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.

One of the two main miracles celebrated on Chanukah, is the discovery of the jug of oil that burned for eight days instead of just one (the other being the victory of the few over the many).
Like every aspect of Torah and our sacred tradition, this is not just a historic tale from the Temple era, but something that should inspire us even today, more than 2100 years after these events.
So I want to share something meaningful I learned that you may enjoy as well.
It starts with the Greeks. Their fight against the Jews wasn’t primarily one of military conquest. Nor was it only the attempt to stop the Jews from practicing their traditions. In fact, the Greeks were even fine if we studied Torah. But they wanted us to treat it as any human wisdom. Not G-d’s wisdom. They could even accept Jews lighting the Menorah. After all, every culture has its own unique practices. What they would not accept however, was our insistence that these were G-d given and sacred acts, and that the Menorah needed to be kindled with a special "holy" oil.
So the Greeks “defiled” the oil supplies in the Temple, and when the Jews returned to Jerusalem they couldn’t find any pure oil left. Finally after an exhaustive search, we uncovered one jug of oil that remained untouched, holy and pure. This was used to begin rekindling the Menorah.
In our personal lives too, we each have that one jug of oil that remains constantly pure. Despite the ups and downs of life, the spiritual, emotional and material challenges we face, and no matter how distant and despondent we may feel at times - we will always have that jug of oil, the essence of our soul, which remains holy, connected and sacred.
It's always there. Sometimes we just need to find it and ignite it. As soon as we do, we can rekindle our menorah, and begin shining brightly again.
Two of the most heartwarming letters I got for Chanukah really drove home this message for me, so I'll share some of them here: "...I also wanted to thank you for the Menorah. We lit it tonight. I haven't practiced in more than 30 years..." and "...this Hanukkah is very special, it’s the first one that my husband has ever observed. I can never get through the blessings without tears for speaking Hebrew moves me in a way that I can’t explain. Thank you Rabbi Alperowitz for helping us observe Hanukkah this year. You have blessed us in a way I can’t express."

As we prepare to celebrate our seventh Chanukah in South Dakota, I’m thinking about the significance of “seven.” In Judaism, the number seven symbolizes a complete cycle; there are seven days in a week, and the Biblical Sabbatical year is observed every seventh year. Immediately after the seventh comes the eighth, which must always spur us to increased activity and vibrancy.

This just gives us all more to be thankful for as we celebrate Chanukah this year, and look to an even brighter future of increased Jewish knowledge and pride in our beautiful state. 

When we look at the story of Chanukah, we realize that the main thrust of Chanukah was not about the physical persecution of the Jews, but of the banning of our faith observances.  
The Greeks were puzzled by the Jews insistence that the Torah was given by G-d, and that therefore its instructions are holy and eternal.  If you want to live with cultural traditions that your ancestors brought along from a desert, the Greeks reasoned, wonderful, but please don’t attribute all this holiness, spirituality and G-dliness to it.

Had the Jews simply agreed to forgo the Shabbat, Brit, Kosher, Family Purity, and modify some of the temple observances to include aspects foreign to the tradition, the Greeks would have left us alone, and everyone would have lived happily ever after. 

But that would not have been Judaism.

So thankfully, the Macabbees stood up and proudly said no. Although they were initially a small minority, as even many Jews succumbed to the Hellenistic ways, this small group prevailed. 

They showed that to be victorious, you don’t need many, you don’t need might. You need to be right, and eventually you will prevail and others will join you. It was a victory of right over wrong, of light over the dark. And thanks to those brave people, we have Judaism today as we did back then, and we have Chanukah to celebrate.

Just like the Maccabees of old, the best way we can ensure our children and grandchildren will be Jewish, the way our ancestors were, is for us to be educated about who we are. When we know who we are, we are also more likely to be proud of who we are.
This year, the Menorah lights will shine extra brightly across South Dakota, with increased Jewish pride and celebration, as we have provided a menorah and candles to every Jewish home in need of one around the state. This of course is in addition to the many, many homes who light the candles each night, and the beautiful public displays of menorahs in Sioux Falls, Pierre and Rapid City. 
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Numerous people have told me how meaningful it is for them when they see the large public menorahs on display. For Jewish people it is a symbol of our faith and tradition, for the broader community it is a universal symbol of American freedom, and an expression of the beautiful diversity and how welcome we are in our beloved city and state. 

There is so much beauty to this holiday. Children playing dreidel, parents giving Chanukah gelt, the special feeling of pride when seeing a large menorah in public, and of course families sitting around the Menorah listening to the messages the candles tell us.
Like every aspect of Torah and our sacred tradition, the story of Chanukah is not just something of the past. Its lessons and message are to be relived anew each year. The story of Chanukah brings with it so many wonderful lessons and authentic inspiration for our life today.
So I want to share one story the Chanukah candles told me, and perhaps as you light your Menorah this year, they will tell you the same.
It starts with the Greeks and their battle against the Jews. Their fight wasn’t primarily one of military conquest. Nor was it only the attempt to stop the Jews from practising their traditions. In fact, the Greeks were fine if we studied Torah. But they wanted us to treat it as any human wisdom. Not G-d’s wisdom. They could even accept the Jews lighting the Menorah. After all, every culture had its own unique practices. But they could not accept our insistence that these were G-d given and sacred acts, and that the Menorah needed to be kindled with a special pure and holy oil.  
So the Greeks “defiled” the oil supplies in the Temple.   And when the Jews returned to Jerusalem and wanted to begin worship again in the Holy Temple, they couldn’t find any pure oil left.  But after an exhaustive search, we eventually uncovered one cruze of oil that remained untouched, holy and pure. This was used to begin rekindling the Menorah.
In our personal lives too, we each have that one cruze of oil that remains constantly pure.  Despite the ups and downs of life, the spiritual, emotional and material challenges we each face, and no matter how distant and despondent we may feel at times - we will always have that one cruze of oil, the essence of our soul, which remains holy, connected and sacred.  
As soon as we find it, we can rekindle our Menorah, and begin shining brightly again. 
This has a special meaning to us living in South Dakota. You may be the only Jew in your grade, and even in your entire school. You may be the only Jew in your company. You may be only one of a handful of people in your neighborhood lighting a Menorah. Maybe even the only one in your entire city.  But you too, are an equally important member of the Jewish community. You too must ignite your spark and shine far and wide. 
And like those Chanukah lights, we each need to increase, on a daily basis, never being satisfied with our prior accomplishments of Torah and Mitzvahs.   
Best wishes for a Happy Happy Chanukah!

Chanukah is an eight day celebration commemorating an ancient miracle.
There are many traditions attributed to Chanukah: Potato Latkes (pancake) or jelly donuts fried in oil, games of Dreidel (top), gifts of Chanukah Gelt (money) to the children and a plethora of stories to retell every year. Nevertheless, lighting the menorah candles is the core of the Chanukah observance.
Over 2,000 years ago, the Jewish Kingdom of Judea was conquered by the tyrannical Assyrian Greek Empire (138 BCE). As their military campaign was more ideological than territorial, they immediately endeavored to assimilate the local Jews to their culture.
When the Jews rejected this alternative approach to life, the Greek occupiers resorted to oppression. They outlawed traditional Jewish education, the observance of many rituals and seized control of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, suspending the daily service indefinitely.
A small group of Jews known as the Maccabees raised the battle cry and valiantly battled the enemy. They miraculously won the battle, decimated the occupying forces and an era of relative peace prevailed for close to a century.
The miraculous military victory is seemingly sufficiently meritorious to establish an annual celebration, but this is not the reason for the eight day festival of Chanukah.
Upon regaining control of the Temple, the Maccabees wanted to restore the daily service by kindling the Menorah (candelabra). However, no appropriate oil could be found in the immediate vicinity and procuring new oil would take eight days.
Mysteriously, they found one jug of oil that was usable for the Menorah, but there was enough for only one night. Despite the uncertainty of how they would light the Menorah for the next seven days until more oil arrived, the Maccabees filled the Menorah with the oil they had and kindled the flames in the proper fashion.
Lo and behold, this minimal amount of oil burned for eight days and nights. A clear sign that God was pleased with their self-sacrifice. It was the miracle of the long lasting oil that motivated the establishment of the eight day festival.
We celebrate by kindling flames for eight nights. On the anniversary of the discovery of the oil and the initial lighting of the Menorah we light one flame. The next night we light two and progressively add until we reach a total of eight flames on the final night that the miracle occurred.
While this Jewish festival is eight days, its message is universal and relevant year round.
Everyone has the power to introduce more goodness to our universe. There are diverse needs and various methods of addressing them, but the fact is that each individual has a unique opportunity to give to others and generate light and happiness. But when faced with a world of pervasive darkness, transforming it into brightness seems like a daunting and impossible task.
The sequence of lighting the Chanukah lights provides us the strategy for bringing light to every dark space. Start with one flame. Even a tiny bit of light can make a big difference and will grow exponentially.
Dealing with overwhelming challenges can be discouraging since the first step seems so inconsequential. The ancient miracle of Chanukah becomes our modern day miracle when we manage to take the first difficult step in the right direction.