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Paris. Tel Aviv. Toulouse. Mumbai. Brussels. Djerba. Copenhagen. Jerusalem. Kansas City. And now, Pittsburgh.

The incomprehensible murder of 11 Jews this week has violently ripped open a permanent hole in the lives of the families and friends of those killed, and indeed, Jews across the world.

Like so many others, I find myself asking, “What now?”

How do we process this tragedy? How do we return to our lives in its aftermath? Do we cower in fear? What changes do we make?

Our sages teach that the power of goodness and kindness is infinitely stronger than the power of evil. “A small amount of light dispels much darkness” is not merely an adage—it is the starting point for illuminating our lives and ultimately transforming the entire world.

About the Jewish people, Song of Songs says, “I am sleeping, but my heart is awake.”

When I look at the way the global Jewish community has reacted to the Pittsburgh massacre, I see an awakening. And if an anti-Semitic lunatic, through a single act of baseless hatred, can awaken the hearts of Jews in Singapore, Cape Town, Sydney, New York, and across the entire globe, can you imagine what we can accomplish with any single act of baseless love?

If Robert Bowers, a high school dropout, can sow fear across the entire world with darkness and violence, can you imagine how much joy and peace we, the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, can spread throughout the world by lighting Shabbat candles this week?

If a deranged lunatic with a rifle and two handguns could perform the deadliest anti-Semitic attack in American history while shouting “Death to all Jews!” imagine what you and I could accomplish while shouting “I love all Jews!”

This tragedy has united Jews from across the spectrum of observance. We are all mourning the 11 holy Jews, killed because they chose to celebrate their Judaism in shul, on Shabbat, as Jews have done for millennia. Can you imagine how much unity we can generate, and how many Jews we can bring to shul with love, a phone call, and a bowl of warm cholent? 

This is our responsibility now: to reach out to any Jew we come across and welcome him or her with open arms and an open heart. We cannot allow Robert Bower’s act of terrorism to scare us away. We must go to shul, wear our Judaism outwardly with pride, engage with the community, and remember that although our people have faced deep anti-Semitism since the beginning of time, we have not—and cannot now—allow it to prevent us from embracing our heritage.

Odds of winning the 1.6 billion dollar lottery were 1 in 302.6 million, yet staggering numbers of people lined up to try. In California alone, 5.7 million tickets were bought in just the first half of the day. And according to one newspaper, tickets were selling at a rate of 400 per minute on Friday.

As the anticipation grew, I noticed an interesting trend. Many of my friends tried to increase their odds of winning by pledging some of their earnings to the Chabad center that I run.

One person even pledged the entire 1.6 billion dollars to us if he won! Without a doubt, that is the largest pledge I received to date. Though I must wonder if he would have actually followed through…  

Another pledged 400 million dollars to be used for charity work, several pledged 1 million, another 50 million… Even my family hopped on the pledge train. Friends and relatives from overseas asked me to buy them tickets and promised to split the earnings.

This meant that my chances of winning changed from 1 in 302.6 million to more like 1 in 75 million. Much better, but still not good enough. We won nothing.

But it did feel good to receive so many 7, 8, 9, and even 10 figure pledges. Surely it must have been my best fundraising week of all time!

The sentiment, however, is not uncommon. It happens often that people call me, “Rabbi, if the deal I’m working on goes through I will give 1 million dollars to your building campaigns” Or, “Rabbi, if my stock goes up remember you are getting half!” It’s like if they make the pledge G-d will make them win.

The chassid Reb Yekusiel Lepler, an extremely poor man, once won the lottery. The Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, called him over and said, “I want to bless you with great wealth.” Surely that is akin to winning the lottery! You would think he’d be the happiest person alive, and yet, he refused the Rebbe’s offer. Why? “It will distract me from my service of G-d and my mission on this earth,” he explained.

Avraham Avinu, the first Jew, who we read about in this week’s Torah portion, bequeathed us the essence of Judaism. He gave us a love of G-d and a love for kindness. We have 4000 years of spiritual riches and moral achievement to look back on. We are inspired by the teachings of our Torah and it serves as our moral compass. Our mandate and mission is to make this world a better place. Our Torah is worth more than all the money in the world. Our mitzvot are priceless: every time we put on tefillin, that’s a billion dollars in value. Invite a guest for a meal and you made two billion! Think of the all the countless mitzvot you do daily – each one adds to your wealth.

Yes, it’s fun to get distracted by the lottery once in a while and dream about how it might change our lives, but let’s focus on our real purpose and go back to winning the real lottery by accumulating spiritual wealth with vigor!

Whenever I walk through the streets of Manhattan with my kids, I receive droves of unsolicited advice. It’s the strangest thing, but for some reason New Yorkers seem to feel the need to help me with my parenting.

Just the other day we were heading to Central Park, my kids racing ahead on scooters, and a woman stopped to tell me, “Your son’s helmet is not on correctly. You should really secure it more tightly.” I thanked her and assured her that all the helmets were properly secured.

Now, this would not be so strange if it only happened once in a while, but it happens all the time.  

 My two-year-old will be having a tantrum in the park and a stranger will undoubtedly come over to tell me how to deal with it. And I’m left thinking to myself, “Do you realize that before 6:00am today I changed seven diapers and fed breakfast to five babies?”

Or we’ll be biking in Central Park and somebody will stop to tell me that the kids are too far ahead and it’s dangerous and irresponsible, and all I can think is, “I’m not exactly an inexperienced dad! I have eight kids!”

And then there’s the weather brigade. It’s hot, it’s cold, it’s raining, it’s windy, there’s snow in the forecast (perhaps for three months from now…) and people are sure my kids are not suitably dressed, “Your child should be wearing a raincoat!” “Where’s his sunhat?” “She’ll be cold, she needs a scarf!” And while I appreciate their concern, inwardly I roll my eyes and wonder, “Do you think I don’t know how to keep my kids comfortable and safe?”

Ironically, I probably have a lot more hands-on childcare experience than most of the people who approach me! I know how to dress them, feed them, keep them safe, maintain boundaries and still give them a good time. Imagine that! Their concern is genuine, but I doubt any of them are raising eight kids, including triplets.

When I think about it, however, I realize that we treat G-d the same way.

He tells us to put on tefillin every day, and we tell him we know better.

He says Torah is your life–learn it every single day, and we say, “I already have a life, I don’t have time for that.”

He says keep Shabbat, a day of rest, and we say, “Nah, we have other ways to rest.”  

But G-d is the expert. He is the one who created the world, created us, and knows what we need. And still we think we know better! How ironic.

My kids and I spent lots of time patrolling our Upper East Side neighborhood this week, offering people the opportunity to do the mitzvah of lulav and etrog.

Years of experience have given me a pretty good sense of who to ask, and I’ve found that approximately 90% of Jews are happy to see us and want to do the mitzvah. There are always those, however, who are uninterested, and some who are downright hostile.

I knew we would undoubtedly encounter some who might be angry with us, and I didn’t want my kids to be disheartened, so I told them the story of Yankel* who is a regular in our shul.

On his way to work 25 years ago, Yankel was approached by two Chabad students in a mitzvah tank on the streets of downtown Manhattan. “Excuse me, sir, are you Jewish?” they asked. Not expecting to be asked so publicly, Yankel was outraged and vociferously denied his heritage. “No, I am not Jewish!”

By the time he arrived at his office, guilt had set in. Although not a practicing Jew, he still felt strongly connected to his roots and regretted telling the boys he wasn’t Jewish. Alas, what’s done was done, but the guilt continued to niggle at the back of his mind for 25 years.

When I first moved to New York, I met Yankel on the street and asked him, “Are you Jewish?” Thrilled for the opportunity to fix the mistake he had made all those years ago, he answered with a resounding, “Yes!”

And so began a beautiful relationship. I asked him if he would like to study Torah and he gave me his office number to follow up. Because it was a holiday and I couldn’t write it down, I memorized it and called him a couple of days later to set up a study date. He is now a regular at Chabad.

You never know how you will affect another person, I told my kids. Just by being visible with our lulav and etrog, we might be reminding people of their Judaism. Even if we don’t speak to them and they don’t approach us. Who knows what that might trigger in their soul? And even when we think we’ve really messed up—perhaps angered someone and distanced them even further—something good might blossom from that encounter years later, and we may never know.

Happy Sukkot!

*Name changed to protect privacy.

My two boys are 7 and 10, and I’ve been trying to educate them about the meaning of prayer and how to pray properly. Regular Shabbat services are not too long, so it’s easier, but Rosh Hashanah is an entirely different experience. To keep them motivated, I created a system of raffle tickets as an incentive, with promises of an enticing prize for the raffle winner. I was pretty generous with the tickets – I even gave them some for announcing the page numbers because that kept them engaged.

My older son, Mendel, really persevered. He spent hours in shul, reciting Tehillim (Psalms) and following along with the prayers. In total, he accumulated about 80 raffle tickets!

Zalman, on the other hand, lost interest earlier on both days and spent most of the time playing games. He still collected some raffle tickets, but only about 20. 

As promised, after Rosh Hashanah I held a raffle for them.

Mendel was so certain that he would win because he had many more tickets, and it’s true, the odds were stacked heavily in his favor.

But, when I closed my eyes and pulled out a random ticket… lo and behold it belonged to Zalman!

Zalman, of course, was ecstatic, while Mendel was understandably disappointed.

Then Mendel turned to me and said, “You know what, I’m not going to pray anymore. When you pray a lot, you still don’t win. I can just pray a little like Zalman did and still win!”

His question, couched in a child’s terms, is really the same question so many of us battle on a regular basis.

Sometimes we do so much good and we don’t see the reward. If I give so much money to charity, why I am I not a millionaire? I go out of my way to pray and put on tefillin regularly, so why do I still have so many problems? I’ve been lighting Shabbat candles every week for my friend to have a speedy recovery, why is she still ill? My uncle was the most kind and generous person I know, why did he have to die young?

I don’t have the answer for Mendel or for the adult versions of his question, but our sages assure us that G-d never, ever remains in debt. He will always pay up. He notices every good deed we do and adds it to our tally.

He may not pay us back immediately. He may not reward us for quite some time. We cannot always expect an instant miracle. But rest assured, He has not forgotten.  

As we approach Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, let’s keep this in mind: G-d never remains in debt. Surely He will repay us at the right time in the right way.

(Now if only I knew how to explain this to my Mendel!)

Last week I took my kids on an end-of-summer trip to Bailiwick Animal Park where they offer horse rides, a petting zoo, an elephant, parrots, and more. It’s the kind of place I love, because proximity to animals reminds me of my childhood in South Africa.

We pulled up to pay and the woman at the desk told me it would be $92. I handed over my Amex and she told me they only take cash. “What wrong with Amex?” I asked. “How about Venmo? Paypal?” She didn’t know what I was talking about. Cash only.

“There’s an ATM here,” she offered, but my credit card is not set up to withdraw cash. I don’t carry cash on me as a rule, and it is never a problem. In 2018 everything and everyone is set up to accommodate cashless transactions. Even when I travel to South Africa I pay only with my credit card—I take no cash.

My kids realized we were going to have to leave, and were understandably disappointed. Just then, a complete stranger who had apparently overheard my conversation walked over and handed me a $100 bill. “Here’s my email,” she said. “You can Paypal me later.”

I was astounded! $100 is a significant amount of money, and she had no way of knowing if I would actually pay her back. (I did, of course.) I was so touched. How many people would do that? The kindness of random strangers can restore one’s faith in humanity.

The next day we set off again, this time to a go-karting place. I again pulled out my Amex and again I was told, “Sorry, cash only.” Two places in two days? This has never happened before.

What is it with upstate New York not taking credit cards?! I was frazzled and looked around, but alas, there were no kind strangers just waiting to come to my aid this time!

I looked at my kids who were so eager for this outing, and felt terrible. It’s not their fault their father has no cash! Something compelled me to appeal to the woman at the entrance booth. I told her about our brand new triplets, and showed her a picture, and asked if she could possibly allow us to go go-karting “on the house”. To my surprise she readily agreed and we had a wonderful afternoon.  

The following day I made sure to take out cash and we returned to the go-karting place. I thanked the lady for her kindness the day before, and told her I wanted to pay for it, as well as for an additional day since we had had so much fun yesterday. She refused my payment for the previous day, telling me it was a gift to our family. Another stranger, another dose of kindness, wow!

Rest assured, in addition to being reminded of the value of unexpected acts of kindness and generosity, I have learned my lesson and will make sure to always carry some cash with me from now on.

This week we celebrate Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the new year, when we re-crown G-d as our King and beseech Him for mercy and kindness and a good, happy, healthy, sweet year ahead.

 But it doesn’t come for free. We have to do our part and cough up the cash. We cannot tell G-d,

“Oh, I’ll pay you later.” We must have cash with us, on hand, at all times. What is the cash?

Mitzvot we have accumulated throughout the year. When we ask Him for what we want, we have to give Him what He wants.

So let’s spend the next few days making a little extra “money” so we can go into Rosh Hashanah with something to show for ourselves. Give some extra charity, and review your books for the past year—make sure you’ve been giving 10% of your earnings consistently. Come to shul this Shabbos—the last Shabbos of the year. Light Shabbat candles this week and encourage your friends to as well. Pay extra attention to those around you and find ways to help them with their needs.  Take a break from frivolity and gossip and spend some time engaged in Torah study. Put on tefillin–you have just three opportunities left to do so this year (today, tomorrow, Sunday).

Think of a mitzvah you feel you’ve been particularly neglectful of this year, and find a way to do it in the next couple of days. It’s not too late!

May we all be blessed with good health, happiness, and all the blessings we need and desire for the upcoming year. Shana tova.

We spent last week vacationing at Hunter Mountain, a beautiful area just two hours away. We rented a house on Airbnb, packed up everything we would need for the week (no easy feat!), and headed off, upbeat and excited, to spend some quality family time together surrounded by glorious views and raw nature.

A friend of mine owns a summer home in the area and warned me that there are plenty of bears roaming the woods (more than usual, this year), and cautioned us to be careful since, although by and large they stay away from people, they can be dangerous.

My kids heard me listening to his voice note, and they were struck with fear—a fear I struggled to relate to. Growing up in South Africa, wild animals, rough nature, hiking—it’s all second nature and I enjoy every second of it. Now here we were, in this wonderful place, surrounded by forests, hiking paths, brooks and lakes, not to mention the incredible views, and my kids could think only of the bears.

I had to coax and almost beg them to go on hikes, which they enjoyed, but at all times they were on the lookout for those scary bears. They couldn’t relax. They armed themselves with big sticks, although I’m not sure exactly what they thought they would do with them…

They locked the doors of our house every night, double and triple checking them, and they were rigorous about picking up every scrap of garbage or food so as not to attract any bears.

Despite the obsession, at the end of the week we still hadn’t spotted a single one—not even during our rainy, four-mile hike to shul on Shabbat morning. Soon the kids were questioning if in fact there really were bears in the area at all.

But as we packed into the car to head home, I noticed that the two garbage cans at the end of the driveway had been ripped apart. Decimated. The owner of the home had warned us to make sure the bins were locked at all times so the bears can’t get to the food, and we’d been extremely careful to do so, but they’d gotten in anyway. A closer look showed they’d eaten right through the plastic.

We may not have seen the bears, but we saw clear evidence of their existence.  

Such is the story of our lives...

We know that G-d exists. We know He is out there. But we cannot see him.

Nevertheless, when we open our eyes we can see clear evidence of His existence.

Look into the eyes of your newborn, and you will see G-d’s hand, clear as day. That person you just happened to meet the other day? That was G-d directing you to your soul mate. Look carefully at the job you were fired from and you will see G-d’s hand directing you to a better one. The house that just fell through? That was G-d, too, directing you away from a neighborhood He knows you would not be happy in. When we examine our lives with this lens, it’s impossible not to see G-d’s footprints wherever we go.

With Rosh Hashanah right around the corner, when we coronate G-d as our King once more, this is the perfect time to start re-evaluating how we view the world and our experiences. So open your eyes, and start looking—really looking.

This summer, my ten-year-old son went to overnight camp in Montreal for the first time, and my wife and I booked tickets so we could see him on visiting day.

I asked my travel agent to use my global entry number so that we wouldn’t have to wait on line at the airport, and for that he needed my passport number. But when I went to get it, my passport was not where I usually keep it.

I searched the house, the car, my office, and anywhere else I could think of, but there was no sign of the errant document.

When I asked my wife if she’d seen it, she had me think back to the last time I used it—when I went to Israel a month ago. “And where did you put it when you came back?” she prodded.

It was then that I realized I had never unpacked it, and it was still in the suitcase I traveled with. Unfortunately, that very same suitcase was now with my son, in camp, in Montreal…

A problem, indeed.

So I phoned the camp, and lo and behold, the staff member who answered happens to be my nephew! Perfect.

I asked him to check my suitcase, but he explained that all the suitcases are stored away for the summer, and finding mine would be quite a task. Fortunately, we have a particularly bold tag attached that makes it easy to identify quickly, and he was able locate it and send me a picture of the passport. Whew! At least now I knew that it was definitely there. Progress.

My next step was to arrange for a FedEx pickup but the next day was July 4 th so there was no movement. The following day (Thursday) I called FedEx to follow up, and they explained that the earliest they could get it to me would be Monday, since the camp is remote and would require a special trip. That was a problem, because my flight was scheduled for 5am Sunday. Monday would be too late. I spent several hours on the phone with them, but we weren’t able to work anything out.

At this point, I turned to my trusted Whatsapp group and sent out the SOS signal. Within minutes, I had:

1. A driver willing to go to the camp and bring my passport back to the city.

2. A guy travelling from Montreal to Brooklyn on Friday, who was happy to deliver it.

3. A friend who offered to pick the passport up from Crown Heights and bring it to me before Shabbat so that I would have it ready, in hand, at 5am Sunday morning.

So despite much drama and stress, thanks to good friends and helpful strangers I was able to be on that early Sunday flight with no hiccups.

Naturally, all this passport business got me thinking…what’s the deeper lesson here?

This Shabbat we bless the new moon for the month of Elul, a time when we scramble to look for the “Jewish passports” that we may have misplaced during the year.

What is a Jewish passport?

What is the purpose of any passport? Without it, how would I prove to the Canadian border officials that I am who I say I am? And how would I prove to the American border officials that I am entitled to come back into the country? Passport is proof of identity.

Our “Jewish passports” are our very identities and it’s vital that we proudly carry that with us at all times. When we do business, we do business as a Jew–with honesty and integrity. When we travel, we don’t shirk our Jewish responsibilities. Anywhere we go and anything we do, we represent the Jewish people as a whole.

As we enter the month of Elul, let’s look inside and make sure we are proud to project our Jewish identity and represent our people with pride and dignity at all times.

I texted my friend Jack* last Friday, “Hi, can you make it to shul on Shabbat morning?”

An hour later, he still hadn’t replied so I asked again. Still another hour later, I began to worry. “Is everything okay?” I asked. “We’d love to see you tomorrow.”

Then I noticed that he hadn’t even read the conversation, so I figured he must be out of town. But lo and behold, Shabbat morning he was there bright and early.

“What happened?” I asked. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

“Oh, you won’t believe it!” he explained. “A few months ago I made a firm commitment to begin attending morning services. I’m not religious, but I’m making an effort.

“This Wednesday, I woke up late and saw that the time read 6:57am. Services begin at 7:00am and I wondered if there was any point in going so late. But I’d made a commitment and I was determined to follow through. I was doing it purely for G-d, and I knew He would be pleased with my decision.

“I quickly dressed and was downstairs by 7:04am. Instead of walking as I normally do, I grabbed a cab to save time. I arrived at 7:11am and joined the prayers. Several minutes later, I realized I didn’t have my phone. Turns out, I left it in the taxi. And I was not thrilled. I called it multiple times with no response, and since I paid cash for the taxi, there was no way to trace it. Like most people these days, my phone is my everything. My contacts, messages, info—it’s all in there! Losing it is scary and disorienting.

“Most of all, I don’t understand why this would happen now of all times. My whole life, I didn’t go to shul. Now that I started going regularly, and I went even this morning when I woke up late and it would have been a lot easier and more convenient to skip, this is what G-d does for me in return? This is how He pays me back? What’s going on?!”

In this week’s parshah, we read, “You shall not heed the words of that prophet, or that dreamer of a dream; for the L-rd, your G-d, is testing you, to know whether you really love the L-rd, your G-d, with all your heart and with all your soul.”

G-d tests us. Often. We know that. What we don’t always realize is that the test is for our own benefit, to push us to delve deeply into ourselves and find the strength to persevere for G-d.

We want to send our children to Jewish schools, but…the money. We want to keep kosher but there’s no kosher steakhouse in town. We want to go to the 6:00am minyan, but we need time to sleep and time to get ready for work. The challenges are 100% real. G-d wants us to serve Him, but then He makes it hard for us. It’s only natural to wonder why.

So I told Jack*, “We don’t know why G-d places obstacles in our path, but in this situation perhaps he wanted to test your resolve. Are you really committed to attending daily services? How firm is that commitment? Can it handle being tested? “And look, you passed with flying colors!”

Every morning we beseech G-d, “Please do not test me,” but He does and we know He will continue to do so. So let’s use those opportunities to reaffirm our commitment to Him, strengthen our resolve, and continue serving Him with utmost devotion.

*Name changed to protect privacy.

Last weekend my wife and I flew to Montreal for visiting day. It’s the first time our son has gone to overnight camp and we were determined to visit despite the immense amount of time and coordination it took to make arrangements for the rest of our children. We needed a night nurse and a day nurse for the triplets, as well as a close friend to sleep in the house and care for the next three children, getting them to day camp the next day.

Certainly we were nervous about leaving them all, but we did it. We flew to Montreal, spent the day at Camp Gan Israel with our big boy, met his counselors, and most importantly, showered him with undivided attention. We stayed overnight at an airport hotel, ready for our early-morning flight the following day.

When I checked the computer screen at the airport, there was a note about our flight. “The flight is overbooked. Would you consider giving up your seat and being compensated for it?” I didn’t even consider it. We needed to get home immediately to our other six children!

We arrived at the gate with plenty of time to spare so I began my morning prayers. Then the announcements began. “We have overbooked this flight by 18 people. We are offering gift vouchers of $600 to anybody who wants to give up their seat. We will book you on the next available flight.”

We looked at each other, but as tempting as $1200 is, we knew the trouble we had gone to when arranging childcare for 24 hours. We couldn’t push it more than that, so we ignored the announcement.

Minutes later, they announced that they still needed 12 more people to give up their seats, and they increased the compensation to $1000 with the option to use it on Amazon. The offer just became immensely more attractive! We buy virtually everything on Amazon, so that money was now the equivalent of cash, not just airline vouchers.

“Will we do it for $2000?” we wondered. But just thinking of the logistics back home, we knew we had to decline. I returned to my prayers.

Not long later they announced that they were now offering $1300 for six more people to give up their seats. This really grabbed our attention—$2600 cash is no small matter!

When I was a student I used to jump on these offers even for $100, but things are quite different now!

The next announcement was the last chance. “We need two more people to give up their seats. We are offering $1600 per person.” At this, I was overcome. How could we turn down $3200? I ran to the counter and inquired when the next flight was, assuming it would be within the next hour or two. To my chagrin, all the flights for most of the day were full, and the earliest we would be booked was for a 5pm flight. They also offered meal vouchers to tide us over for the day. As tempting as it was, we turned it down. It would require making complex arrangements — from a distance — for another entire day and evening. We couldn’t do that.

As we boarded the plane, we discussed what number would have really pushed us to do it. I felt that at $1800 I could have justified either making the necessary arrangements, or just buying a ticket on a different airline. Perhaps even renting a car and driving to New York!

Our sages teach that there are three things guaranteed to change a person. If you’ve sampled them and not been affected, it simply means you haven’t yet discovered your limit.

1. Alcohol. Everyone has a limit. For me, it’s little more than a sniff and I’m ready to pass out. For others it’s a cup or even a bottle. But every person has a limit.

2. Money. Everyone has an amount that will change them. As I saw in the airport, for some it’s $600, for others it’s $1000 or $1300 or $1600, and for the many people who didn’t offer to switch their flights, it’s obviously more. For me it would have been $3600 ($1800 each).

3. Torah. If a person has studied Torah and not been positively affected, it simply means they haven’t studied enough.

Torah changes a person. If it hasn’t made you a better person yet, the only solution is to learn more, study harder, invest more deeply.

This weekend we mark Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the destruction of the Temple and the beginning of our current exile. Even exile has limits. We must convey to G-d that we can no longer tolerate it. We’ve reached our limit! We’re ready for the third Temple and the final redemption right now!

The entire world had been collectively holding its breath awaiting the rescue of the 12 Thai boys and their coach, and after 18 long days every last one is out.

The miraculous rescue by a dedicated team of divers from multiple countries is unlike anything we have seen since the rescue of the Chilean miners in 2010. And perhaps this one struck an even greater chord because it was a group of children.

Just imagine being stuck in a winding cave, 3000 feet underground, 2.5 miles away from the entrance, in total darkness and flooding waters for 9 days without knowing if you will ever be found, or even if anyone is looking. And then, even after being found, the uncertainty about if and when and how you will get out… It’s almost unfathomable. 

But although we may not be physically stranded like they were, the Chassidic masters explain that we too are trapped in a cave. The only difference is, we don’t even know we are stuck!

Before we are born, we live in the real world, fully immersed in G-dliness and Divine spirituality. And then, G-d sends us to live in this cave. Earth. We may not see it that way, but that’s exactly what it is. New York, the city that never sleeps, a cave? Los Angeles, Singapore, Tel Aviv, Miami—all caves! Because we’ve been living in this darkness for so long, we no longer recognize it for what it is. We’re used to it. We know no differently.

The Thai boys grew up with sun and light and fresh air. So they knew they were stuck and they knew what to hope for, wait for, and expect on the outside.

We, on the other hand, know no differently. Generation after generation, we have been born into this dark labyrinth, and we are so far removed from the real world, we no longer wish for it. We think we already live in it. We can’t imagine pleasure beyond the luxuries we know. The ultimate vacation or car… these are nothing in comparison to spiritual bliss. 

And just as the entire world witnessed the rescue of the Thai boys, our rescue will also be tremendous. Just as theirs was urgent, to beat the imminent monsoon rains that could have trapped them for another four months, we require urgency too, before we are completely consumed by the world we live in. Their rescue was inordinately complex and dangerous, as is ours. What helped the boys stay alive and keep their spirits intact? Unity and cohesion. We too, can only survive by demonstrating unity. 

Moshiach is our navy seal diver. He will swim through the rushing murky waters to redeem us. In fact, the midrash explains that those buried outside of Israel will travel through underground tunnels to Israel and be resurrected there. 

The same way we felt sorry for the trapped boys, we should feel sorry for ourselves. It’s vital that we recognize and keep in mind at all times that while we may think we live in a vibrant, rich world, we are in fact stranded deep underground. And the elation that we—along with the whole world—felt when we watched the dramatic and unexpected rescue, that is the feeling we need to hold onto for when we are finally rescued with the ultimate redemption and the coming of Moshiach. 

For the last few months our lives have revolved around the number three. G-d blessed us with triplets, and we now think, breathe and complete each task in sets of three. Of course, when everything is in sync, it’s a lot easier.

When we go out we need three car seats, three sets of hands, three bottles, three (more like 30!) diapers, and three changes of clothing. When we put them to sleep, it’s three baths, three pairs of pajamas, three babies to rock and say shema with. When they wake up it’s three sets of hands to wash negel vasser, three clean outfits, and again three bottles. On Friday night there are three babies to bless, three sets of Shabbat clothes to dress them in…you get the picture! 

A couple of weeks ago we became concerned that the babies seemed to be fighting off a cold. The doctor sent us to the hospital and it turned out that they all had the same virus and needed to be hospitalized together. After two nights we were able to bring two of them home, but the third needed to stay. Suddenly, we weren’t thinking in threes anymore! Doing each action three times was manageable albeit hectic, but deviating from that pattern made things feel off balance and infinitely more challenging.

Thank G-d it was only for one night. Then the third baby was ready to come home too, and we soon fell back into our pattern of threes. But the incident left me wondering…is there a deeper significance to the number three?

Our sages certainly thought so. They described the ultimate set of “triplets”—the Torah, the Jews, and G-d. Our job is to perfectly synchronize the three, creating the ultimate state of unity the world needs in order to facilitate the final redemption. 

Three is a number of prominence in Judaism. There are the three forefathers and three daily prayers, the Torah was given in the third month and is divided into three parts, and the entire nation is divided into three groups—Kohen, Levi, Yisrael.

How do we unify the three pillars—us, G-d, and the Torah? G-d created the world for us and gave us the Torah as our guide. By delving into the Torah and fulfilling His commands, we develop a deep relationship with Him. Each good deed we do, each act of kindness we show another, helps cement and unify that three-pronged relationship that will ultimately usher us through to the next state, the era of Moshiach, and the eternal redemption.

Like most students, I didn’t have access to a car during my yeshiva years in Israel. This meant riding multiple busses and hitching rides anytime I needed to go out. Often I’d end up waiting at the side of the road for long periods of time before anyone stopped, and I promised myself that in the future when I would be in the position to do so, I would make sure to give rides to people I saw waiting.

As it turns out, I usually have a full car when I travel, and although I see people who need rides and really wish I could help them, I cannot. But last week we travelled to Monsey for Shabbos for my brother’s sheva brachos. We no longer all fit into our minivan, since the blessing of our triplets a few months ago, so my wife drove the minivan with all the car seats, and I borrowed a car and took two of the older kids with me.

On the way, we passed an accident at the side of the road that had stranded a chassidic couple. I stopped the car to see if I could help. They, too, were on their way to Monsey for Shabbos, passengers in a taxi which had been rear-ended. The driver had phoned police to file a report, but as we all know, small accidents are not police priority and it can take a long time for them to show up. In the meantime, this couple had a young baby and might not be able to get to Monsey in time.

So, I offered them a ride.

The taxi driver panicked and refused to let them go, insisting the police may need them for the report. After checking and assuring him that this was not the case, he allowed me to take them. I drove them to their door, about 20 minutes out of my way, and I felt good being able to give a ride just as I had needed all those years ago. I haven’t forgotten the feeling.

There are many pleasures in life. You can eat a good steak, watch a beautiful sunset, engage in intellectual debate…but one of the deepest pleasures that exists is that of giving to others.

Giving makes us G-dly, because G-d is the ultimate giver. By giving of ourselves to others we 1channel our innate G-dliness and bring it to the surface, which is what makes it so rewarding.

However fortunate we may be now, let us not forget what it feels like to need, and may that be the impetus to seek out others and help them, allowing us to experience the true pleasure of giving.