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Our Beloved Hostages Are Home!

The entire Jewish world is celebrating, seeing Arbel Yehoud, Gadi Mozes, Agam Berger, and five Thai hostages being released this week.

Together, we bit our nails and held our breath, horrified at the mobs surging around them. Together, we cried tears of relief as they made it back onto Israeli soil. And together we laughed and cried and hugged each other as they ran into their loved ones’ arms, reunited after 482 endless days.

Their joy is our joy. Their tears are our tears. Jews all over the world—even those who have never been to Israel—are one people with one heart. We hurt for one another in times of pain; we celebrate for one another in times of joy. Never in recent history have we been more connected than over the past year and a half.

Watching the footage out of Gaza today, the contrast couldn’t be any clearer. Along with the masked and heavily armed terrorists, mobs of blood-thirsty citizens swarmed the hand-off, driving home just how much danger the hostages were in every moment they spent in that hell hole.

We cannot imagine the hell they’ve been through, held underground, malnourished, abused by Hamas monsters in the most deplorable ways. Our hearts overflow at their release, but we know they have a long, long road ahead of them.

None of us can come close to understanding the tremendous fear and pain they’ve been through, but perhaps in some small way we can see a parallel in the soul’s trajectory through this world.

Every day, right before we say the Shema, we beseech, “Our merciful Father, please have mercy upon us, light up our eyes with your Torah.” What do we mean?

You see, before we are born into this world, our soul lives in heaven, enjoying divine bliss. A lifetime of pleasure in this world is nothing compared to even a single second of pleasure that our souls enjoy in heaven, we are told.

And then, one day, G-d comes to our soul and tells it it's time to descend into this world where it will inhabit a physical body. The soul cries and begs not to go, but G-d says, “You have no choice; that is what’s needed.”

The soul then spends the next 120 years trapped in a physical body. For the soul, it’s a dark and bitter exile. It years to return home, back to its Father in Heaven. Every day in this world is a day of captivity for the soul.

But the good news is, we can play a part in its release.

 

What the soul years for more than anything else is to cleave to G-d. So every time we do a mitzvah, we are contributing to its redemption. Every time we put on tefillin, give tzedakah, say a blessing, opt for a kosher meal, show kindness, pray, go to shul, or do any other mitzvah, we are helping redeem our hostage—the soul.

And so we pray daily: Almighty G-d, have mercy upon our souls! We have become so accustomed to this physical world we inhabit that we no longer realize how dark it is. Have mercy upon our souls and light up our eyes with your Torah.

As we watch the all-encompassing joy of the families of the hostages who are finally reunited, we can know that that is the joy we will all feel with the coming of Moshiach.

Hamas is saying they won the war!

No words can accurately portray the absolute joy we all feel seeing our hostages finally released after 471 days in captivity.

After holding our collective breath to see if the transfer would actually pan out, the relief and exhilaration is simply indescribable.

Which pen can capture the feeling of seeing Emily and her mother hugging? How can we ever describe the emotions of Romi screaming with tears of joy in her mom’s arms? Which words can properly encapsulate Doron’s tears as she fell into her mother’s embrace?

We’ve never met these women, but we’re obsessed with every detail. This is when our nation shines. It doesn't matter if you’re right wing or left wing or centrist—we’re all family. We all care deeply for one another. We want to devour every detail. We want to know everything we can about our hostages because, truly, they are our brothers and sisters.

From all over the globe—Thailand, Tel Aviv, Japan, Johannesburg, Australia—we share the worry and the joy. Their pain is our pain; their joy is our joy. We are “Am echad b’lev echad,” one nation with one heart. It’s our secret weapon, our super strength. It’s what makes us invincible.

Despite our externalities, we are one deeply connected people.

I received a text from someone I know:

“Hey rabbi, good afternoon. I made a promise that when the hostages are released I will not touch my phone for the duration of Shabbat. My question is as follows: I was expecting all of the hostages to be released right away or within a week—not over six weeks, and that’s if everything goes to plan. So, technically, do I have to keep every week from now until the end of the six weeks, or is just this week fine?”

What a beautiful message! This guy doesn’t know the hostages or their families. He never met them in his life. And turning off his phone for all of Shabbat is extremely difficult. And yet, he is willing to keep the promise he made for their release! This is what Jews do.

And Hamas? Well, they’re busy telling the world that they won the war, but who really won?  Hamas represents the forces of evil and darkness in the world. Their vision is one of darkness, hatred, and intolerance.

Israel, on the other hand, represents light and kindness and truth. Their vision is one of light, love, and compassion. So who actually won this conflict? The answer is clear: Israel may have suffered significant losses, but its spirit remains unbroken. Its people continue to shine with a light and hope that cannot be extinguished.

The challenge for us now is to take this love and live with it in our daily lives, using it to strengthen and fortify ourselves until we are able to bring Moshiach and the Ultimate Redemption—may it happen right here and right now!

My Plane Was Diverted To Paris!

I was heading back to New York after spending a few magical days in Israel, visiting our Belev Echad team and having back-to-back meetings with all our staff there.

My flight was scheduled to depart at 1 am, landing in Newark at 5 am, and I figured I’d be able to get home before traffic built up.

I was in Jerusalem with my daughter that night, and suddenly we found ourselves in an extensive traffic jam. There was a protest going on, and we simply couldn’t move. The longer we sat, the more certain I became that I would miss my flight. Fortunately, the police showed up and directed us all to make a U-turn on the highway, and I made it to Ben Gurion in time. 

Exhausted after my whirlwind few days, I was deep asleep mid-flight when an announcement roused me. “If there are any doctors on board, please see a stewardess.” I know my brother is a doctor, but there’s nothing I can do in these situations, so I let myself fall back asleep.

About an hour later, all the lights came on and the pilot announced that due to a medical emergency on board, we would be heading back and landing in Europe.

A quick look at the flight map revealed that we were at least an hour across the Atlantic Ocean, and now we would be turning around and heading back. Oy gevalt!

I asked the stewardess where we would be landing, but they didn’t know yet. An hour later, the pilot announced we’d be landing at Charles-de-Gaulle in Paris.

After asking for further clarification, I was told that an elderly woman had fallen mid-flight, hit her head and passed out. Even after she regained consciousness, the flight attendants were concerned and felt she needed urgent medical attention, so they made the decision to turn around and head back to Europe.

We were on the ground in Paris for about an hour. An ambulance arrived to transport the woman and her family to a local hospital, and after that we continued on our way back to Newark.

What should have been an 11-hour flight turned into a 15-hour ordeal, and we landed at Newark around 9 am ( I definitely didn’t miss traffic!).

But here’s the thing: There were hundreds of passengers on the flight. Hundreds of people were terribly inconvenienced. Including me. I hate flying and try not to spend an extra minute in the air. Can't stand it. But despite the inconvenience, not a single passenger complained or protested or blew a temper. Incredible!

Why? People are so testy when traveling, why did everyone on our flight take it in stride? Because there was a medical emergency with another passenger, and we all care. Deep down we all love one another. We have compassion. We know that it could be us or one of our loved ones. Everyone on that flight knew that we were all in it together and there was nothing we could do but have patience and wish her the best!

What a lesson this was for me—and for all of us. We are all on one big massive plane together. It's called “the world.” And every action we take or don’t take affects everyone else.

Just like one woman’s head injury on an ELAL flight affected every single passenger who had to spend an extra four hours on the plane (and let’s be real, we all hate flying!), so does one Jew’s mitzvah in London affect every other Jew on the planet.

When a Jew in Japan, or Johannesburg, or New York, or Los Angeles does a mitzvah—or G-d forbid a sin—it sends ripples of waves across the universe, impacting all of us.

This woman hurt herself by accident and affected everyone on the plane—imagine how much more impact we have when we do an intentional mitzvah!

So think about what you can do: ask someone to put on tefillin, pray with a minyan, eat a kosher meal, extend kindness and grace to those around you. You have immense power to influence the trajectory of the entire world, bringing ever closer Moshiach and the Final Redemption.

As Long As You Are Walking You Are Safe

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.

The Jew Ignored My Son

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. 

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