Last Shabbos, we had our monthly community lunch following the weekly service. It was a very cold day—snowing and windy. I walked half an hour to shul that morning with Shaina and Levi, bundled up against the harsh weather. The streets were empty. No one was jogging or walking their dogs—it was that cold.
I initially hesitated to bring the children out in such weather, but they begged to go because they love the atmosphere at shul, knowing they would see friends and enjoy the Davening and Shabbos lunch. I figured that even if the walk would be less than pleasant, it would be a powerful lesson in endurance and in going the extra mile for Shabbos observance.
Walking with the children reminded me of what a dear friend, Stephen Schloss, once shared with me as a memory of growing up in Sioux Falls: walking with his father in the snow on Shabbos.
This week, we read about the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, where we received the Ten Commandments. Since that time, they have been a cornerstone (no pun intended) of Jewish life and, indeed, for all people—the values within them extend beyond the Jewish community. The fourth of these commandments is to keep Shabbos. As G-d said:
"Remember the Sabbath day, keeping it holy. Six days must you labor and do all your work. The seventh day is a Sabbath dedicated to God, your God. You must not do any work..."
The beauty of Shabbos has been a central part of the Jewish story ever since. In both good times and difficult times, there are countless stories of people willing to give up their livelihood rather than work on Shabbos, and many who were even willing to risk their lives for it.
Today, thankfully, we live in a time and place where we can keep Shabbos peacefully, where we are respected for keeping it, and where friends and family can gather and spend this sacred time together in prayer, community, and connection. As we say in the morning liturgy: “Fortunate are we! How good is our portion, how pleasant our lot, and how beautiful our heritage!”
Taking that walk in the cold made it all feel very real for me and my children. This wasn’t just something our ancestors heard in a desert in the Middle East thousands of years ago. It is something we are living today—right here on the prairie.

Last week, I traveled to Florida to pick up my daughter, Shaina, from winter camp. As one of the few Jewish children in Sioux Falls, Shaina receives much of her Jewish education through the Jewish Online School, Chabad’s online academy with over 1,000 full-time students from communities without Jewish schools. Opportunities like this camp are especially important for her to spend time in person with friends who share her values.
In her online class, Shaina has friends from cities around the world who, like her, are ambassadors for Judaism in their communities. She receives a stellar Jewish education while also gaining a broad view of the world. Among her classmates are friends from Providence, Rhode Island; Las Cruces, New Mexico; Bettendorf, Iowa; Voronezh, Russia; Holetown, Barbados, and Reykjavík, Iceland, to name just a few.
As parents, we constantly face choices about what to prioritize. If we want our children to be proud of their Jewish identity and well-educated—especially when they are such a minority—we must go that extra mile to provide them with every opportunity possible. Jewish parents in South Dakota know this all too well. If there is a Jewish experience for our children, chances are the parents are involved in making it happen or have moved mountains to ensure their children could attend.
This mindset is what made it so important for us that Shaina be able to attend a Jewish overnight camp, where she could spend quality time with friends like her in an environment she knows and loves.
It brought to life a fascinating dialogue between Moses and Pharaoh from this week’s Torah portion. Moses demands that Pharaoh let the people go to worship G-d, but Pharaoh responds by saying he will only allow the adult men to go, claiming the children didn’t need to worship G-d. Moses firmly insists that they would all go to serve G-d: “We will go with our young and our old, with our sons and daughters.”
This has been the cornerstone and secret of Jewish identity since the very beginning—the emphasis on the role of our children, their education, and their spiritual journey. It’s a powerful reminder that we cannot rely solely on the adults; ensuring the next generation’s commitment to our heritage is the key to our future.

When I learned Chumash as a child, this week's Torah portion was one of my favorite. My children love it too. In fact, one of the most gripping stories in the Torah reaches its climax this week. Joseph’s brothers, who had originally plotted to kill him but instead sold him into slavery for profit, finally come face to face with him. To their astonishment, they discover that he is now the ruler of Egypt. Fearing he will seek revenge, they brace for the worst. Yet the Torah reveals something extraordinary: Joseph bore no resentment. Instead, “Joseph provided for his father, his brothers, and his father’s entire household.”
Chasidic philosophy explains that Joseph’s response teaches a profound lesson about repaying evil with goodness. Joseph forgave his brothers not only because of his remarkable self-control but because he understood the broader nature of human actions and evil. His brothers’ betrayal was undeniably wrong, but Joseph saw it as a part of G‑d’s greater plan to elevate him to the position of viceroy of Egypt. Rather than dwelling on their evil intentions or misguided actions, Joseph chose to focus on the positive outcome that emerged.
The midrash teaches that King David echoes this idea in Psalms, saying: “O Shepherd of Israel, hearken, He Who leads the flocks like Joseph.” Just as Joseph responded with kindness to his brothers’ misdeeds, by looking beyond their bad behavior and focusing on the good outcome, we ask G‑d to view our own misdeeds in the same light and to respond with compassion.
To merit such grace from G‑d, we must strive to act similarly in our own lives. The Rebbe offered two practical suggestions: First we must transform our own failures into growth by using our personal misdeeds as motivation for self-improvement, turning them into merit. At the same time, we must train ourselves to view others’ offenses as potential catalysts for their growth, and treat those who wrong us with kindness and understanding.
This may be easier said than done, but as descendants and family of Joseph, we are empowered to follow his example. Joseph teaches us not only how to forgive but also how to live.

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.

Every Friday evening, Rochelle and Shaina light the Shabbos candles with Mussie—a treasured highlight of our week. I’ll never forget their excitement when they began this mitzvah and how proud they are each time they do it. As part of the Rebbe’s initiative encouraging all Jewish women and girls to light the Shabbat candles, even young children join in. With their mothers’ guidance, children as young as two can participate, bringing in the warmth and holiness of Shabbat.
The origins of this special mitzvah are found in this week’s Parsha, where Rebecca, as a young girl, lit the Shabbat candles. Sarah had also lit the Shabbat candles, and after her passing, Abraham continued, but they didn’t burn throughout the week as Sarah’s had. When Rebecca began lighting them, her candles miraculously burned all week long.
This miracle symbolizes the unique role of Jewish women and girls—daughters of Sarah and Rebecca—in shaping the spiritual atmosphere of their homes. Though the candles’ physical light may last for only a short time, their spiritual light continues to illuminate and uplift the home throughout the week, bringing the sanctity of Shabbat into everyday life.
Today, when the world can often feel darker than ever, it’s more important than ever to add light wherever we can. The Shabbat candles are a perfect place to begin. Their glow ushers in Shabbat, filling our homes with warmth, love, and spirituality, and their light extends beyond the moment, illuminating our entire week. 

Each time a new baby is born, it’s a sign of growth and renewal, and in a small community like ours, this is even more meaningful.
Last week, we celebrated a bris for baby Yerachmeal Yeshaya, named after his great uncle and the prophet Isaiah. It was especially fitting that the bris took place now, as both last week’s and this week’s Torah portions discuss the mitzvah of bris milah.
In last week’s portion, we read about Abraham, who, at ninety-nine years old, entered the covenant with G‑d through circumcision. G‑d changes Abram’s name to Abraham and Sarai’s to Sarah, promising that they will have a son named Isaac. From Isaac, G‑d promises to establish a great nation and forge a special bond. Abraham immediately fulfills G‑d’s commandment, circumcising himself and all the males of his household.
This week, we read how G‑d remembers His promise to Sarah, granting her and Abraham a son, Isaac, born when Abraham is one hundred and Sarah is ninety. Isaac is circumcised at the age of eight days, entering the covenant as Abraham had.
Since then, this mitzvah has been one of the most cherished observances among the Jewish people. Through good times and bad, our ancestors have done all they could to welcome their sons into the Jewish community with the bris. As we say in the prayers during the bris ceremony: “Let us give thanks to the L‑rd for He is good, for His kindness is everlasting. May this little infant grow to greatness. Just as he has entered the Covenant, so may he grow up to enter into a life of Torah, marriage, and good deeds.”

One of the questions I’m most often asked is about Jews and Israel. In fact, the question of what right Jews have to live in Israel is one that we are all asked repeatedly, by both friends and foes. Some point to historical documents like the Balfour Declaration or the League of Nations. More recently, some have referenced Israel’s defensive military victories of 1948 and 1967 as justification of legitimacy.
Despite these responses from various platforms, the question is still being asked, our legitimacy is still challenged, and our identity is often questioned. And this isn't just a rhetorical issue. When one’s identity is under question, so is their self-confidence—and this can also impact how they are treated by others.
So, perhaps it is time to return to the basics, back to the beginning—yes, the very beginning, in Genesis. This week, we read how G‑d said to Abraham, “I have given this land to your descendants” (Genesis 15:18).
When G‑d promised the Land of Israel to Abraham, and his son Issac’s descendants, the land became—and remains to this day--the inheritance of every Jew, not subject to negotiation or trade. It is solely G‑d’s promise to Abraham that constitutes our unshakable connection to the land.
On numerous occasions, when speaking with Israel’s leaders and in his public addresses, the Rebbe expressed his belief that confidently and unapologetically articulating this claim would earn the respect of the international community. The Bible, revered by billions around the world, commands respect; additionally, even those who do not share this belief will appreciate our conviction in it. The Rebbe argued that basing the Jewish claim to the Promised Land on treaties, military victories, or diplomatic agreements can, in fact, undermine respect for the legitimacy of our claim in the eyes of other nations. Only when we stand firm in our beliefs and traditions can others respect us as well.
When we are more educated and do stand firm, we are also a blessing to others for all the good needed in their life, as G-d said to Abraham “through you all the nations will be blessed,” and “I will bless those that bless you.”