It was against this backdrop that the Rebbe assumed leadership. The Jewish community needed healing, revival, vitality, pride, and above all, love.
In his first address, he spoke of three loves: the love of G-d, the love of Torah, and the love of His people, Israel. “They are all one,” he said, “and since they are one, it is impossible to make distinctions between them.”
“When there is love of G-d but not love of Torah and love of Israel, this means that the love of G-d is also lacking. On the other hand, when there is love for a fellow Jew, this will eventually bring a love of Torah and a love of G-d…”
The Rebbe advocated for a holistic approach, explaining that if you see a person who seems to have a love of G-d but lacks a love of Torah and his fellow, you must teach him that his love of G-d is incomplete. And if you see someone who has only a love for his fellow, you must bring him to a love of Torah and a love of G-d, so that his kindness "extends beyond just providing bread for the hungry and water for the thirsty," to also "bringing them closer to Torah and to G-d."
He made clear his belief that the mission of our time was to share Judaism with our fellow Jews, with love, meaning, and authenticity, and to share the values of ethics and morality with all humankind. The ultimate goal was that all humanity would recognize G-d and feel that this world is a suitable dwelling place for Him, as well as for them, even if it required self-sacrifice. “This means even going to places where nothing is known of G-dliness, nothing is known of Judaism, nothing is known even of the alef-bet, and while there, setting oneself completely aside and devoting oneself to the mission at hand.”
The Rebbe’s vision was simple as much as it was revolutionary. It was time to bring Yiddishkeit into the open, lived with education, confidence, and pride. Judaism was not something to hide, but the source of meaning and purpose for every Jew.
On that cold winter evening, in a small Brooklyn synagogue filled with Holocaust survivors, European refugees, and escapees of Stalin’s gulags, few among them even speaking English, the Rebbe set out a bold vision. That modest building, now known as 770, would become one of the most well-known synagogues in America and the most replicated Jewish building in the world, as the Rebbe’s mission of love went on to transform Judaism.

This week we read one of the most powerful passages in the Torah. Moses, who was raised in Pharaoh’s palace, went out one day and saw an Egyptian striking a Hebrew slave. Unable to tolerate the injustice, Moses intervened.
As the verse says: “Moses turned this way and that way and saw that there was no one, so he struck down the Egyptian.”
Over the generations, the sages have analyzed every word of this verse. Where was Moses until now? Did he not know about the suffering of the Israelites? How exactly did he kill the Egyptian? And what does it mean that he “turned this way and that way and saw that there was no one”?
Some explain that Moses looked to see whether anyone was watching, and seeing no one, he knew he could act without being caught. Others interpret it more mystically, suggesting that Moses perceived there was no redemptive quality in this individual. Still others go even deeper, proposing that Moses foresaw no future spiritual potential or redeeming merit even among his possible descendants. Each interpretation offers meaningful insight.
But I came across an interpretation that speaks powerfully to Moses’ character. Moses saw a Jew suffering. He looked around and realized no one was coming to help. Everyone was absorbed in their own lives, with no time, energy, or courage to intervene. So Moses acted.
That is Moses. He does not remain comfortably in the palace. Nothing is too difficult or too insignificant, especially when something or someone is being overlooked or ignored by others.
Reading this deepened my understanding of Moses and strengthened my appreciation for the Rebbe’s impact on the Jewish people and on humanity. It also reminded me that this lesson calls on each of us to notice what is being neglected and to take responsibility in our own lives.
Earlier this week, I was reminded of this in a very real way. One of the great heroes of the Bondi Beach attack was Ahmed El-Ahmad, a Muslim man who happened to be nearby when the terrorists began their rampage. Instead of fleeing, he courageously confronted and disarmed one of the attackers, sustaining multiple gunshot wounds himself.
This week he came to America where he is being honored, and met with elected leaders in Congress to speak about courage, the rise in Jew hatred, and why all good people must stand up against it. But the first place he chose to visit was the Rebbe' Ohel in Queens, where he prayed for healing and peace and offered thanks for his survival.
What drew him there? Why would a Muslim man born in Syria and living in Australia feel comfort and inspiration at the Rebbe’s gravesite?
Perhaps it is the very quality the Rebbe identified in Moses that so many recognize in the Rebbe himself: seeing a problem, noticing someone in need, realizing that maybe no one else is stepping forward, and choosing to act. This is true leadership, and it continues to inspire and draw people of every background and faith to his vision, his teachings, and even to his resting place.

This past week was packed with Chanukah celebrations. We were lighting menorahs, gathering as a community, and spreading light across South Dakota. But my mind and heart were thousands of miles away, in Bondi.
There are no words to describe the horror of what took place. Sadly, there is also no surprise. Over the past two years, the Australian government neglected and failed its Jewish population.
And still, amid the darkness and tragedy, there have been moments of strength. 
Chaya Dadon is a 14-year-old girl. When the shooting began, she found a place to hide safely. But then she heard two children crying and screaming. She saw that they were exposed, out in the open, and she wanted to help them. Others who were hiding with her begged her not to leave her safe place, but she did anyway. She ran out to reach the children, and while shielding them, she was shot.
Or the two yeshiva students: 20-year-old Leibel Lazaroff of Houston (pictured above saying Shema while recovering), who was volunteering with the Jewish community in Bondi. When he saw a police officer injured, he immediately took off his shirt to use as a tourniquet, and while shielding the officer, begged him to let him use his weapon to stop the terrorist, before being shot several times himself; and Yanky Super, who is also a volunteer EMT with the local Hatzalah, who was shot while giving aid. Thank G-d, after multiple surgeries, all three are now stable and expected to recover.
We don’t know Chaya, but Mussie and I are family friends with Leibel and Yanky. We know their parents and many of their siblings personally, which makes this all hit even closer to home. Their survival is a blessing, but it also sharpens the pain of those who were not as fortunate.
Most notable among them is Rabbi Eli Schlanger, who was murdered just minutes after laying tefillin with a beachgoer, while attempting to approach the terrorist, begging him to stop. For the past 18 years, Rabbi Eli served the community in Bondi and organized this event.
When we woke up on Chanukah morning and heard of the massacre, the first death we heard about was Rabbi Eli. We were told there were more fatalities and many wounded, but no additional names had yet been released. Later in the day, just as we were about to start our Chanukah program, I checked my phone and saw that another fellow rabbi, Rabbi Yaakov Levitan, had succumbed to his wounds. Both leave behind wives and young children.
Among those killed were people who demonstrated tremendous bravery, trying to stop the terrorists. Like Boris & Sofia Gurman, a brave couple who tackled one of the attackers, not realizing there were two, and were murdered, and Reuven Morrison, who fought back by throwing bricks, refusing to freeze in fear.
As the days pass, I know there will be more stories, and the weight of it all keeps growing. There is not a day without tears for the horror, the victims and the survivors. Each morning, I open my email to notifications of funeral times for victims, ranging from an 87-year-old Holocaust survivor to the innocent 10-year-old Matilda. There are notices of shiva visits, updates on the injured, and appeals for financial support for widows and orphans. This is not the way life should look. And yet, this is the reality Jewish communities have been forced to live with, once again.
And still, even here, light breaks through.
For me, the most powerful moment came from Sorella Abrahms, speaking with a reporter. Her words are so raw and real that I am including a link and urging everyone to watch it. This is not theoretical. This is a lived experience. She shared that when her family returned home from the beach, her children begged her and her husband to turn off their menorah in their yard out of fear of becoming targets. These were children who had just witnessed their community being massacred for being Jewish. Reluctantly, they turned the menorah off.
But then, the next day, their Christian neighbor shared that her young daughter noticed the menorah was dark and began to cry, saying, “We can’t let the evil win.” They decided, come what may, they were turning that menorah back on.
The Bondi Beach Chanukah Massacre brought to mind a story I heard many years ago. The Rebbe once told someone from Australia that when a yeshiva student walks through Bondi Junction proudly wearing a yarmulke and tzitzit, even the angels in Heaven are envious.
That story always felt cryptic to me. There may be more to it that I don’t know, and the person to whom the Rebbe spoke doesn’t remember, but I could never quite understand what the angels were jealous of in Bondi. I still don’t know for sure, but now, after Jews who were proudly celebrating Yiddishkeit were murdered in cold blood, I think I may have a new understanding. Perhaps their envy speaks to what it means to be a visible Jew, to the holiness of choosing light when darkness would be easier.
And I think I know this because there is one other thing we know about angels and Jews being murdered. It is a moment we recall each year on Yom Kippur, when we read the account of the Ten Martyrs. The machzor describes how “shaking and trembling, the righteous accepted the decree upon themselves,” but the angels could not understand it. They cried out in protest before G-d, only to be told that the decree was final and there was nothing they could do.
That is the story of the Jewish people. No one really gets it. No one understands how we are still here. Even the angels don’t get it. And maybe that is what they are envious of. Jealous of those special souls who gathered on Bondi Beach this Sunday, proudly displaying their faith to light a menorah.
Throughout history, we have faced moments like this, and we are still here. That is part of the miracle of being Jewish. When you think about the fact that you or I are Jewish today, you realize how many generations of men and women had to come before us, and how many decisions our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and those before them, had to make to keep the flame burning. If even one person in that chain had cowered, had chosen silence or surrender, we might not be here today.
So in the pain, the tears, and the heartbreak, we cry out to G-d and demand that He remove this cruelty from His children. We are His children, and we have a right to ask Him to protect us. To grant healing to the wounded, and protect the widows and young orphans who will never know their fathers. But we will also not wait for G-d. In the meantime, we will do our part. We will mourn when it hurts. We will cry when we must. We will provide all the support we can. But for their sake, for the sake of those murdered and wounded, and for the sake of our children and theirs, we will move forward with even greater determination.
Their deaths will not be in vain. We will continue to live openly and proudly as Jews. And we will never, ever, allow terror or Jew-hatred to win. Together we will be strong, and together we will win. 
May their memories be a blessing.

This week I saw one of the most gut wrenching and inspiring things I can ever remember.
A video surfaced showing six Israeli hostages “celebrating” Chanukah while being held in Hamas tunnels. The footage was taken in 2023. Their faces are pale and their bodies are visibly malnourished. One of them, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, is seen with his arm severed a couple of inches after his elbow.
With nothing but scraps, they created a makeshift menorah by turning cups upside down. They recited the blessings and sang Chanukah songs. Wearing stained clothing, some barefoot, they embraced one another.
As I watched, I tried to imagine the pain, the fear, the darkness, and the suffering they were experiencing. And yet, in that place, they chose light. They chose faith. They chose joy.
Everything in life must teach us something, and everything happens for a reason. The timing of this video is not a coincidence, because this week’s Torah portion tells the story of another Jew confined deep underground. Joseph is thrown into a pit, sold into slavery, and eventually imprisoned in an Egyptian dungeon.
While in prison, Joseph encounters two inmates, Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer and chief baker. The Torah describes a very strange moment. One morning, Joseph notices that they look distressed and he asks them, “Why do you look so miserable today?” 
For anyone reading the verses, it is quite obvious why they were miserable. Not long before, they were serving the king in the splendor of the royal palace. Now they were imprisoned alongside a Hebrew slave, a humiliating fall from power. Of course they were miserable!
And there is more. Joseph himself is a slave, falsely imprisoned, far from home, with every reason to despair. And despite all of that, he notices the pain of others. 
The Rebbe explained this is because Joseph believed that every human being, created in the image of G-d, has a spark of dignity and hope, even in the darkest place. So when he sees someone in distress, even though his own life is far from perfect, he steps forward to help.
And it was that simple act of empathy and concern for the life of others that became the catalyst that changed everything in Joseph’s own life. It led to Joseph interpreting their dreams, which ultimately led to his freedom and his rise to become viceroy of Egypt.
Those hostages, like Joseph, remind us that while one can physically be imprisoned, the soul cannot be extinguished. Even underground, even broken, even surrounded by evil and suffering, the flame still burns and there is hope for good. On Sunday evening we begin lighting the menorah. It is lit once it is dark, outside, to remind us that even the smallest light can dispel the greatest darkness. When you light your menorah this year, take a moment to thank G-d for the blessings in your life and for the light that continues to shine.

This picture is not Ai. These days it can be hard to tell what is real, with so many images and messages created by artificial intelligence and ChatGBT. It is understandable that someone unfamiliar with the Kinus Hashluchim might assume that a picture of six thousand rabbis gathered in one place must be fake.
But not only is it real, it is a powerful image of Jewish leadership.
I just returned from a quick trip to New York, where I took part in the annual international conference of Chabad rabbis. These are the shluchim, sent by the Rebbe and guided by his teachings to uplift and strengthen Jewish life in every corner of the world, and serve as examples of G-dliness, ethics and morality for all humanity. 
When you look back at how it all began, the growth is astonishing. The first Kinus in 1984 had fewer than forty attendees. Today nearly seven thousand Chabad families serve and represent diverse communities worldwide, in all 50 states and over 100 countries.
What is the secret of Chabad and what keeps attracting more and more people to it? This past year alone, a new Chabad center opened on average every forty-eight hours. That means there was enough demand for a new rabbinic couple to pick up their lives and be welcomed somewhere to serve an existing or emerging Jewish community.
And the future looks just as strong. While some speak about a decline in rabbinic students, Chabad continues to ordain hundreds of rabbis each year. We got a future forecast of this at the conference. As the adults gathered for their sessions, more than one thousand young shluchim held their own program. For me, that was the most inspirational part of the conference. They are not simply the children of shluchim. They are the next chapter, already living the values that will carry Jewish life forward.
When we look around the world, it is easy to feel unsettled by events that seem frightening or unpredictable. But we are not defined by headlines. In fact, we are seeing a generational shift toward deeper engagement with Yiddishkeit and a stronger embrace of Jewish learning and living.
The tragic events of October 7 awakened something deep within many Jews. In a moment of pain and fear, countless people felt a renewed pull toward their heritage, their identity, and their faith. It pushed many to ask deeper questions and to reconnect with the foundations of who we are.
We are an eternal people, rooted in a strong past and a rich history. After a few days at the Kinus, surrounded by devoted shluchim and inspired young leaders, it is impossible not to feel that Judaism is alive, vibrant, and filled with light. And when you picture those one thousand young shluchim, the next generation already stepping into their role, you cannot help but see that our future is brighter than ever.
Candle lighting this evening for Shabbat Toldot is at 4:39PM in Sioux Falls and 4:03PM in Rapid City. For other cities in South Dakota, click here. Shabbos Davening at Chabad tomorrow at 11AM followed by Kiddush.

Last week, we launched our Capital Campaign for the Chabad Jewish Community Center, and I have been deeply moved by the outpouring of support we have received so far. Building a place dedicated to the service of G-d, where the community can gather, share a meal, feel at home, socialize, and learn, has been part of the mission of the Jewish people from the very beginning.
Perhaps the first Jewish community center of this kind was Avraham’s tent. 
This week’s Torah portion tells us how Abraham planted an eshel in Beersheba and proclaimed the name of G-d there. The commentaries explain that eshel can mean either an orchard, providing fruit for people to eat, or an inn with the word eshel being an acronym for achilah, shetiyah, leviyah — food, drink, and companionship, a place where travelers could rest, be nourished, and be accompanied on their way.
Everything our ancestor Abraham did serves as a guide for us. Like him, we must build a place where everyone feels welcome, where the values of G-d can be shared with all, where people can come in, enjoy warmth and refreshment, engage in conversation, and learn something new.
We are told that Abraham’s tent had doors on all four sides, showing that from whichever direction a person came, they were wanted and welcomed. There was always a place for them, a seat at the table, because they belonged.
This mission of Abraham is true both for the individual and for the community. On a personal level, each of us can strive to be welcoming to others and proud to share G-dly values within our own circles. As a community, it means creating a space that reflects those same teachings and ideals that Abraham shared.
This, I believe, captures the essence of what Chabad is all about. Like Abraham and Sarah, that is what we are building together.

​The summer has come to an end, and school has resumed. My son Srolik started at Gan where he will be spending time with other children and some very talented Morahs, getting a great Jewish education. Levi and Shaina are also enjoying their online school, where they spend time with children of Chabad rabbis from communities without a local Jewish day school, including classmates from Athens, GA, Missoula, MT, Quad Cities, IA, Bangor, MN, Barbados and St Maarten, among others. Their school has over 1000 children! As every parent knows, there is much preparation, practical and emotional, for the new school year. 
There are special times in life when we eagerly anticipate an upcoming occasion. A bride and groom before their wedding, a parent before the birth of a child, a student before the first day of school, or your first job interview. For each of these occasions, we prepare as best as we can for that specific occasion, ensuring that when the big day arrives we are fully present.
On the Jewish calendar we are now in the month of Elul, the final month in the year, and it is the time to prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
We do so by auditing our spiritual accounts and assessing our behavior of the past year; by regretting and fixing the failings of the past, making resolutions for a better future, and by increasing our Torah study, prayer and charitable giving.
Elul is the opportune time for all this because it is a month in which G‑d relates to us in a more open and compassionate manner than He does in the rest of the year. The Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, taught the following metaphor:
The king's usual place is in the capital city, in the royal palace. Anyone wishing to approach the king must go through the appropriate channels in the palace bureaucracy and gain the approval of a succession of secretaries and ministers. He must journey to the capital and pass through the many gates, corridors and antechambers that lead to the throne room. His presentation must be meticulously prepared, and he must adhere to an exacting code of dress, speech and mannerism upon entering into the royal presence.
However, there are times when the king comes out to the fields outside the city. At such times, anyone can approach him; the king receives them all with a smiling face and a radiant countenance. The peasant behind his plow has access to the king in a manner unavailable to the highest ranking minister in the royal court when the king is in the palace.
The month of Elul is when the king is in the field. During the special days of this month, each one of us, no matter our background, level of education, observance, or social status, has unfettered access and equal opportunity to approach the King - Al-mighty G-d.
If you knew you would soon be meeting G-d, how would you prepare? What would you want to say?

This week was very special. We celebrated the groundbreaking of the Chabad Jewish Community Center in Sioux Falls, and it was deeply overwhelming in the best way. I think I speak for many of us when I say that despite all the hard work, hopes, prayers, and support, Tuesday afternoon still felt surreal and miraculous. Here are some pictures, and soon we will share the complete media coverage.  

We could never have reached this milestone without the generosity and support of friends in Sioux Falls and across the country who value and appreciate the work to strengthen Yiddishkeit in South Dakota.

It brought to mind the opening words of this week’s Torah portion, Eikev: “If you will heed these… G-d will keep the covenant for you, as well as the kindness that He swore to your forefathers. He will love you, bless you…” followed by many blessings.

The commentaries explain that the word “Eikev” is used here because it symbolizes even “these things” that are often overlooked. The Torah is teaching us to give special care and participate even in those mitzvahs which some may ignore. 

As the Rebbe taught, no Jew is too far and no community is too small. On Tuesday, we saw that come alive. 

Perhaps there was no greater moment of joy and pride at the groundbreaking than the children who helped lead the event. Alongside the adults shoveling dirt, some 20 children from our Camp Gan Israel proudly turned over earth with their own shovels, decorated with their Judaic art. They are our future.
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Thank you to everyone who joined us in person, and to all who have already contributed. We will soon be launching a campaign to raise the remaining funds needed for this project, and I will be reaching out personally with more information and materials in the weeks and months ahead. If you would like to support this effort, or know someone who may be interested, please contact us today.