Rabbi's Blog

My grandfather, Mordechai Schusterman, passed away in 1995. This Shabbos is his yahrtzeit. He ended off his will with the following:

"The one request I have of my children and grandchildren is that they should not be haughty." (In Yiddish: ניט בלאזן פון זיך  don't blow hot air about yourself).

This week's Torah portion, Parshas Behar, opens with a seemingly odd detail. G-d gives Moshe the laws of Shemita, the Sabbatical year, and the Torah goes out of its way to tell us that this happened on Mount Sinai.

Rashi, the classic commentator, asks; All the Torah's laws were given at Sinai, why mention it specifically here?

Sinai itself is teaching us something.

Mount Sinai was the lowest of all the mountains. When the Torah was about to be given, every mountain showed up before Hashem with its credentials. Mt. Tabor said: I'm the tallest. Mt. Carmel said: I helped split the Red Sea. And little Sinai? It just stood there. Hashem chose Sinai. Not despite its smallness, but because of what that smallness represents. Mount Sinai wasn't a valley or flat ground; it was elevated above the terrain around it. It had genuine height and real qualities. 

The Rebbe points out that the other mountains weren't wrong to see themselves as elevated. The problem was that they came to G-d boasting about them. "Look at me. Look at what I've got. Give me the Torah because of my greatness."

True bitul, true humble self-awareness, doesn't mean you don't know your own worth. Rav Yosef in the Talmud said, "Do not teach that humility has ceased, for I am here." He knew he was humble, and he said so out loud and fascinatingly that's not a contradiction. Knowing your qualities while not being driven by them, that's the real thing.

The Torah describes Moshe as "more humble than any person on the face of the earth." And yet Moshe knew he was the one chosen to receive the Torah. He knew his greatness.

How did he hold both?

He understood that his gifts came from Above. If Hashem had given those same qualities to someone else, that person might have done more with them. His humility wasn't false modesty; it was an accurate accounting of where greatness actually comes from.

And because of that humility, he became the vessel through whom the Torah was given to the world.

My grandfather wasn't a Rabbi; he was a printer and worked hard. He also merited to read the Torah for the Rebbe in 770 for close to 39 years.  He knew struggle and hard times. And yet, the single ask he put in his will was: don't be haughty.

That's Mount Sinai.

Humbleness is the prerequisite for receiving the Torah. (Shavuot is coming up in two weeks www.harfordchabad.org/shavuot).  Pride says, "it's mine," and Torah says, "it's G-d's." Ego and Torah cannot coexist in the same space.

Is there a relationship in your life where your ego is in the way? A conversation you haven't had because it would require admitting you were wrong? A person you've been looking down on, even subtly?

Sinai teaches that the way up is actually down. That the vessel for the greatest thing in the world, the Torah itself, was the smallest mountain. My grandfather, who lived that lesson in his own modest, devoted life, left it as the only inheritance that really matters.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. Rabbi Heschel is giving a class in Pirkei Avos, Ethics of our Fathers, every Shabbos morning at 9:15 am between now and Shavuos. It's the ultimate guide to the nurturing very qualities my grandfather was talking about. Come join and learn with us.

Life is a three-part experience.

The first part is a gift; childhood. You didn't have to work. You didn't have to do anything other than be home. Hopefully your parents were able to provide food, clothing, shelter, and love. They were simply given to you.

At some point, as a teenager or young adult, you started to pave your own path. That path came with bruises and bumps. You had to work through things. You had to show up and do the work.

And hopefully, eventually, you find yourself. You recognize what makes you you. You become comfortable living in the oneness and awareness of who you really are.

This is exactly the experience of Passover, the Omer (the seven weeks between Passover and Shavuos), and Shavuos itself.

On Passover, we were redeemed from Egypt as a gift from G-d. We didn't deserve it. The matzah, made from wheat, flat and simple, represents that humility and unearned kindness.

Then comes the Omer period. The offering brought during these 49 days is made from barley, animal fodder. It represents the work we do on our animal self: the self-absorbed, reactive, impulsive part of us.

On Shavuos, culminating the Omer counting, we bring a wheat offering. The very thing that's forbidden on Passover, leavened bread, becomes the mitzvah on Shavuos. Why? Because by then, we are so in tune with truth and with who we really are that our ego and our intellect are no longer selfish. They become a conduit for G-d and G-dliness.

We get to experience this same three-part journey every single day.

We start the morning with saying Modeh Ani; thanking G-d for gifting us another day. A pure gift, before we've done a thing to earn it. A Passover moment.

Then we say the Shema, the contemplation, the internal work, the soul-searching. That's the Omer offering.

And we end our prayers with the Amidah, standing before G-d in complete oneness with Hashem. That's Shavuos.

Three times a day. Every day.

When we read about the sacrifices and offerings in this week's Torah portion, don't think of them only as ancient rituals that haven't been experienced in thousands of years. Think of them as a guide for life; ways we can sacrifice our internal instincts, our ego, our animal impulses, in order to become one with Hashem.

The Temple may not be standing. But the three-part journey? That's available to each one of us, every single morning.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

We all desire good things in life. Good food, a comfortable home, a vacation, a promotion at work, and a glass of wine. It would seem that indulging in these physical wants would conflict with and perhaps compromise our spiritual growth. Yet we see that Judaism doesn't ask us to stop wanting any of that; it’s part of being human. The Jerusalem Talmud (did you know there are two Talmuds?) actually says that in the world to come, every person will have to give an accounting for every permitted pleasure they did not enjoy. You will need to explain why you didn't allow yourself to experience those pleasures that you denied yourself.

We live in a reality where "just one more" really isn’t just ONE more. A world where a business trip can quietly turn into a moral crisis. Where the buffet, the phone, the social media, the drink, etc., have a pull that is hard to ignore. In this reality, limiting our access is not a restriction on our freedom; it is the infrastructure to gain freedom.

Don't ignore your physical desires, and don't feel guilty for wanting things. When you engage with the world the correct way, with structure and intention, you're not just “not sinning”, you're revealing G-dliness and elevating that food, that moment, that experience.

Putting aside the phone to enjoy a steak dinner with your family transforms the dinner into intentional family time. A Shabbos meal isn't just “not doing work”, it's actively celebrating Shabbos. Disconnecting for a focused Torah study session, because otherwise that time will evaporate. Deciding in advance what you'll order so you can choose deliberately. These restrictions and limitations are like the scaffolding at a construction site that allows us to build something holy in the first place.

Let’s keep the traditions our grandparents upheld, not only because we're nostalgic, but because they have kept our people elevated for thousands of years. Add in your kosher adherence, put up another mezuzah, light Shabbos candles, make kiddush, and come to shul in the morning.

Enjoy the steak, the Shabbos meal, the vacation, the success, the good life, just put up the fence first! It's not there to keep you small, it's there to keep you you.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Have you ever committed to something bigger than your budget?

Maybe you pledged to a building campaign, said you’d cover the cost of a Kiddush, or told a friend “Don’t worry, I’ve got this”, and then quietly wondered how on earth you were going to pull it off.

That moment of stepping up beyond your means is actually the secret to opening new channels of blessing.

In this week’s Torah portion, we discuss tzaraas (a spiritual skin condition) and the purification sacrifices required afterward. Because animal sacrifices are expensive, the Torah has a two-tiered system: a wealthy person brings the more expensive animal sacrifices, whereas a poor person brings sacrifices made of just flour.

What happens if a poor person makes a vow to cover the sacrifice costs for a wealthy person? The Rambam (Maimonides) rules: the moment a poor person accepts the commitment, the Torah now views them as wealthy, and holds them to the wealthy person’s standard.

When we stretch beyond our financial reality to help another Jew something changes in the spiritual accounting world. G-d looks at what that person committed to, not what they currently have, and opens up new channels of blessing to make it happen.

The Rebbe shared a story that his father-in-law (the previous Rebbe), once encouraged someone to fund the printing of a Jewish book. The project’s cost was completely beyond that person’s means. The man accepted and the Previous Rebbe blessed him. At that time (and only a Tzaddik can say this), it wasn’t only beyond the person’s bank account, it was beyond the blessings allocated to him from Above.

After that commitment, the man became wealthy and was able to pay for the entire printing.

Although we need to put in effort, it’s not about the hustling or great timing. It’s making a commitment to something bigger than yourself.

When you sincerely take on a financial responsibility for another person, project, or communal need, even when the math doesn’t add up, you aren’t just spending money irresponsibly, you are creating the channels through which G-d can send you more.

The Rebbe says “G-d makes it possible for that person to carry out their positive resolution and to do so amidst wealth and prosperity.”

The next time you’re tempted to say “I can’t afford to give right now”, maybe ask yourself: can I afford not to?

Wishing you a Shabbat full of blessing and abundance,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. what would you do to open your own new channels of blessing? 

We concluded the Passover holiday with the Moshiach Meal, a custom instituted by the Baal Shem Tov and strongly emphasized by the Lubavitcher Rebbe. At this meal, we touched on the idea of the Messianic era; how we live in a physical world where pleasure and connection to G-d are not in conflict. The physical world is not an obstacle to G-dliness, it is the point.

This is the kabbalistic concept of Dira B’Tachtonim, G-d’s desire for a dwelling in the lower worlds.

The last day of Passover is the eighth day. Everything in the world exists in quantities of seven. There are seven days of the week, seven notes in a musical scale, and seven colors in a rainbow. Seven represents the natural order. Eight means above nature, beyond the confines of what is typical.

Also, this week’s Torah portion is called Shemini, eight, as it begins with, “And it was on the eighth day.” Eight comes after seven. It emerges from within the natural order and then transcends it. This is not an escape from the physical world; it is the elevation of it.

Typically, a person connecting with G-d begins at the bottom and reaches upward.

Eight is when G-d returns to the person and reveals how He was present the entire time. G-d does not want us to leave the world behind; He wants to be found within it.

Imagine living in a world where everything you see and experience feels like G-d walking with you down the path. Where an obstacle in your way feels like something you signed up for, even asked for.

The Rebbe taught that we are on the cusp of the messianic age. The redemption has begun, we just need to open our eyes. The question is not when it will come, but whether we are training our eyes to see it.

This week tells us that even though the Messianic era has not yet arrived in a fully revealed sense, we can access Moshiach-consciousness right now. Even while living in a physical world, we can learn to see everything, even the things that appear entirely natural, as beyond nature.

What does that actually look like? Here are three practical ways to begin training that lens:

1. Pause Before the Reaction "There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in" - Leonard Cohen
The next time something frustrating or difficult happens, before responding, take one breath and ask, “What is G-d showing me here?” Not to force a false positivity, but to create a crack of space where a different perspective can enter. Over time, that pause becomes a habit, and the habit becomes a lens. 

2. End Each Day with One Moment of Revealed Goodness
Before going to sleep, say the Shema. Recognize that G-d is running the world and identify one thing from your day that was clearly good, a conversation, a meal, a moment of connection, and say out loud, “This was G-d.” Then identify one thing that felt hard or neutral, and practice saying, “This was also G-d.” The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything comes from Divine Providence. This exercise trains the mind to mean what it says.

3. Learn Something from the Week’s Parsha Daily
The Rebbe emphasized that we must live with the times. This means not just reading the Torah portion, but making it alive and relevant to our lives. This week’s portion, Shemini, asks you to find the eight in your own life. Look for the place where you are being invited beyond your natural limitations. Spend some time each day learning the Torah portion (harfordchabad.org/dailystudy) and ask, where is this showing up in my life right now?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Have a transcendent Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

As we all prepare for Passover, which begins tomorrow (Wednesday) night, I want to encourage you to please consider, at a minimum, eating Matzah and drinking 4 cups of grape juice or wine after sundown, which is approximately 8 PM in Bel Air.

The Seder is a feast celebrating freedom. Freedom means having the ability to make choices on your own, without being held back by internal or external factors. This is true freedom.

We could put together a booklet for every line in the Haggadah explaining how it represents freedom. However, this Passover, I encourage you to take a moment to experience freedom. Not only going through a checklist of things that you must do to technically fulfill the requirements of the Seder, but to go to the Seder with an open mind and open heart. To recognize that 3,338 years ago, Hashem gave us the ability to choose. Hashem gave us the ability to recognize that every setback and every challenge is really an exercise routine meant to help us grow and see who we are in our souls.

When I speak to people who are in recovery, one of the things they tell me is that, by going through the 12-step process, they are forced to face their true selves and reveal their deepest selves.

The Seder is also a process; a 15-step process to true freedom.

Kadesh: Kiddush, sanctification. “Because I’ve created you in this world, because I’ve made you.” Hashem holds us in high esteem. We are holy.

Urchatz: Wash your hands, because we’re all imperfect. You are no less special than anybody else, and you are no more special than anybody else. We are setting the foundation of what it means to have a healthy understanding of who we are: created by Hashem, intentionally holy, and imperfect.

Karpas: We dip into saltwater. We begin to recognize that a profound, deep experience is about to unfold. A taste of bitter water. Tears. Making space for something we’re going to go through. Just a little bit to acknowledge what we’re about to experience.

Yachatz: The simple act of taking the whole self, cracking it, putting away the bigger half in hiding, and showing up with the smaller half, is a way of recognizing that, right now, we are still experiencing the smaller half of ourselves.

Maggid: Telling the story. We try to understand the whole of Egypt as we face our internal demons. Once you face your Egypt, you do not need to experience it ever again.

Rachtzah: Wash hands again. Recognize that while we are still working on ourselves, our hands are still imperfect.

Motzi, Matzah, Maror: We thank Hashem for the experience, the humility, and the bitterness. We experience each one separately.

Korech: We bring them all together. We recognize that the different parts of ourselves, the challenges and the blessings together is what makes us who we are and ready for redemption.

Shulchan Aruch: I am free and can enjoy that Hashem wants to nourish me. He wants me to experience physical pleasure together with divine pleasure. When done correctly, the physical pleasure is also part of serving Hashem.

Tzafun: The Afikoman. We can now reveal the full self that was hidden for a very long time. And who’s holding the bigger piece? The little kid (your inner child?).

Beyrach: Thank you, Hashem. You should be blessed as You gave me this perfectly imperfect life. You made me unique and free.

Hallel: We feel that we belong. The only thing left to do is get up and sing.

Nirtzah: The grand culmination of this entire process is to know that we are desired and wanted. Even if our Seder was imperfect, Hashem wants us.

This is the journey of Passover. From slavery to freedom, from hiding to wholeness, and from shame to song.

Just as our ancestors walked out of Egypt not knowing exactly what would come next, yet trusted that they were led by something greater, we too can walk out of this Seder a little freer than when we sat down. The matzah we eat is called the “bread of affliction”. It is also the bread of faith that our ancestors took with them on their way out. The same humble, simple thing that represents our pain is also the symbol of our redemption. That is the story of every one of us.

Wishing you and your family a kosher and joyful Passover; Chag Sameach!

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman
P.S. If this message resonated with you and you’d like to be part of creating a space where everyone has a place to celebrate, grow, and experience freedom together, please consider making a gift at harfordchabad.org/makeroom. Every contribution helps ensure that no one has to experience Passover alone.

There are certain things that need to be constant. They always need to be happening, not just last for a week or a year. They are beyond time.

The Torah tells us that the fire on the altar in the Holy Temple must always burn, without interruption. What makes this commandment remarkable is that even in a state of ritual impurity and even on Shabbos, the holiest day of the week, when nearly all labor is forbidden, the fire must burn.

Constantly

There are times when we may think we don't need a fire. We are in a state of ‘Shabbos’; attending every program, every class and fully invested in our spiritual experience. We feel at the peak of our religiosity. Even then, the Torah tells us that we need to keep the fire burning. That experience must not just technically be complete, another thing on our checklist, but also with passion, with fire.

Additionally, there are times when we feel very distant, impure. Times when we feel it is hard to generate a fire, an excitement for Judaism. In times of revealed antisemitism, it gets harder to be passionate, to be excited, to be outwardly Jewish. Yet, even in those times, even when we're feeling distant, the fire must not go out, we need to remain constantly excited.

And if the fire is missing, the sanctuary is incomplete. We can't convince ourselves that all is good as long as we're doing what we need to be doing. The fire must constantly burn! We must feel connected to the Torah that we study. Prayer should feel like a conversation with G-d; building an active relationship with Him. Acts of kindness and mitzvot must be done with excitement, passion and in a way that's contagious. Doing so will attract others to do the same; who doesn’t want to be part of something awesome and alive?

This is the challenge that the Amalekites created. They created a coldness, a frigidity, a lack of passion in our service of G-d. Amalek wanted us to feel that our Judaism was just habit and tradition/history. The antidote to that is the constant fire. Even though we are in exile, with challenges, we must remain alive, passionate and on fire.

Keep your fire burning,

Always  Constantly

Have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman 

As Rabbis go, I’m a good one, not mediocre or average, Good! This is not my ego talking, and if I told you otherwise, that wouldn’t be humility, it would be a lie.

I also recognize that I can’t take the credit. My upbringing, my experiences, the way my mind works, the way I connect with people, none of that was manufactured by me. It was given to me by Hashem.

Eighteen years ago, I was doing my Rabbinical residency in Buenos Aires, Argentina. At a late-night Chassidic farbrengen, Rabbi Shabtai Slavaticki shared something from the previous Rebbe, something I’ve never forgotten. “Just as you must know your shortcomings, so too, you must recognize your positive qualities.”

He spent the next few hours telling us that the message from the previous Rebbe is not permission to be arrogant, it is an assignment. Your talents aren’t just yours to enjoy. The gifts Hashem gave you become your responsibilities, the specific things only you can give back to the world.

Worried about your ego getting in the way? The antidote is to remember what Moshe taught and thought, “someone else with my gifts would do more with them than I am”. Show gratitude to Hashem by using your talents for good.

The last letter of the first word in this week’s parsha, the alef in the word Vayikra, and G-d calls to Moshe, is written small. Why? Because Moshe Moshe remained “small”-humble.

He knew, and everyone knew, that Hashem was speaking directly to him. However, even in that moment of extraordinary intimacy with Hashem, he told himself, “Someone else with my gifts would do more with them than I am”.

That small Alef is the balance: courage and self-esteem on one side, humility and gratitude on the other.

That balance of self-respect and humility is what we try to model for our kids, our students, and, honestly, for ourselves. It's a lifelong balancing act, and the attempt itself is a form of greatness.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Are you working for a living or living for your work?

We all know the juggle. On one hand, we believe that everything comes from G-d. On the other hand, we've got bills, deadlines, clients, and a business to run. So does G-d provide or do we need to hustle?

In this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayakhel, the Torah says, "Six days work shall be performed." The Chassidic masters point out something fascinating about this phrasing: it doesn't say, as is commonly mistranslated, "six days you shall work." It says work shall be performed, passively, as if the work happens on its own. That's a strange way to talk about your 9-to-5 (or, let's be honest, your 7-to-10).

But here's what the Parsha is getting at. The root of idol worship was never about people bowing to rocks for no reason. It started when people recognized that G-d channels His blessings through intermediaries like the sun, stars, and other natural forces, and they began treating those channels as if they had independent power. They started honoring the messengers and forgetting the Sender.

When a person gets too invested in their business, not just working hard, but believing that their success depends on their cleverness and their hustle, that's a subtle form of the same mistake. You're treating the intermediary (your job, your business) as if it's the source. You're bowing to the pipeline instead of Hashem who fills it.

Your business is like an ax cutting a tree. You need to hold the ax and swing it. But the moment you start thinking the ax is doing the cutting on its own, you've lost your mind.

Our work should be done as a matter of course and not with the frantic energy of someone who thinks it's all dependent on them. It should be with the confidence of someone who knows that their sustenance is coming from Above, and the work is simply the channel.

Before you close your laptop and take a nap, this doesn't mean you shouldn't work hard. Quite the opposite. The teaching says: invest your effort, do your job well, show up and labor. However, do it with the trust that it's G-d who's providing. As the verse says, "G-d your L-rd will bless you in all that you do". There needs to be something "you do" for the blessing to flow through.

The key is your mindset. Work hard, but don't worship the work. Put in the effort and recognize that success isn't coming from your brilliance alone. When you do that, something remarkable happens: the stress drops, but the productivity doesn't.

This week, try this: before you dive into your workday, take a moment to remind yourself that your business is a channel, not a source. You'll still put in the hours. You'll still make the calls. And you'll do it with a lighter grip; like someone who knows the Boss upstairs has already signed off on the paycheck.

That's not laziness, it's faith in action.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. This is exactly the lesson embedded in the aftermath of the Golden Calf, which we just read about last week. The Calf wasn't just a random mistake. It was the ultimate example of people investing spiritual energy into an intermediary and treating it as the source. The process of rectifying that sin plays out in this week’s Torah portion, where the Torah reframes how we approach our work and our material lives. When you conduct your business "as a matter of course", doing what needs to be done while knowing it's really G-d running the show, you're actively fixing the spiritual root of the Golden Calf. You're saying: "I use tools, but I don't worship them."

Have you ever noticed that the money you work hardest for is the money you feel most connected to?

G-d commanded the Jewish people to each give a half-shekel. Moshe was perplexed, how could this small gift of money bring atonement for the soul? How could a coin fix the soul?

G-d showed him something extraordinary. He pulled out a coin of fire from beneath the Throne of Glory and said, "This is what they should give."

A coin of fire. Think about that for a moment.

A coin represents something measured and defined. Fire represents passion and energy. These two things seem like opposites; structure and discipline vs. spontaneity and feeling. And yet, G-d fused them together into a single object: a coin made of fire.

This is the secret of tzedakah.

When you earn money, you pour your fire into it; your time, your creativity, your sweat and your passion. That money isn't just currency, it carries a piece of you. When you give that money to a good cause or to someone in need, you are taking your personal fire and transforming it into something holy. You are turning passion into purpose.

When you give tzedakah, you're not just being generous, you're being asked to do something that goes beyond your natural instincts. Although you might feel good about helping others, pure tzedakah means giving because G-d asked you to. Not because of how it makes you feel nor because the receiver "deserves" it. That's the "coin" part; the structure, the discipline, the acceptance of something higher than yourself.

And yet, the giving itself has to be done with warmth and sensitivity. You have to make the other person feel comfortable. Your acceptance of G-d's will isn't cold, it's infused with energy and feeling. Fire inside a coin.

That's why tzedakah is so powerful. It fuses two opposites within you. And when you can hold structure and passion together, discipline and feeling, it reaches deep enough to bring atonement for the soul. Even for the deepest stuff.

What does this mean for us, practically, in 2026?

There's something powerful about making tzedakah a daily habit, not just when you're in shul or at an event, but every single day (except Shabbos and Holidays). A small amount, consistently, with intention.

Most of us don't carry coins anymore (they discontinued the penny). Yet, we all have “smart” phones. You can set up a daily giving habit right from your phone, a modern-day "coin of fire" and direct it to causes that matter. To make this easier, we have partnered with Colel Chabad to use their Pushka App. Colel Chabad feeds the poor in Israel. Through the app, you can give daily to Harford Chabad, supporting Jewish life right here in Harford County, and to Colel Chabad, the oldest continuously operating charity in Israel, founded in 1788.

Download the app and join our Harford Chabad pushka at pushkapp.cc/harford-chabad.

It takes 30 seconds to set up. And every day, your phone becomes your pushka, your personal coin of fire.

The half-shekel was small. The fire inside it was infinite. Your daily giving can be the same.

Have a wonderful Shabbos!

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

When we truly understand that the G-d who created the universe is the same G-d within us, what room is left for our ego? The self doesn’t disappear; it becomes something greater. Like an engraved letter of the tablets, it becomes one with something infinite.

When we act from a place of genuine selflessness and oneness with Hashem (A.K.A. bitul) our impact on the world grows immeasurably. The ego steps aside and makes room for something much larger.

Placement in Torah is never accidental. In last week's Torah portion, Terumah, the Torah describes the construction of the Sanctuary’s vessels. In this week’s portion, Tetzaveh, it details the priestly garments. The Golden Altar, where the incense was offered, appears only at the very end of this portion, not together with the other vessels, and almost as an afterthought.

Why? The incense offering was unique. The Torah says that when the Kohen entered to offer it, no one else, not even the angels, were permitted to be present. It was a moment of pure, private communion between a single soul and G-d.

The Golden Altar’s placement at the end of the building of the Mishkan’s narrative is a message to us. This is the ultimate purpose of everything that came before it. All the vessels, all the garments, all the public ceremony, they lead, finally, to the moment where it counts. To the private moment when no one is watching except G-d.

In our age of social media and constant connectivity, we've inadvertently turned even our most sacred moments into content. The meaningful experiences that used to happen quietly, now get filtered, framed, and shared with hundreds of people. And somehow, in the telling, the experience itself changes. It becomes less about what actually happened and more about how it appears.

But here's what the Torah is really saying to us: the moment that matters most is the one no one else will ever know about. It's not about the identity you curate online or the person you become in public. It's about who you are when it's just you and G-d, because that's the person you really are. That's the person whose soul is shining, whose positive actions ripple through the world in ways you may never see. And that's the person whose connection to something infinitely greater than ego is the truest source of our meaning and impact.

Join us this Shabbos in shul, don’t worry it won’t be posted on social media :),

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Are we all equal before G-d or does everyone have a unique role?

The answer is both and the Torah portion this week makes the case for each.

The portion discusses two very different kinds of contributions to the Sanctuary. The first was the half-shekel coin, which every Jew was required to give, that went towards the sockets holding up the beams. The wealthy could not give more, and the poor could not give less. In this, we are all equal; each soul carries the same infinite worth before G-d, and each person's kabbalas ol, their acceptance of the yoke of Heaven, is equally precious.

Yet the Torah also describes the voluntary contributions.  Each person gave "as his heart moved him" of gold, silver, copper, fine linen, and precious stones. Here, individual differences matter enormously. The person with greater financial resources gives more. A person with artistic talent contributes differently than the one gifted in physical labor.

The same is true spiritually. At the foundation, we are all equal. Each of us accepts the mitzvos, lights Shabbat candles, puts on tefillin, and gives tzedakah. These are our half-shekel moments. However, the Sanctuary cannot be built on sockets alone. The beams, the curtains, the Ark, all of these required each person to bring their unique gifts, their particular strengths, their one-of-a-kind contribution.

Don't just meet the minimum. Bring yourself, your talents, your resources, your heart, to build something beautiful together.

Interestingly, the Talmud teaches aseir bishveil shetisasheir, give generously, so that you will become enriched in return. This means not only giving money or volunteering, but giving of yourself: to study, to connect, to grow. A "wealthy person's offering", whether financial generosity, time, or diving deeper into Chassidic thought, becomes a conduit for blessing, not just for the community, but for the giver themselves.

This thought struck me particularly this week, as I've been working on expanding our Chai Partner program, those who support Harford Chabad with a monthly gift. There's something about the rhythm of consistent, monthly giving that mirrors the half-shekel: a steady, reliable commitment that says I am part of this. And yet, like the voluntary offerings, each person's contribution is entirely their own, shaped by their means, their heart, and what this community means to them.

The Torah isn't just describing how the Sanctuary was built thousands of years ago. It describes how every community is built, one person's unique offering at a time.

Have a good shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman 

David had a special coat. One day, he asked his friend Sam to watch his coat while he went to play. When David came to get his coat back, Sam said, "Oh no! Someone stole your coat while I was watching it!"

David was sad. But wait! David's other friends saw something. They said, "Sam, that's not true! We saw YOU take the coat and hide it in your house!"

What happens now?

The Rule: When someone promises to watch something for you, and they say it was stolen, but it turns out THEY took it themselves, they have to give back double!

It's like when you promise to be careful with your friend's toy, but then you break it on purpose and lie about it. You'd have to make it extra right because you weren't honest.

The Torah says it clearly: "For any sinful word, for a bull, for a donkey, for a lamb, for a garment, for any lost article, concerning which he will say that this is it, the plea[s] of both parties shall come to the judges, [and] whoever the judges declare guilty shall pay twofold to his neighbor."

While this seems like a simple legal case, there's a deeper spiritual message here. Our souls were given to us to watch over. When we misappropriate our spirituality, when we take what's meant to connect us to Hashem and use it for other purposes, we need to pay back double.

Many people don't think for themselves Jewishly. They just want to fit in and to be accepted by their neighbors. They'd rather not wear their Judaism on their sleeve. In the verse, these people are referred to as sheep; always following the culture around them rather than their Shepherd.

Then one day comes the realization: "I need to start to change." But how?

Go to the Judges, the Moses of the generation, and double what you've been doing until now.

Until now you came to one class? Come to two. Until now you went to classes but not to prayer services? Add that too. Do more. Grow beyond what you're "used to." Walk around as a proud Jew!

Then something beautiful happens: You become so connected with G-d that you follow Him like a sheep follows its shepherd. Not doing mitzvos because "I understand them," but because my Shepherd said I should.

Have a good Shabbos,
Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. This lesson connects perfectly with the upcoming holiday of Purim!

Haman accused the Jewish people to King Achashverosh: "There is one nation scattered and dispersed among the peoples... and they do not keep the king's laws." He was describing Jews who tried to blend in, who were "scattered and dispersed," swayed and influenced by everyone around them. They weren't keeping the laws of the King, the King of the Universe.

But on Purim, everything changed. The Jewish people came together and proudly stood up for who they were! They stopped hiding and started being the sheep who follow their true Shepherd. Queen Esther revealed her Jewish identity and Mordechai refused to bow to Haman. The entire nation united in their commitment to Torah.

This Purim, let's take the lesson of "twofold payment" to heart: Double down on your Jewish pride and commitment. Wear your Judaism proudly and celebrate with joy! We're not here to blend in with everyone else. We're here to shine as the special nation we are, following Hashem our Shepherd.