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Rabbi's Blog

The Rabbi's thoughts culled from the "word from the Rabbi" in his weekly email

The Jeweler and the Knots

The other week I walked into Saxon's Diamond Centers and gave them a chain. I asked them to undo the knot. Minutes later, they were back with the knot gone.

The hours that went into trying to undo that knot… Pins, olive oil, YouTube, nothing doing. The jeweler spreads a square of dark velvet, lays the knot down, and, without force, begins to tease the threads apart. One loop, then another. He doesn’t yank. He listens to the chain. Minutes later, it lies smooth and shining, like it was never tangled.

That is Kol Nidrei, the prayer that starts off Yom Kippur, which all Jews celebrate tomorrow night. We bring in a year’s worth of knots (promises, never agains, from now on) and Kol Nidrei lays everything on velvet. It doesn’t rip; it releases. It’s the art of loosening what shouldn’t bind so we can re-tie what should.

A word of clarity: Kol Nidrei addresses promises between us and G-d (our personal vows). It doesn’t cancel debts to people or let us wiggle out of responsibility. If anything, it restores us so our word can be trustworthy again. This isn’t a loophole, it’s a life-line.

Let me give you three short meditations for Kol Nidrei, wherever you spend your services.

Meditation 1 Unsubscribe
A teacher once asked a class to write three “I am” statements they repeat in their heads.

The list was brutal
I am bad at prayer.
I am not a morning person.
I am the one who always messes up.

These are labels and lies disguised as facts. When labeling ourselves, we are signing a contract without reading the terms. Then we wonder why our soul can’t move. Kol Nidrei says: Unsubscribe. Those “I am’s” are not you.

Meditation 2 Covenant not Contracts
A contract is about performance: I do X, you do Y. A covenant is about presence: I am with you even when X and Y are hard. Many of our inner commitments (vows) are contracts we made saying:
“If I control everything, I’ll be safe.”
“If I please everyone, I’ll be loved.”
Those contracts keep charging our card and the product is never delivered.

Kol Nidrei cancels counterfeit contracts so we can renew the covenant with Hashem, with our people, and most importantly with our own soul. Not “I promise to be perfect,” but “I promise to be present.” That’s holier (and harder).

Meditation 3 We not I
The story is told about the sainted Rav Aryeh Levin of Jerusalem, who once went to the doctor with his wife because her leg was in pain. When the doctor called the couple into his office and asked what was wrong, Rav Levin responded that “our leg hurts.” Only after further questioning did the doctor understand that it was Rabbi Levin’s wife’s leg that was the problem. Rav Levin was not trying to be cute; rather, his life was so intertwined with that of his wife, and he cared for her so deeply, that he actually felt her pain.
When one part aches, we all come limping.

Notice the wording of Kol Nidrei. It’s not I, the individual. It’s we standing together, loosening knots together. Shame isolates; holiness gathers. If you’re tangled, please know that you don’t have to untie it alone. On kol nidrei night, we borrow each other and together we annul our vows, our collective and personal vows. “We” can do together what “I” cannot do alone.

Wishing everyone an easy fast and to be signed and sealed for a good and sweet year.

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Walking Into Change

We just celebrated Rosh Hashanah; the birthday of the world and the day we crowned Hashem as King. On Rosh Hashana we opened ourselves up to a greater vision for our lives.

For me it was inspiring, uplifting, and a little overwhelming.

The real question is how do we take that inspiration and bring it into our everyday lives?

The answer is hinted in this week’s Torah portion, Vayelech, “and he walked”. Our spiritual journey is meant to be a walk, not a run or jump. Walking isn’t dramatic; it is steady, small steps forward. Every step pointed in the right direction moves us further from where we were and closer to where we are meant to be.

That’s the gift of this Teshuva season. Teshuva means “returning”—returning to our truest selves. It doesn’t demand instant perfection. It simply asks for direction. One small step for man can be a giant step for the soul. It might be lighting Shabbat candles, saying Shema before bed, dropping a coin in the tzedakah box each morning, speaking a little kinder, or putting on tefillin.

The challenge after Rosh Hashanah is not to let the inspiration fade, but to anchor it in action.

What’s your step? What’s the one mitzvah you can commit to this year to keep the momentum going?

Have a wonderful first Shabbos of the year, 

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Is Your Food Ready?

Every so often the news carries a story of a prison break. Someone digs a tunnel with spoons, climbs walls with ropes, or sneaks out in disguise. For a moment, they breathe the sweet air of freedom. But it usually doesn’t last. Again and again, the escape is cut short by the same mistake: hunger. Searching for food, knocking on doors, or scavenging in trash bins is what so often gives them away.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything we see or hear can be a lesson in our service of Hashem. What can we learn from this?

Rosh Hashanah is the time when we reconnect to our truest freedom. At our core, we aren’t meant to be enslaved to habits, to distractions, or to anything other than Hashem. On Rosh Hashanah we proclaim Hamelech, Hashem is King, and remind ourselves that our only real dedication belongs to Him.

But inspiration is like an escape. At first it feels thrilling. We walk out of shul filled with clarity, uplift, and resolve. The question is: will we make it past the first days and weeks? Or will “hunger” send us searching, and in that search, cause us to slip back into old patterns?

The answer is food, spiritual sustenance. We need to pack food for the journey ahead. That food is the small, practical resolutions we take on that give lasting strength.

It doesn’t have to be dramatic. In fact, we are encouraged to keep it simple:

• Give tzedakah before lighting Shabbat candles.
• Say the Shema daily and spend two or three extra minutes in prayer with real focus.
• Attend a Torah class, or listen to a weekly Torah podcast (weekly class is on Spotify
 or Apple Podcasts)

These are the morsels that nourish the soul, the food that keeps inspiration alive long after the shofar has sounded.

As we step into 5786, let’s not just break free for a moment. Let’s stay free. Let’s prepare with enough food for the road ahead.

Wishing you blessings for a Good Shabbos and a Shana Tova!

Have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

For Rosh Hashanah info and services: HarfordChabad.org/holydays

Chosen and Bound Forever

One of the songs sung in Chabad tradition during the month of Elul is the haunting melody of the Alter Rebbe, sung to the verse from Shir HaShirim:
“Kol Dodi Dofek, Pischi Li Achosi, Raayosi, Yonasi, Tamasi – My beloved knocks: Open for me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one.”

It is the voice of the Hashem, gently knocking at our hearts.

But the verse raises a question: How can He call us both “sister” and “beloved”? Isn’t that a contradiction?

Chassidic teachings explain: A husband and wife share two levels of connection. On the surface, they are two individuals who choose to bond together. That bond, like any choice, can theoretically be broken. However, at a deeper level, they are like siblings, sharing the same essence, inseparable at the core. Husband and wife are, in truth, two halves of the same soul, destined to reunite.

That is why Avraham asked Sarah to describe herself as his “sister” when they faced mortal danger in Egypt. When the external bond is threatened, it is the essential connection, the sibling like unity, that remains unbreakable.

A story that captures this beautifully. A man (some say Moses Mendelssohn), was misshapen and hunchbacked. When he met his wife, she was at first so shaken by his appearance that she burst into tears. He explained that when he was born, his future wife had already been destined for him, but she was meant to be deformed or hunchback. “O Hashem,” he prayed, “let her be whole and beautiful, and give me the humpback instead.”

She saw his sincerity, and several months later they were married.

This is the message of Elul. Hashem knocks and whispers: “Open for Me, My sister, My beloved.” Yes, we can choose whether to embrace Hashem, like a spouse chooses love. But at the deepest level, we are inseparable, like siblings. Our soul is part of Him.

Elul invites us to nurture that essential bond. To quiet the distractions, tend to the soul, and remind ourselves that this connection cannot be broken.

So when the knock comes, answer.

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. Join us at Harford Chabad this Elul and High Holiday season. Opportunities for every age, every stage, every soul. See all upcoming events

Own Your Mission

If you’re anything like me, there are moments in life, whether in family, work, or community, when the role you find yourself in doesn’t feel like the one you would have chosen. Sometimes we wish for something easier, more glamorous, or more exciting.

Rabbi David Eliezrie, author of The Secret of Chabad, explains that one of the reasons Chabad thrives in small communities is because shluchim (emissaries) don’t have the option to pick up and move somewhere else. Where you are is where you stay. That commitment forces you to discover purpose right where you’ve been placed.

This idea connects to a law in this week’s Torah portion: the prohibition against charging interest on a loan. At first glance, it seems like an old financial rule. But on a deeper level, it teaches us that you can’t live today off of what you gave yesterday. Real growth comes from the effort you put in right now.

Your mission in life isn’t random. The assignment you’ve been given is precisely where your strengths and influence are needed most. Walking away from it is like trying to collect “interest” on past accomplishments, instead of investing yourself in the present.

You can’t trade in your calling.

When you accept your mission wholeheartedly, without excuses or substitutions, you find a sense of freedom. Just as the Exodus freed our ancestors from Egypt, embracing your own mission frees you from self-doubt and second-guessing.

Ask yourself: Am I trying to live off “interest” from what I’ve already done, or am I investing fully in the mission I’ve been given today?

Have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

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