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I’m currently in Israel for a couple of days, having back-to-back meetings with the Belev Echad team. 

This morning, I walked to the Kotel to pray at the holiest extant Jewish site. On the way, I noticed many Jews taking the shortcut through the Arab marketplace and I was surprised. When I was a yeshiva student, close to 30 years ago, we always went the longer way, avoiding the marketplace, for safety reasons. The only exception was Friday nights, when the marketplace was closed and hundreds of Jews would all walk through together. 

I wondered if things have changed in the past 30 years and it has become safer. So I went up to two border police guards standing right by the entrance and asked them directly. 

“Is it safe to walk through here?”

“As long as you are walking, you are safe,” one of the guards told me. 

I found her answer to be deeply profound. “As long as you walk without demonstrating fear, focused and with a clear head, you will be safe,” is essentially what she was saying. 

But her answer goes far deeper than that, and applies much more broadly than simply walking through the Arab Shuk.  

As Jews, as long as we are walking, progressing, with a clear goal and a destination, we are safe. We will remain focused, without veering off the path. 

It’s when we stop and get distracted that we are instantly at risk. 

We are about to mark the fast of the 10th of Tevet, the day the Babylonians laid siege to Jerusalem. Even though it falls on Friday this year, we still fast, and although often called a “minor fast,” it is actually one of the strictest—the only one aside from Yom Kippur that we would fast on Shabbat—because it marks the beginning of the destruction of the Holy Temple. 

In order to rebuild the Temple and usher in the ultimate and final Redemption, we need to keep walking, focused on our mission, with our goal and destination at the forefront of our minds at all times. 

The mission doesn’t change. It is and always has been to spread goodness and kindness throughout the world, to study Torah and do Hashem’s mitzvot, to reach out to our fellow Jews and help them connect with their heritage. History has shown that when we’re actively working towards that mission, our enemies can’t harm us. 

Despite millennia of persecution, we are still here. Why? Because we’re focused on the goal—the goal that is coming ever closer. May we celebrate the 10th of Tevet in Jerusalem this year, with Moshiach and our brothers and sisters who are being held hostage in Gaza. Amen.

Throughout Chanukah, students from my son’s yeshivah in Pomona came to the Upper East Side to help us make sure every Jew had a taste of Chanukah and a menorah to light.

They stood outside for hours, night after night, going out of their comfort zone to engage passersby, offering donuts and menorah kits. In the rain and in the cold, they came consistently, 25 young teenagers spread across the neighborhood every night of the holiday. 

Chanukah is all about spreading light and warmth, illuminating the world around us with the infinite light of Judaism. That’s why we make a point to light the menorah in a window or doorway—to beam our light out into the darkness.

I know from my own experience—I’ve been doing it all my life!—and now from watching my two sons going out as well, just how difficult it can be to ask strangers on the street, “Are you Jewish?”

Sometimes you stand there for hours without a single person showing any interest or even acknowledging your presence. Sometimes you know they are Jewish and when they ignore you it definitely stings. 

It’s easy to feel discouraged, but it’s important to remember that often we have an effect on people even if they don’t engage with us. Sometimes you find out about it later, but usually you don’t. This year, I was fortunate to get a letter from Peter* on the last day of Chanukah, who shared his experience: 

Dear Rabbi Vigler,

I live around the corner from Chabad on E. 92nd Street, and tonight on the way to Key Food a young man (a boy, really) stopped me to ask if I was Jewish and probably wanted me to put on tefillin.   

But I was in a hurry so I rushed past him. But then the Muslim guy I happened to be walking with yelled out, “He's Jewish!” as if to call me out and embarrass me with my own people.

I'm not religious and haven't been to shul since my daughter's bat mitzvah almost two decades ago. But I did go to Israel twice last year because I felt I couldn't go anywhere else with a clear conscience. That didn't really work either.

I also avoided Chabad on the way back. But I thought about how to reconcile what is usually for me a minor ritual inconvenience with the acts of deep faith, conviction and sacrifice I witnessed personally in Israel and which we've all read about for the last year. What meaning could I find in this perfunctory, religious avoidance incident on the Upper East Side?

In any case, when I got home, I felt bad about how I treated someone who I later realized was doing important work. But I also felt much, much worse about what Jews in Israel have had to endure for the past 16 months. So I wrote out checks to my two favorite charities: the Libi Fund for IDF soldiers and the Fund for Bereaved Widows and Orphans. Those were my first mitzvot of the New Year and I wouldn't have done it without a reminder from Chabad.

So please apologize and thank this young man for me. Next time, I won't be so rude or impatient and will let him do his job.

Sincerely,

Peter

I shared his letter with the boys, and told them: “This is the awakening of a Jewish neshama (soul)! You did this! You stood outside for hours and hours, trying your best but feeling like you didn’t accomplish much. And without even knowing it, you sparked the soul of a Jew who walked by without even acknowledging or interacting with you. Just by being there, by trying, by making yourselves known, you awakened a spark which then went on to do more mitzvot. That’s what it’s all about.” 

*Name changed to protect privacy. 

A few months ago, I received a call from Jessica*, asking if I could officiate her son’s bar mitzvah. Jessica regularly attends our events and is an integral part of our community. My wife and I have known her for many years, even before she had a family of her own, and we eagerly accepted. I soon found myself immersed in a truly unforgettable experience.

The ceremony took place on Shabbat afternoon, as the young boy was called up to the Torah for his inaugural aliyah. He did a superb job donning his tallit and reading the blessings that he practiced and put so much effort into. As I looked around the room, I noticed something remarkable—the boy’s father, too, had never had the opportunity to have an aliyah before. My heart swelled with excitement as I realized I now had the privilege of performing a dual bar mitzvah ceremony—not only for the young boy but also for his father.

And that was not all! As I delved deeper into the family’s story, I discovered that their history was marked by the harsh realities of living in the Soviet Union, where Judaism was forcibly suppressed. They lived in Russia for many years, where Stalin devoted enormous resources to eradicating all remnants of Judaism, and the grandfather had therefore also never had a bar mitzvah.

But Stalin didn’t win. This family’s Jewish heritage remained aflicker all those years, just waiting to be fanned back into a roaring fire.

As I stood there watching three generations of one family celebrating their bar mitzvahs, I couldn't help but think of the powerful metaphor of the seed. Our sages teach us that a Jew is like a seed. Just as a seed can lie dormant, only to sprout forth when conditions are ripe, so can the spark of Judaism remain hidden, waiting for the right moment to ignite. And ignite it did, as we celebrated with the entire community, the shul filled with love, laughter, tears, and the sweet scent of tradition.

The next day, I had the privilege of helping the father and son don tefillin for the first time, watching the ancient Jewish tradition being passed down again through the generations.

It struck me this week that this family’s journey of resilience and faith is not unlike the Maccabees’ determination to fight for and reclaim their heritage. Despite the darkness of Soviet oppression and the very real threat and fear that Jews who lived there faced for generations, the Jewish spark remained intact.

As we celebrate Chanukah, we are reminded that even in the darkest of times, the light of Judaism can never be fully extinguished. May we continue to kindle that light, spreading its warmth and radiance to all those around us.

Today was one of the most fulfilling days of my life. Today I am on a spiritual high. It's a day where I simply thank Hashem for giving me the opportunity to have founded Belev Echad with my wife Shevy.

Today we saved a soldier's life.

I cannot mention his name, because he serves in an elite unit. For this article, I’ll call him “M.” M is a decorated career soldier, 42 years old with a loving wife and 4 beautiful children. M cannot name the unit or divulge any details about the missions they have undertaken. It is all highly secretive. He has served in the line of duty for 24 years. 

On October 7th, M was severely wounded in an ambush in Kfar Aza. When he exited his vehicle to save a friend who had been shot by the terrorists, he too was shot—in the spine. The bullet exploded inside him, spreading over one hundred pieces of shrapnel through his body.

Certain these were his last moments, he lay on the ground, whispered Shema Yisrael, and lost consciousness.

He regained consciousness about 30 minutes later and realized he was still alive, but his fellow soldiers couldn’t see him. When he lifted his head to signal them, a Hamas sniper shot at him. The bullet grazed his skull. He then lifted his hand to try and signal to his unit, and the sniper shot him in the arm and fingers.

By some miracle, M survived. He was taken to the hospital and spent time in intensive care, his life hanging in the balance for a while. He underwent multiple surgeries over several months, but although the doctors were able to stabilize him, he remained in excruciating pain.

I have never seen one of our soldiers in so much pain, with no reprieve, and my heart ached for him.

Something was severely wrong. He could not even sit for more than a couple of minutes. The doctors in Israel were at a loss, unable to do an MRI because the magnets might move the shrapnel studded in his body which would endanger his life. 

Every moment, M felt like he was being electrocuted. Over and over and over again.

Thank G-d, our Belev Echad team has formed a beautiful relationship with the incredible Dr. Omri Ayalon and his team, who run the center for amputees at NYU. Dr. Ayalon is a true tzaddik and an incredible human being!

So we flew M to New York for a consultation. The team at NYU examined him and spent the next few weeks formulating a plan. M had to fly back to Israel and then again to New York where everything was set up for him. The logistics of flying him back and forth were tremendous, and his level of pain every time he had to step outdoors, or in a car or plane, was excruciating. But throughout it all, M was a source of inspiration.

It would be understandable if a person in constant agony was angry all the time. But everyone who met M saw only a gentle human being—an incredible Jew, humble and unassuming, uncomfortable being on the receiving end.

The first step was the most difficult, according to the doctors—a complicated procedure performed via injection to identify the source of M’s pain. They felt confident that they had found the correct source, thank G-d, and the surgery was then scheduled.

What did they find? A small 2-inch piece of shrapnel was embedded right on a nerve, causing all the pain. And today, they were finally able to remove it, giving M his life back!

Hashem sent us these incredible doctors as his messengers to relieve M’s pain. M is like a different person already!

Thank you to all our incredible volunteers in New York who stepped up to take M to appointments, to host him for his visit and to have him for meals. Thank you to an anonymous family for donating the enormous cost to make this happen. Thank you New York! 

Thank you, Hashem, for giving us the most advanced facilities in this incredible country. Thank you to Dr. Ayalon and the incredible team at NYU who devoted themselves tirelessly to M’s case. We could not have done this without you.

When I saw the piece of shrapnel that came out of M’s back, I realized this is our nation’s true victory over those terrorists who took so much from us.

Thank you Hashem for giving M his life back, and for giving us the opportunity to help.

This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending the Kinus HaShluchim, the Annual Convention of Chabad-Lubavitch Emissaries, which brings together 5,000 rabbis from every corner of the world for a weekend of learning, inspiration, and camaraderie. There’s no event like it in the world!

As I walked into the banquet hall on Sunday night in New Jersey, I was struck by the sheer diversity of the crowd. Friends and colleagues from every corner of the globe had gathered in one place, united by our shared commitment to spreading kindness, compassion, and Jewish values as the Rebbe’s shluchim.

One of the highlights of my weekend came before I even arrived at the convention. As I was driving down to New Jersey, I noticed a bus stranded on the side of the road, with a group of rabbis standing on the side of the road trying to hitch rides. Apparently, one of the buses on the way to the banquet had broken down. Without hesitation, I pulled over and offered to take five rabbis—the amount of available seats in my minivan.

As we drove, I discovered that the rabbi sitting in the passenger seat right next to me was actually my fourth-grade teacher from Johannesburg, whom I hadn't seen in 35 years! A beautiful moment—and just one of many.

I cried with thousands of my brothers and their guests as we paid heart-rending tribute to Rabbi Zvi Kogan, who was murdered in Abu Dhabi just days earlier. The entire crowd of 6,500 paid a virtual shiva call to his family.

I was inspired by Rabbi Yehoshua Soudakoff,  who was born deaf and works with the Deaf community, as he delivered a resounding and moving speech in sign language.

I felt proud as I listened to Dr. Brian Levin, a doctor in Owings Mills, Maryland, who told us how Chabad inspired him and he now puts tefillin on with all his patients.

But most of all, simply spending time with my fellow compatriots, rabbis from all kinds of communities, working on the same mission, was invigorating. Living in Manhattan creates many unique challenges, and hearing from fellow rabbis across the universe about the unique problems they face was both eye-opening and inspiring. We are all in this together.

I spoke to a friend from Cape Town who shared the unique challenges of being a pulpit rabbi. Another from Stuttgart told me that even though only 500 Jews live in his city, he still has a daily minyan and kollel of 22 locals.

I bumped into a friend from Thailand who sent me regards from people who had visited them. A fellow rabbi from Long Beach, NY, told me he is slowly conquering his town with love despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles!

I met old friends from Israel, Melbourne, Texas, and Italy. Wherever you live, there’s probably a Chabad emissary not far from you. 

But you don’t need to be a rabbi or an emissary or even religious to start making a difference in the lives of others. Reach out to a Jew in your neighborhood and have a Shabbat meal together or connect over a Torah thought. Together we’ll be a powerful force that will hasten the arrival of Moshiach and the Final Redemption.

Jews all over the world are shattered, heartbroken and horrified by the senseless slaying of Rabbi Zvi Kogan by terrorists. 

When rumors of his abduction started to circulate, I desperately hoped it wasn’t true. I turned on my phone after Shabbat to a flood of messages. Nobody knew his fate, just that he was missing. 

Like millions of Jews across the world I prayed and said Tehillim for his safe and swift return. Alas, I woke up Sunday morning to the devastating news that he had been found, murdered in cold blood. 

What happened? Rabbi Kogan was being followed by Iranian agents, who figured out his schedule and when he would be alone and vulnerable. He was then kidnapped and murdered.

My heart hurts. 

Rabbi Kogan was like me. A fellow Chabad rabbi, stationed in Abu Dhabi. A Chabad rabbi who dedicated his life to helping Jews in the Emirates. 

He did what every Chabad rabbi is trained to do: Sent by the Rebbe to every corner of the globe, no matter how far-flung, to spread love and Judaism, making the world a better place. 

For this, he was murdered? How can we comprehend that? My heart cannot. 

Exactly 16 years ago—this very same week—Rabbi Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were attacked and murdered by terrorists at their Chabad house in Mumbai. Rabbi Kogan’s murder brought back such clear, visceral memories of that terrible time. The timing and similarity is uncanny. Even more uncanny, Rabbi Kogan’s wife, Rivky, is a niece of Rabbi Holzberg. 

The shock and horror we are all experiencing this week is so reminiscent of how we felt 16 years ago. These are selfless Chabad emissaries, targeted simply and only because they were Jews. 

Since the UAE signed the Abraham Accords, it has been a safe and even hospitable place for Jews and Israelis. Rabbi Kogan should have been safe there.

Now we have to ask ourselves: What can we do? How can we honor Rabbi Kogan’s memory and bring comfort to his wife, his family, and his community?

We can’t understand G-d’s ways, but one thing we know to be true: the answer to darkness is always increased light. 

The world has lost a light—a Chabad rabbi who was dedicated, heart and soul, to helping others. Let’s step up and emulate Rabbi Kogan. We too can spread light and love and Judaism. We can be Chabad emissaries in our own corners of the world, igniting the flame of Judaism in every person we know, inspiring them to put on tefillin, light Shabbat candles, keep kosher and study Torah. 

We have no choice. It only takes a small amount of light to dispel deep darkness, and we desperately need more light. 

We know that evil forces will intensify immediately before the coming of Moshiach. There is no doubt in my mind that that is what we are currently experiencing. The end is almost here, we just need to propel ourselves over the finish line. 

This week, 5000 Chabad rabbis from all over the world will gather in Brooklyn for the Kinus Hashluchim—the annual conference of Chabad emissaries. This year, we will ache with the loss of Rabbi Kogan. But knowing that you are all joining us in our mission to spread light and Judaism all over the world will warm our hearts and souls. 

May G-d comfort Rabbi Kogan’s wife, his parents, siblings, extended family, and his community in the UAE. May we know no more tragedy and suffering, amen.

Our highly anticipated gala dinner will be held this coming Monday night at Cipriani Wall Street. It’s our annual fundraiser for our extensive Belev Echad program, in which we provide a complex network of services to the severely injured men and women of the IDF, helping to restore their lives. 

The gala does not come together easily. It is a herculean effort; six months of intense planning. But year after year, it pays off. The evening is one of inspiration and motivation that keeps people thinking and talking and coming back. 

The gala filled up about two weeks ago, but we kept reservations open. No longer are we full, now we’re overfull. We’re at complete and utter capacity—more than 1,200 people! We cannot admit a single extra person and we have a tremendous waitlist. In fact, we’re pleading with people to please, please let us know if they have to cancel at the last minute so that we can give their tickets to those who are still hoping for a spot. 

Anyone who has previously attended knows that they will walk out feeling deeply moved and uplifted, connected to Israel, and like a valuable member of our Upper East Side and Belev Echad communities, and our nation as a whole. They know they’ll be entertained, wined and dined, in good company, with new and old friends, meeting the soldiers, and creating memories that will stay with them for years to come. 

Here’s the astonishing part: Despite being sold out, despite being costly (although for a good cause), the flood of phone calls, emails, and texts from people eager to attend hasn’t abated! It’s clear our event has struck a chord and we’re grateful for the enthusiasm. We have a long list of people waiting, and if we can accommodate anyone we absolutely will. 

It’s human nature to want what one can’t have. It’s the phenomenon of desire and scarcity. When something is in high demand and limited in supply, our desire for it intensifies. The good old, "You always want what you can't have." It’s simply how we operate. 

In our spiritual journey, we often face similar dynamics. Things that are off-limits (forbidden fruit, for example) are all the more alluring. 

But it is our responsibility to learn to appreciate what we do have: Torah, mitzvot, and an indelible connection to the Creator of the Universe. 

So, let's take a step back and appreciate the abundance we have, rather than constantly yearning for what we can't have. Let's focus on the present moment and the blessings that surround us.

Thank you for your support. We look forward to a moving and uplifting evening at Cipriani!

I traveled to Toronto this week for the wedding of my nephew Levi Vigler to Tzipi Nachlas. It was a beautiful celebration, filled with so much energy, joy, and dancing.

I took my 13 year-old son Zalman with me, and we flew in literally just for the day.

We left the wedding at the end of the night, got to bed around midnight, and woke up at 4:30 a.m. to catch our 7:00 a.m. flight back to NYC. I figured the odds of the airport being full at the crack of dawn—even for an international flight—were low, so we didn’t leave to the airport until 5:30 a.m.

Before we were even at the airport, my brother-in-law who was also flying home and was already in line, texted me that there were extremely long lines at passport control.

Oy vey! I was not happy. I hate long lines.

Well, when we got to the airport I headed to the TSA pre-check line, but when we got to the front of the line the security officer sent us back to the main line since my son does not have TSA precheck like I do.

The same thing happened at passport control. The line was hundreds deep. My brother-in-law had been in line for 40 minutes already and had not made much progress. I headed to Global Entry where there were no lines, but again, I was turned away because my son doesn’t have Global Entry, only I do. I felt sure I’d used global entry before with my kids, but perhaps it was when they were much younger.

Not only did she send me all the way to the back of the impossibly long line, she wrote a stern warning in my profile that if I ever dare to try doing this again, I’ll be banned from Global Entry for 10 years!

I knew there was no way I’d make it to my flight at this point, so I started considering my options. What a waste of a day! And we could have slept more than 4.5 hours!

My brother-in-law then called me and told me not to get into the line. “Download the MPC app,” he advised.

“I’ve never heard of this, what is MPC?” I asked.

“Mobile Passport Control app,” he explained. “Download it and follow the instructions and you can skip the line.”

What did I have to lose? I downloaded the app and followed the prompts, and within three minutes I was bypassing all the lines!

My brother-in-law ended up waiting in line for an hour. Fortunately, he had gotten there earlier than we had and he made the flight on time. I surely would not have.

And then I started wondering, how come nobody uses MPC? Why are hundreds of people waiting in line for a passport stamp while the MPC line is literally empty?

There are even signs all over the airport telling people to download the app, and yet nobody—myself included—knows about it! It’s just as efficient as Global Entry, only it’s an app.

I took away two lessons from this experience:

1. We all have problems, and sometimes the solution is right in front of us—literally staring us in the face—and we still don’t see it. We need to actually open our eyes and look!
2. There’s a certain ease and security that comes with following the crowd. But just because everyone is following the same path, doesn’t mean it’s the correct or best one. Sometimes the solution is one that most people don’t even know about.

Well, I guess now you all know about it, too, so go ahead, download the app and skip the line next time you travel. You’ll be glad you did.

My wife and I were sitting together last week, when an email notification came in from our website, informing us that we’d received a donation of $250,000!

We are in the middle of our annual fundraising gala season, so thank G-d many donations are coming through. That wasn’t unusual. But receiving one for such a large number from a name neither of us recognized, now that is unusual.

We both wracked our minds and looked through our contacts to see if we could figure out who Mary was, but we came up blank.

Next, we wondered if it was a scam.

A quick Google search revealed that Mary was a real person with a Park Avenue address. Moreover, how many people have credit cards that will allow them to transfer $250,000? But the payment did actually come through, so we figured it must be a legitimate donation. Astounding!

I did some rapid mental calculations and within a minute or two had already figured out how we would spend the money to help our severely wounded soldiers with items they need.

The euphoria lasted for exactly nine minutes.

Mary called our office and apologized profusely for the mistake, explaining that she had intended to donate $250, not $250,000. And just like that, in the span of 10 minutes, we had made $250,000 and then lost $250,000. Unfortunately, because of our credit card processor fee, that well-intended donation of $250 actually ended up costing us almost $8000.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything we see and experience in life contains a lesson for us in our spiritual service. Here are three lessons I’m taking from this experience:

1. Life is full of highs and lows, every day, in every arena. The one immovable truth is our Father in Heaven. In all situations, whether we’re up $250K or down $250K, we know that G-d is with us and show gratitude for everything He provides.

2. There are no shortcuts in life! You have to work hard to make $250K. I am sure Hashem is looking out for us and will send us what we need through another avenue.

3. Every dollar we make is predetermined by G-d on Rosh Hashanah. It is our responsibility to create a vessel for His blessings to pour forth. Why He gave us 250K and then took it away nine minutes later I do not know, but perhaps it was to remind us that all money comes from Heaven.

This past Sunday morning, I was standing outside our Chabad center waiting for a minyan. Nine of us were already there, so the hunt was on for a tenth.

I asked a passing gentleman if was Jewish, and he confirmed he was. I asked if he could join us for a minyan and he wanted to know how long it would take. “Fifteen minutes,” I responded, figuring that’s how long it would take for our expected tenth (who must’ve overslept) to arrive.

He introduced himself as Moishele and agreed. “But no more than 15 minutes,” he insisted. “I’m really in a rush.”

With my reassurance, he came inside. I handed him a kippah and went to get my extra pair of tefillin.

I asked him when he last put on tefillin and discovered that he never had.

“Wow! This is your bar mitzvah!” I explained. The first time a person puts on tefillin—no matter what age they are—is considered their bar mitzvah, until which they retain the spiritual designation of “karkafta.”

We recited the Shema together and joyously wished him mazal tov, excited to celebrate such a special occasion right before Yom Kippur.

Before the 15 minutes were up, our tenth man came, freeing our visitor to leave, but first he told us: “I’m from Asheville, North Carolina,” he told us. “Our city has been devastated by Hurricane Helene. The only reason I agreed to enter the shul for 15 minutes today was to pray for my city.”

We don’t know why G-d sends natural disasters, but Hurricane Helene directly led to our new friend Moishele having his bar mitzvah.

Helene was followed by Milton just yesterday, both leaving immense destruction in their wake.

To form, hurricanes require two key ingredients: powerful winds and warm ocean waters.

As we approach Yom Kippur, we also need to harness these two ingredients—warmth and strength—to create a spiritual hurricane: good deeds, compassion, helping others, giving charity, etc.

We’re moments away from the holiest day of the year—a day to connect with G-d, our essence, our souls. While we pray for those affected by the devastation caused by Helene and Milton, let’s create winds of love to feed a bigger, more powerful spiritual hurricane.

Last year, we all assembled in shul on Rosh Hashanah and prayed for the year ahead. We asked for a good year, a sweet year, a year filled with health, happiness, prosperity and nachas from our children. 

Who could have imagined the horrific, monstrous onslaught we would face on Simchat Torah just three weeks later?

Could we even have conceived of our enemies surprising us, attacking us in our homes, slaughtering 1,200 Jews in cold blood, wounding thousands more, and kidnapping 252 men, women, and children? 

14,000 soldiers have since been wounded and the year-long war does not appear to be slowing down at all. The opposite—it is intensifying, with new fronts in the north. 

It’s been a year. A year of terror, fear, hope, disappointment, prayer and protest. 

It has been a year since the reawakening of Antisemitisim and the unignorable realization that we are hated all over the world. Never has it been clearer that we are a nation who dwells alone. 

But through this entire period, we have absorbed two vital lessons: 1. We need each other. 2. We need G-d. 

It has been an extraordinarily humbling year. We’ve seen firsthand that even with our mighty army we are not invincible. In fact, we are vulnerable, surrounded on all sides by enemies only too eager to join in and murder us.

At the same time, it’s been a year replete with miracles and love. We’ve been forced to dig deep within ourselves and realize how much we need one another. 

I met *Rotem last week—a soldier who came to New York with our Belev Echad program. Rotem served in the special forces and was wounded in battle, becoming paralyzed from the waist down. He also lost his left hand and is confined to a wheelchair. 

Rotem was supposed to be married last week, but he postponed the wedding. “I need another four months to do therapy to be able to walk again,” he insisted. “I promise I will walk under that chuppah!” 

Rotem has been broken and beaten but retains unshakeable faith that he will walk again. Fortunately, he has the most incredible friends who support and believe in him. 

This is the spirit of our people, Am Yisrael! We have been broken and beaten but we hold on to our hope and optimism for the future.

In a few days, we will all gather in shul again to crown G-d as our King. The thing our Father in Heaven loves most is when his children get along. This year, let us beseech G-d to send us only revealed good—good that is clear and apparent to our limited human eyes. 

May He bless us all with a shana tova—a good, sweet year with the return of our hostages, peace and healing for our people, and the coming of Moshiach and the Ultimate Redemption.

In a miracle equivalent to those of Biblical times, Israel stunned the world this week by targeting Hezbollah operatives via their beeper and walkie-talkies in an incredible and daring operation. 

It was an operation unprecedented in scale—genius, calculated, and obviously with G-d’s help—devastating Hezbollah’s capabilities. 

The Baal Shem Tov, founder of Chassidism, taught that everything we see or encounter contains a lesson for us in our service of G-d. Here are 7 lessons from the pager operation we can apply to our own lives: 

1. Strike your enemy when they least expect it! Utilize the element of surprise. In our personal battles against the Yetzer Hara (evil inclination), we often face challenges and obstacles that seem insurmountable. Surprise yourself by donning tefillin or by keeping Shabbat “just because” – when even you expect it the least!

2. Identify where your enemy feels most secure and strike there. Hezbollah terrorists were outfitted with beepers because they believed the old technology was more secure and couldn’t be hacked. In our lives, we need to stay vigilant with our mitzvah observance. Don’t become complacent with what you did this year—add something new!

3. Pulling off an operation like this requires a tremendous amount of planning and patience. Plans had to be constructed months—maybe even years—in advance. Likewise, in life, nothing good can be accomplished without hard work and detailed planning. 

4. From when the idea was conceived until this week when it was realized, the operation required a huge amount of courage and determination. With courage and determination we can succeed in our lives!  

5. In order to facilitate the attack, many many people had to learn to work together. There were teams in Europe, teams on the ground, all coordinating and working together towards one goal. As Jews, only by being united can we overcome all the odds stacked against us!

6. When evil stares you in the face, make no mistake: it must be destroyed. There is no room for error or ambiguity; terrorists and evil can only be dealt with in one way, which is exactly what happened here!

7. Even with meticulous planning and effort, so many things can go wrong at the last second. Faith in G-d played a crucial role here. Let us place our faith in Him now and always! He will certainly help us. 

May these lessons inspire us to confront our personal battles with courage, determination, and faith.

Our organization, Belev Echad, brings wounded IDF soldiers to the USA for medical care and whirlwind restorative outings. At this point, we’ve probably run over 75 trips. Our community jumps at the chance to show appreciation and treat our heroes to the finest that NYC has to offer. 

We’ve faced all kinds of challenges along the way, but our most recent trip was the most challenging yet. The wounds and injuries these soldiers carry are indescribable. While we’ve brought soldiers in wheelchairs and those missing limbs before, this trip was unique because the objective of the trip was to custom-make prosthetics for soldiers in need (and to receive treatment that isn’t available in Israel). This meant that we had many extremely complicated injuries all at once which made it extremely difficult to handle.

At the last minute, the mother of a wounded soldier called and begged us to add her son to the trip. Despite being full, we couldn’t say no to a mother’s desperate plea–these prosthetics are so advanced they literally change lives–so we added him to the group, making us essentially “overbooked.” 

For the past two weeks, I’ve been troubled by the thought of one soldier in particular, “M,” whose injuries cause him indescribable pain 24 hours a day. M served in Israel’s most elite force. He is a career soldier and decorated hero. 

On October 7, he rushed to help, saving many lives, until he and his team were ambushed by terrorists and completely overwhelmed. He was shot multiple times and has hundreds of pieces of shrapnel lodged in his body that cannot be removed. His injuries are so complex and unique, it’s a miracle he’s alive. He cannot sit for more than a few minutes; the rest of the time he needs to lie down. He cannot sit in a car.

I worried how we would manage. How would we transport him? Was it a mistake to include him? Perhaps we should cancel? Or bring him on a future trip? But he wanted to come and see the top NY experts, so how could we refuse?

In addition to figuring out how to manage M’s care, we had another Belev Echad trip planned–to Los Angeles–and two of our most valuable team members had to be leave to attend that, leaving us short-staffed on our highest-needs trip yet!

Thank G-d, our community got involved. One person donated a driver and car, and another donated their time to join the group. Another donated a hotel. And many people jumped at the opportunity to sponsor events and take the soldiers out at night to restaurants. Still, we were left with the problem of what to do with M, and I was genuinely unsure how to manage. 

Then, on Friday afternoon, two days before the trip, I received a call from someone I’d never met, Jack,* who told me he knew M from his time in the army and wanted to join us for Shabbat. He was so excited that M was coming to NY and he really wanted to help in any way possible.

During the call, I asked Jack about his job, and he shared that he had volunteered to serve in Gaza for a few months, and when he returned to NY he was laid off. So I shared my concerns and asked if he could dedicate a full 9 days to being with M from the morning until late at night, so M could participate fully. Jack readily agreed and jumped on the mitzvah! I was so relieved and told Jack he’d taken away my primary worry of the previous two weeks. 

I truly believe that when we push ourselves to do a mitzvah, G-d helps us find a way. I pushed hard to make this trip happen, despite the tremendous and complicated logistics, and G-d send Jack to help realize my goals. I believe that with any mitzvah, if you just make the decision to do something good, then Hashem will find a way to help you make your dream come true!

So go ahead and make your commitment to do a mitzvah. G-d will help you find a way to fulfill it! 

*Names changed to protect privacy.