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Setting Aside $35 Each Week!

Thursday, September 21, 2023 - 2:38 PM

I received a text message on Erev Rosh Hashanah: “Rabbi, where should I send my donation? To the Yom Kippur appeal or to the High Holiday reservation page on your website?”

“Make it the Yom Kippur appeal and we’re good to go,” I answered.

He texted me back. “Rabbi, it’s been an extremely difficult year for me. I cried a lot this year, but I just made an $1800 donation.”

As I thanked him, he texted me again. “You know I truly believe in tzedakah. Every week I look at my budget, take out $35, and put it into a separate account. That’s $140 every month, and I’m now thrilled to be able to give you $1800.”

I was blown away. “Mi K’amcha Yisroel—Who is like Your nation, Israel?”

And I’ve been thinking about it for the past few days.

Dan* loves to give, but he struggles financially at the moment. He doesn’t have a stable job and struggles to provide for his family, but still, he wants to support our shul. It would certainly be understandable if he didn’t give under these circumstances! But he came up with a solution: Even on a tight budget, he can find $35 to put into a separate account each week, and over the course of a year he was able to save up enough money to give a very generous donation! One hundred times “chai”—a beautiful and meaningful contribution.

We’re standing on the precipice of Yom Kippur—the time to do teshuva. How do we change our ways, stamp out our bad habits, and become better people?

It’s easy to fall prey to the idea that we need to make drastic changes and completely overhaul our lives to do teshuva. Really, though, it’s the small things that count.

We don’t need to become president of the United States to affect change. Changing the world comes from doing small mitzvot, one at a time.

Designate five minutes a week for studying Torah. Set aside four minutes in the morning to put on tefillin and say the Shema. In shul, we had one member of our community commit to keeping Shabbos in its entirety twice this year. Another committed to coming to shul once a week. And a third said he would make sure that every week one of his meals is fully kosher.

This is how we make changes—by taking small, incremental steps. A complete overhaul is rarely realistic or sustainable. But adding one small mitzvah at a time adds up to significant change—just like Dan’s $1800 donation.

I Couldn’t Sleep. Someone Had Stolen My Identity!

Thursday, September 14, 2023 - 7:34 AM

A few weeks ago we hosted a Shabbat dinner in our home, with some guests we hadn’t met previously. Of course, after a couple of l’chaims and some good food, the conversation turned to Jewish geography.

“Where are you from?” they asked me.

“Rhodesia,” I responded.

In fact, I am the only Rhodesian-born Chabad rabbi in the entire world. It’s my claim to fame! My father served as the rabbi in Rhodesia in the 1970s, and that’s where I—and I alone—was born. My siblings were all born elsewhere.

But my new friend Josh said, “Hey, my Chabad rabbi is also from there!”

“Impossible!” I protested. “I’m the only one in the universe!”

But he was adamant. We had drunk a little and were joking back and forth, and I said to him, “You probably don’t know Zimbabwe from Sydney—I’m sure it’s all the same to you!”

But he insisted. His Chabad rabbi, stationed in Cornell University, was born in Zimbabwe. “As soon as Shabbat is over,” he said, “I’ll prove it to you.”

I couldn’t sleep that night. Could there be another Chabad rabbi born in Rhodesia? I always thought I was the only one!

Lo and behold, after Shabbat was over, I received a text message with a picture of Rabbi Dovid Birk’s passport, and it said, “Born in Zimbabwe.”

So I called him. It turns out he and his family were living in Zimbabwe in the 80s, where he was born, before immigrating to Australia and later making his way to Mayanot Yeshiva in Israel where he was ordained.

But after careful analysis, it turns out that I am still the only Chabad rabbi born in Rhodesia. In 1980, Rhodesia changed names and became Zimbabwe. He was born in 1981, so his passport says Zimbabwe, while mine says Rhodesia.

We had a good laugh, but I found myself thinking: Why does it matter so much where we’re born?

On Rosh Hashanah, we crown G-d as our King, and in return, He tells us: You matter. You count. I created the entire world for you, and you have a vital mission to do—something you and you alone can contribute to the universe. You come from royalty, you are a prince, my child!

As we go into Rosh Hashanah, it’s an opportune time for us to reevaluate where we come from, where we want to go, and how we can get ourselves on track, headed in the right direction.

May it be a year of clarity and fulfillment for all.

Two Jews In Santorini

Thursday, September 7, 2023 - 12:51 PM

My wife and I traveled to Santorini, Greece, this summer, in honor of our 20^thwedding anniversary—with major thanks to my siblings-in-law who offered to look after our kids!

It’s been an incredible two decades having a full partner by my side, and in some ways feels like just yesterday that we met and married.

Santorini was the perfect place to celebrate. It felt magical. One of the most ancient islands set on an active volcano—Hashem’s wonders are on full display.

We set off on a hike one morning, from Fira to Oia—a hike most tourists do. It takes approximately three hours and passes through the most breathtaking scenery and picturesque villages.

The only items I brought along were a water bottle and my tefillin, in case I met another Jew.

As we hiked, I started conversations with every passerby. We met tourists from every part of the world. Australians, Europeans, Americans, Africans, Asians—you name it, they were there. We had some great conversations, but alas, nobody was Jewish.

Finally, towards the end of the hike, we met a young guy and his mother, hiking in the opposite direction. Before I could even say anything, he approached me and said hello. I could tell he was Jewish instantly—only Jews greet me like that.

I asked him if he’d like to put on tefillin, and despite the blistering head he agreed. He hadn’t used tefillin in years, but, here, with the breathtaking vista around us, he was thrilled to.

So there we were, two Jews in the Santorini mountains, wrapping tefillin and saying the Shema—a powerful moment indeed.

This is the power of our nation. I met people from dozens of countries throughout the hike, but we didn’t share that deep, essential bond. When I finally met this young Jewish man, we felt instantly connected, because we are, after all, family.

The greatest gift children can give their parents is getting along with their siblings. So now, as we approach Rosh Hashanah, let’s resolve to strengthen our bond with our Jewish brothers and sisters, wherever they may be.