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A Thief in My Office

Thursday, June 25, 2026 - 3:34 PM

Walking back to my desk after a meeting this week, I noticed that my computer screen was blue and displaying the message: “Working on updates — 90% complete. Don't turn off your PC. This will take a while.”

It was a little unexpected, but not alarming. I took a picture and sent it to our tech person just to make sure, and he quickly sent back a reassuring text: “Looks normal, probably just a system update.”

Fair enough.

I sat down to wait.

Then I noticed something highly alarming! The cursor was very clearly moving across the screen on its own.

My stomach dropped.

I grabbed my phone, recorded a video, and sent it off. Within seconds, my tech guy called me, his tone completely changed. “Something is very wrong! I’m logging in to your computer right now.”

He connected remotely, watched for a few moments, and then shouted: “Someone is inside your computer!”

This was not a virus or trojan. Somewhere in the world, a human hacker was sitting behind a keyboard, navigating my computer in real time while I sat just a few feet away.

My tech person was able to see everything the hacker was doing. He was opening files, accessing accounts, and then he began initiating a wire transfer for tens of thousands of dollars.

“Turn off the computer! Now!” he yelled.

I tried, but nothing happened. The hacker had locked me out of my own machine.

“Pull the plug!”

So I literally yanked the power cord out of the wall.

But it was too late.

In those final seconds before the screen went dark, the transfer had already gone through.

Within minutes I was on the phone with the bank, reporting wire fraud and praying the funds could be recovered.

What followed was a whirlwind of phone calls, emergency meetings, and paperwork.

As Belev Echad has grown, we've become a larger target, and so we brought in cybersecurity professionals to completely rebuild and secure our network.

Later that day, a technician arrived and began investigating.

What he discovered was chilling.

The hacker had installed a hidden screen-sharing program that gave him complete access to my computer. Not only could he see everything, he could control everything.

Even more disturbing, he’d preemptively logged into my email account and blocked all emails, alerts, and notifications from my bank.

So, as money moved out of accounts, I was oblivious.

Then came the realization that sent a chill down my spine: For who knows how long, he had been watching me through my own camera. A stranger had a front-row seat to my office, my work, and my daily life!

As I came to terms with that, I realized that there’s a powerful lesson here. We all act differently when we know someone is watching, but really, the camera is always on. Hashem watches everything we do and say - every decision we make and every conversation we have. Because we don’t see him, it’s easy to forget he’s watching. But we should be going through our day and living our lives as if we’re always on display.

The hacker taught me another lesson, too. He was patient and methodical. Instead of immediately stealing money, he took the time to set things up properly, silencing alerts, and slowly chipping away at our safeguards.

The same thing can happen spiritually. Hashem constantly sends us alerts. An invitation to a minyan, a reminder to put on tefillin, an inspiring Torah class, an opportunity to help another Jew.

But life is noisy. Distractions, excuses, and habits can filter out those alerts before we even notice them.

So be careful before you get into the habit of brushing off minyan or tefillin or the opportunity to do tzedakah. Those alerts are there for a reason - don’t miss out because you weren’t paying attention.

‘Stop Emailing Me! You and Your Scammer Husband!’

Thursday, June 18, 2026 - 6:20 PM

A few days ago, my wife sent out one of her regular emails; a standard update about the work we do.

A woman, I’ll call her Sarah, wrote back quickly: “Please stop emailing me. You and your scammer husband. Unsubscribe!”

I was confused. This wasn’t a stranger. I knew Sarah. We both did. We had helped her along on her Jewish journey a few years prior. She came to my Torah classes. She came to our shul. She came to our home for Shabbat.

She had many questions and I answered them all with genuine patience, respect, and care.

Then, about a year and a half ago, she disappeared.

As far as I’m aware, nothing happened to alienate her. We had no conversation or disagreement. She simply stopped coming, as she is entitled to do!

But now, out of the blue, she was responding angrily to us and calling me a scammer! I couldn’t get the words out of my head.

A scammer? I never sold her anything, solicited a donation, or took a penny from her. So what exactly was the scam?

I puzzled over it for a while, and then I realized that wasn’t really the point. The point is that people don’t always see us as we see ourselves, and don’t always experience interactions the way we do. Sometimes they write entire stories about us in their minds.

You can give someone your time, your energy, your heart, your hospitality, your friendship, but years later they may remember the relationship completely differently than you do.

And that's extremely painful.

This morning, I stood at the Ohel of the Lubavitcher Rebbe alongside tens of thousands of Jews marking the Rebbe's 32nd yahrtzeit.

What was I thinking of as I waited in line for my turn to pray and say a few words at the graveside? I was thinking about Sarah.

If there is one lesson the Rebbe taught the world, it is this: Love another Jew.

Not because they agree with you, appreciate you, or speak kindly about you. But simply because they are a Jew.

The Rebbe's love wasn't conditional and ours shouldn’t be either.

The Rebbe taught us to look past the behavior and see the soul, the Divine spark. Sometimes it’s hidden behind frustration and anger, or even insults, but it’s there.

So, strange as it may sound, I have no anger toward Sarah.

Of course, I will honor her request and remove her from our mailing list. That's the easy part.

The harder task is the one the Rebbe taught us: to continue loving someone even after they have hurt or misunderstood you. To see their goodness even when they don’t see yours. To look at someone who has judged us unfairly and still say (and truly mean), “I want only good things for you.”

I don't know what happened in Sarah's life that made her stop coming, nor do I know what has colored her perceptions of me. And I may never know.

But I do know that if she called tomorrow and needed help, I would help her. And if she showed up at my door for Shabbat, there would be a seat waiting for her.

But because that's what the Rebbe taught us.

The Iranian Agent Who Came to My Torah Class

Thursday, June 11, 2026 - 11:06 PM

A few weeks ago, someone named Farhad Mohammadi signed up for our email list.

Although our website is public and anyone can sign up, one of our staff members became concerned when she saw the name.

Given everything happening in the world today, her imagination went into overdrive: Is a spy trying to spy on us? Maybe a terrorist is trying to learn the layout of our center and feeding Iran information?

A few days later, something happened that raised even more concern.

The same Farhad Mohammadi signed up for one of our Torah classes.

Now the alarms really started going off. “Rabbi, this is the same Iranian guy. We should probably have extra security tonight. Who knows what could happen?”

So I did what anyone would do.

I Googled him, but no luck. It’s quite a common name apparently!

So that night, I walked into the Torah class curious—and definitely a little concerned—to see who would show up.

And within moments, all my assumptions and preconceived notions evaporated.

Yes, he was Iranian. Very Iranian. But he was also Jewish.

And suddenly, I realized our mistake: We saw he was Iranian and that’s all we saw. We stopped too soon.

Because, yes, his family is Iranian, and his background and culture are Iranian. But he is also a warm, sincere, thoughtful Jew, seeking connection and hungry for Torah study.

Unfortunately, that’s what the world teaches us. To look at the exterior. To focus on names, race, color, nationality.

The Torah, on the other hand, teaches us to look at souls. Chassidus teaches that every Jew possesses a Divine soul—a chelek Eloka mima'al mamash, an actual spark of G-dliness.

And while meeting Farhad brought this lesson to the fore, it applies to all of us. Everyone we meet has layers. A name, accent, profession, political leaning. Most of us never look beyond the outer layers.

We get so caught up in who is right-leaning and who is left-leaning politically, who is pleasant and who is grumpy, who is wealthy and who is poor. But Chassidus teaches us to keep digging. Look deeper, further, peel back the layers and uncover the core.

Because at the core, every Jew is the apple of Hashem’s eye—created in His image and more loved than anything else in the world.

So let’s challenge ourselves to stop defining people by the first thing we notice about them and train ourselves to see what G-d sees.

Because if you look only at the surface, you may see an Iranian. But if you look deeply enough, you will discover a warm Jew.

A Guard at Gracie Mansion Asked If I Hate Israel

Thursday, June 4, 2026 - 7:22 PM

Last week I attended the protests against Mayor Mamdani at Gracie Mansion. I brought my tefillin because when Jews gather, no matter the occasion and regardless of their political leanings, there’s an opportunity for souls to connect and mitzvot to be done.

To get into the demonstration, I had to pass through security. The line was long and chaotic, so I set up shop and started putting on tefillin with anyone who stopped and expressed interest.

Nearby, members of Neturei Karta and other groups were counter-protesting loudly - anti-Israel and pro-Mamdani. Security was tight, emotions were running high, and police were everywhere, making sure things didn’t get out of control.

When it was my turn to pass through security, the guard looked at me carefully, taking in my obviously chassidic look: black hat, jacket, beard, tefillin bag.

He was puzzled, unsure whether or not to let me through.

He pointed toward the Neturei Karta and asked, “Are you with them? Or are you here for the demonstration?”

My mouth hung open and I realized that to him, we all look the same. He doesn’t know the difference between Chabad and Neturei Karta. He doesn’t know that my father and brother both served in the Israeli army. He doesn’t know that I’ve spent much of my life advocating for Israel and that I am the founder of Belev Echad, an organization that exists solely to support wounded IDF soldiers!

To him, I am simply a chassidic Jew in a black hat who could belong on either side of the conflict.

Before I could answer, his boss - who knows me from events we’ve organized for Belev Echad - walked over and said, “Oh, this rabbi is fine. Let him in.”

I proceeded to the demonstration, but the whole interaction stayed on my mind for the rest of the week.

We spend so much energy defining ourselves by what separates us from one another.

This Jew is more observant; that Jew is less so.

This Jew is left-wing; that Jew is right-wing.

This Jew wears a wig; that Jew wears a scarf.

This Jew wears a black hat; that Jew wears a baseball cap.

But the rest of the world doesn't distinguish. Certainly our enemies don’t!

And while that can be a frightening thought, it can also be comforting. It means that a Jew is a Jew is a Jew. The labels are superficial; underneath we have a shared soul, shared destiny, shared purpose. We all stood at Mount Sinai together, every single Jewish soul that has ever or will ever exist, united “like one individual with a single heart.”

It’s so easy to get bogged down by the external minutiae and forget that at our core, we are a single unit. I’m grateful to that security guard who accidentally gave me a vital reminder!

As I walked away from that checkpoint, carrying my tefillin, I thought to myself: Maybe the greatest protest we can stage today is against Jewish division.

We can disagree, debate, argue passionately, and serve G-d differently. But we should never forget that before anything else, we are family, and the best answer we can give when asked, “Which side are you on?” is “I’m on the side of the Jewish people.”