Rabbi's Blog

There's an old joke we often share: What is worse than finding a worm in your apple? Finding half a worm.

This carries deeper wisdom when we read in this week's Torah portion about tzaraas, a spiritual affliction that presents similar to leprosy. What is worse than finding out you are fully covered in tzaraas? Finding out that half your body is covered.

Surprisingly, being fully covered is actually better! Why? Because then you remain pure.

As the Torah says, "And if the tzaraas has spread over the skin, and the tzaraas covers all the skin of the [person with the] lesion, from his head to his feet…he has turned completely white—he is clean" (Vayikra 13:12-13).

In other words, while a partial lesion may require isolation and purification, once the condition covers the entire body, the Torah declares the person pure!

One powerful explanation for this seemingly paradoxical law is that when your entire body is covered in tzaraas, the battle between good and evil becomes crystal clear. The division between right and wrong is so evident that healing has already begun.

Complete coverage represents that you've successfully separated your internal experience from external afflictions. All negativity is being expelled from your inner self, and you're well on your way to recovery.

When we face situations that blur the line between right and wrong, we need guidance (like going to a Kohen in biblical times). However, when something is clearly wrong, we should appreciate the gift of that clarity. The decision becomes straightforward, sparing us the struggle of moral uncertainty.

In today's world, there is often a lack moral clarity. The more we study Torah and integrate its timeless values into our daily lives, the easier it becomes to distinguish between good and evil. Our spiritual vision sharpens, allowing us to navigate life's challenges with confidence.

May we all merit to maintain our inner purity while keeping life's challenges external. When faced with difficult choices, may the light of Torah illuminate our path forward with clarity and conviction.

Have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Dr. Velvl Greene was a professor of epidemiology at the University of Minnesota around 1960. He worked on NASA's program to find life on Mars. Despite being a scientist immersed in the secular world, his path would cross with Rabbi Moshe Feller. Once, before a trip, Rabbi Feller convinced the professor to order a kosher airline meal to inspire other Jewish passengers.

"If it will make you happy, I'll do you the favor," Dr. Greene reluctantly agreed, though he continued eating non-kosher at home.

On the flight, disaster struck. His kosher meal never arrived. While other passengers enjoyed their dinner, Greene sat hungry and increasingly frustrated. His anger built: at the airline, at himself for agreeing to this arrangement, and especially at Rabbi Feller for putting him in this position.

During a midnight stopover at Chicago's O'Hare airport, the hungry professor spotted an open non-kosher hot dog stand. The aroma was irresistible. Fuming, he called Rabbi Feller collect to announce his rebellion.

"I'm about to eat a non-kosher hot dog with mustard, onions, relish and kraut," he declared, "and with each bite, I'll be thinking of you!"

The rabbi listened patiently before responding with unexpected simplicity: "Velvl, you've often asked me about the essence of Judaism. Tonight, I'll tell you. It's about passing the hot dog stand and not buying one. That's all of Judaism; the rest is commentary."

"You're crazy!" the professor exclaimed before hanging up.

At the counter, something profound happened. He couldn't bring himself to order. In that moment of hesitation, a deeper understanding emerged. The kosher laws, which seemed arbitrary and inconvenient, suddenly revealed their spiritual purpose. This wasn't about food or rules; it was about his relationship with G-d and his identity as a Jew.

The kosher laws, like many Jewish traditions, aren't always easily explained through logic. They are chukim—divine statutes given without explicit rationale. Yet throughout history, these practices have served as a daily reminder of Jewish identity and covenant. In choosing to pass by that hot dog stand, Dr. Greene wasn't just making a dietary choice; he was embracing his heritage and reconnecting with something eternal.

Dr. Greene never ate non-kosher again. That single moment of choice, that small "no" to a hot dog, became a transformative "yes" to a deeper, more meaningful life.

What mitzvah is your “hot dog” that can transform your relationship with Hashem, because you embraced the connection over the hunger pangs.

Have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Long ago in 1772, there was a kind and wise Rabbi named Menachem Mendel Horodoker. He and his friends went on a big adventure, leaving the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth to live in a special place called Eretz Yisroel - AKA Israel/The Holy Land.

One sunny day in Jerusalem, something exciting happened! A man climbed up a tall mountain called the Mount of Olives. At the very top, he blew a shofar. The sound was so loud that everyone in the whole city could hear it!

"WHOOOOOOOOO!" went the shofar.

All the people in Jerusalem started running around excitedly.

"Did you hear that?" they shouted. "The Moshiach has arrived! The world is going to change and become magical!"

The news spread faster than spilled juice on a white tablecloth! Everyone was talking about it.

Rabbi Mendel heard all the noise outside. He walked over to his window and opened it wide. Then he did something funny - he stuck his nose out and took a big, deep sniff of the air, like he was smelling for Kosher for Passover cookies baking.

After his big sniff, Rabbi Mendel smiled gently and shook his head.

"Not yet, my friends," he said. "When Moshiach really comes, the whole world will feel different. Everything will be filled with wonder and goodness, like the ocean is filled with water. We're not quite there yet."

Later his friend, Reb Gronem, explained: "Do you know why Rabbi Mendel had to stick his head OUT the window to check? Because inside his own little house, the air was ALREADY filled with that special magic of Moshiach! His room was so full of goodness and wonder that he couldn't tell the difference!"

This story is shared by Chassidim for over 200 years. But what is the message?

One message is that even before the global era of Moshiach, we can choose to live a life where exile, limitations, small minded thinking doesn't exist. So much so that our life inside is essentially messianic. To see if the global Moshiach has arrived, we need to open the window and smell the energy outside.

On the last day of Passover, we celebrate the possibility for this energy with the "Moshiach Meal". RSVP HERE The form will close once we are full or at noon on Friday. 

Join us if you can. If you can't, ask yourself how can I make Moshiach energy more real in my life?

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Passover is the Holiday of Freedom.

To celebrate freedom, we have a whole ritual called a Seder, which means order. For most people freedom means lack of order, no rules and I get to do what I want!

One who grew up Torah observant and now is no longer observant, in Yiddish they are called “Frie”, pronounced “fry”, which means free.

How does this freedom affect my connection with my higher power?

When you have a relationship with a G-d that recognizes the “Egypt” you live in and you trust that Hashem will take care of you, like he did for the Jews in the original Egypt on the original Passover, then you are truly free. You have a structure. E.G., at the Seder we first focus on the good and holiness (kadesh) and only then start to dabble with the challenges (karpas in saltwater).

True freedom is when you are free from worry, both the spiritual and material kind. True freedom is when you have nothing holding you back; no internal or external constraints and boundaries to living a complete Jewish life.

When you sign up for the limitations of an exclusive relationship with Hashem, you open yourself up to all the benefits of a meaningful, personal, and exclusive relationship.

To be free, you need to accept that structure, seder, is good.

Have a freeing, kosher, happy and orderly Passover.

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman 

While Judaism encourages us to not overly focus on material desires. It is permissible to enjoy the pleasures of life, there is a call to be mindful of choices that contribute to overall well-being.

As we approach Pesach It is interesting that, the plagues begin with the plague of blood rather than the plague of frogs. What distinguishes blood from frogs, and why does this order matter?

In Hebrew, Egypt is referred to as "Mitzrayim," which literally means limitations. The plagues, beginning in the Nile, are not merely punitive measures against the Egyptians but serve a deeper purpose – to guide us in understanding how to navigate our own constraints and limitations.

Blood represents life. Frogs are cold-blooded creatures. The symbolism here is profound. Life, full of vitality, is essential in our connection with the divine. The call is that before abstemiousness detaching from the physical world, we must infuse our actions with spiritual meaning and passion, with Torah and Mitzvot. Not because we MUST but because it brings vitality.

Our behavior and expressions of G-dliness must be vibrant, passionate, and full of zest. By ensuring that our connection to spirituality is alive and dynamic, our navigating the physical world can be with less attachment to its draw and temptation.

The Torah suggests that once our spirituality is alive and passionate, our connection to the physical world can naturally diminish. It is a dance between the two worlds, where a robust spiritual connection becomes the prerequisite for disengaging from excessive material pursuits.

This is just one insight before we start Passover, the intertwining of our spiritual and physical lives is a delicate balance. Rather than just avoiding the physical, the main thing is transforming our actions to be infused with spirituality.

This enriches our spiritual connection and allows us to navigate the limitations (Mitzrayim) of the physical world more thoughtfully.

Let us strive to have an alive, passionate connection with Hashem and spirituality, making our Shabbat and our Passover and our daily lives truly meaningful.

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

What's more important, the individual or the collective? 

How important am I? Is my only value being part of the community? Do I have a unique value that I bring on my own?

We find something interesting in this week's Torah portion when speaking about the accounting done of all the funds brought in for the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. The parsha begins by saying; every one whose heart is willing - כֹּל נְדִיב לִבּוֹ, each individual’s dollar was counted and shown appreciation and importance. And then we see how this portion is all about how all the contributions added up to making the whole Mishkan project possible.

This is especially relevant for our community here in Harford County. In building the Harford Haven (harfordhaven.org), we recognize that each individual is donating as much as they can, while the total of all the gifts is making the building a reality.

Interestingly, in different societies they emphasize one side of this equation. In America, individualism is most important; the value of each person's unique and diverse perspective is appreciated. In other cultures, what’s important is only how a person is part of the larger group, like in communism.

Judaism tries to strike a balance. Every individual is valued for their individualism and individual importance. Yet each one together will make up the Jewish people.

This is one of the messages of this week's Torah portion. It not only accounts for every dollar that was given but also ensures that every person recognizes that their contribution, no matter the size, is important. Together, they made the Mishkan possible.

You are important. Your individual contribution to society and to the Jewish people is imperative. Simultaneously, you are part of a commnity that is not the same without U.

Jdaism is missing something without U. 

Hope to see you soon and have a good Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. to sign up for the seder visit harfordchabad.org/seder

 P.P.S. did you get the HarfordHaven.org  mailer? The bilding wants U to get involved.

This past week I spent a day in PA. I started out in Hershey, not because I was taking the kids to Hershey Park, but to visit a local Jew in the hospital. On the way home I went to put up mezuzahs by a Jewish woman who lives by the PA/MD border.

Being a Rabbi comes with all sorts of perks and challenges. Ultimately, my days needs to be guided by "what does Hashem want from me today?".

In this week's Torah portion, it tells us that "The princes (tribe leaders) brought the Shoham stones". Since all the dedications for the tabernacle were brought before they got there, they didn't know what to offer. So, they donated the Shoham stones, etc.

A leader's primary responsibility is to ensure that the community members fulfill their role. Ideally, if leaders execute their role effectively, the people will rise to the occasion and contribute all they can. This is exactly what happened by the building of the tabernacle. The only contributions left for the tribe leaders to bring were those that the people simply did not possess.

The leaders still got a little flack. They were lax in ensuring that they too can partner in the mishkan building process. While a leader's primary responsibility is to guide and inspire others, he cannot neglect his own personal service of G‑d.

We too are each a leader. Sometimes of others and sometimes of ourselves. While we need to make sure that others are taken care of, we also must be on top of our own spiritual self-care.

Why shlep to Hershey, PA? Because when you are in a hospital far from home, you need to know that your community leaders care about you. Why the mezuzahs? Because this woman is making sure that her family is taking care of their spirituality and it's my job to support that. Additionally, doing mitzvahs for others is my own spiritual self-care. After all, the Baal Shem Tov writes that a soul comes into the world for 70-80 years just to do a favor for another, spiritually or physically.

Have a good Shabbos,
Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

I have met people who seem distant from traditional Jewish life, yet they display real sacrifice to express and ensure their Jewish identity isn't hidden.

Paradoxically, we find many Jewish communities evaluate themselves and others based on outward observance, measuring adherence to Jewish Law as the quantifier of religious commitment.

True Jewish law and practice remain the foundation of our tradition. However, Purim reveals that Hashem's connection to each and every Jewish soul operates on a level that transcends this accounting.

The Purim story unfolds without overt miracles or explicit mention of the Divine Name. At the same time, when the Jews faced annihilation, even those who participated in the non-kosher (immoral?) party that Achashverosh hosted demonstrated a commitment to their Jewish identity.

Kabalistically, every Jewish person possesses a unique capacity for true oneness to not separate themselves from G-d's unity under any circumstances whatsoever.

Consider the paradox: Purim allows for work, unlike the formal sanctity markers of other holidays, yet Purim is considered spiritually superior to even the biblically mandated festivals. Even Yom Kippur is called Yom HaKiPurim, the day that is like Purim. This teaches us that holiness sometimes manifests precisely where we don't expect to find it.

Similarly, the souls who may seem distant from traditional observance may nevertheless carry within them that same spark of mesirus nefesh (self-sacrifice) that characterized the Jews of Purim. Their connection to Hashem stems from the level of G-dliness where "there is in fact no distinction between what we experience as 'bad' and 'good,' darkness or light."

When we internalize that Hashem's love operates from this transcendent level, we can begin to see each Jew through the deeper reality of their essential connection to the Divine and not through the lens of their current religious practice.

This is not to diminish the importance of mitzvot or Torah study but to recognize the connection that exists even before and beyond religious practice.

Therefore, on Purim we are encouraged to get to a point where we have no knowledge of the difference between Haman and Mordechai. This can help us tap into our soul level, seeing each other as Hashem's child, regardless of where we each stand religiously. And perhaps then, we can seize the moment to shine forth and connect with tradition in a way we never allowed ourselves to.

When we approach each other with this awareness, recognizing that Hashem's love reaches every Jewish soul regardless of their current level of observance, we participate in revealing that higher unity that Purim celebrates – where distinctions fade and we glimpse, if only for a moment, the undifferentiated love that flows from the Divine Essence itself.

Happy Purim and good Shabbos.

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

Have you ever felt super happy for no special reason? That's what we call the joy of just being!

On the holiday of Purim, we celebrate this special kind of happiness. We read the story, give gifts and presents, eat yummy food, and have fun together. This helps us feel a happiness that's bigger than anything we can touch or see.

Most days, we're busy with school, chores, and activities. We forget to notice how amazing it is to just be alive! But during Purim, we need remember this special feeling.

There are different kinds of happiness we can feel:

Body Happiness: When you run fast or build something cool
Feeling Happiness: When someone gives you a big hug
Thinking Happiness: When you solve a tricky math problem
Soul Happiness: When you feel connected to God
Just Being Happiness: The best kind! This is when you're happy just because you exist

As Purim approches, try to notice moments when you feel happy for no reason at all. Maybe when you're quiet, or laughing with friends, or just looking at the sky.

Remember - you don't need to do anything special to deserve happiness. You're amazing just because you're you!

Happy Purim!

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman
P.S. I hope you can join us www.harfordchabad.org/purim 

Orthodox means ordinary, normal.

I have always been fascinated by the Think Different ad from Apple.

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

The Mishkan, the tabernacle, was made mainly with "atzi shittim", acacia wood. The word shittim comes from the word shtus, foolishness or silliness.

It is important to follow ordinary Jewish law, the "orthodox" interpretation, without trying to find loopholes to make the law fit my wants. Still, at times, we need to be foolish and uncalculated.

A friend struggled to follow the Rebbe's OB"M directive to learn the daily portion of Rambam, Maimonides. Despite it not making sense with his schedule, he foolishly accepted upon himself to learn just the first book, even though he fell behind many a time. Giving in to his foolishness allowed him to accomplish something he thought he'd never do. Tomorrow, Friday, he will finish the entire cycle! Learn more at HarfordChabad.org/Rambam.

To build a home for G-d, we may need to do irrational things. Not stupid actions, but Supra-rational ones.

E.G. My day is full, and I don't have time to study. Commit to not go to sleep any night without having learned something (harfordchabad.org/dailystudy is a great place to start) and watch how time makes itself available. Moreover, notice how the learning has an effect on you.

So yes, it is the crazy ones who change the world.

Are you ready to do something crazy and make this world a home for G-d?

Have a good Shabbos.
Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

 One of the important aspects of observing kosher is keeping milk and meat properly separated. This prohibition is derived from the verse, "Do not cook a kid in its mother's milk". This verse appears in the Torah three times, twice in Exodus and once in Deuteronomy. The Sages explain that the repetition of the verse teaches us that it is not only forbidden to cook meat and milk together, but also to eat or derive benefit from the mixture.

While the Talmud teaches that this is a “Chok” commandment, one we do not know the reason for, there is one explanation that I found quite interesting.

Milk and meat represent opposites. Milk itself is liquid and flowing, symbolizing giving without accounting. Milk induces calm and tranquility (to the point of drowsiness). Meat (beef) is red, solid, and served hot. Red creates pressure and density, and meat itself causes desire and passion to break boundaries.

Sometimes, in the name of peace we try to mix two things and create a third thing.

Suppress the calm, suppress the passion, and live a life of quiet desperation. Take two good things that when separate can be amazing but together cancel each other out. This type of peace never lasts.

It’s important to be you. To be proud of who you are and to be peaceful. Shalom (peace) in Hebrew comes from the word shalem, which means complete. The first step in peace is knowing who you are. The second step is to find compromise.
This is perhaps one of the reasons why milk and meat together are always forbidden. Instead of allowing each to exist fully, it nullifies them into non-existence and suppresses each one’s identity.

As we navigate the world, don’t suppress who you are. Be a proud Jew, a proud American, a proud _______ (fill in the blank).  Once you do that, see if there is place for compromise where you and the person you are in disagreement with can each exist in their full self, and still find a middle ground.

Have a peaceful Shabbos,
Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. A telling story: An angry and bitter husband and wife stood before the Maggid of Kozhnitz. The man complained: "My wife makes delicious kugel for Shabbat, I love the kugel and look forward to it all week, but my wife torments me. She insists on serving the fish first, then the soup, then chicken and potatoes, and only when my stomach is full, and I can't take another bite - she brings the kugel!"

The wife replied: "This is how my late mother, peace be upon her, would do it, serving the kugel only at the end of the meal, and I cannot violate my mother's custom."

The Maggid suggested making two kugels: one to eat right after kiddush as the husband wished, and the other to be served at the end of the meal according to the wife's custom. The couple left happy and satisfied.

Chassidim related that from that day on, two kugels were served at the Maggid's table: one after kiddush, at the beginning of the meal, and one, as usual, with the meat at the end of the meal. The first kugel was called "the kugel of peace in the home".

When young Tel Aviv was preparing for a visit from Winston Churchill, the British Colonial Secretary, Meir Dizengoff, Tel Aviv's mayor, wanting to impress the distinguished guest, ordered city workers to uproot a row of trees from the Mikveh Israel school and replant them in front of his house on Rothschild Boulevard.

The reception appeared green and festive. When the orchestra began to play and the large crowd pressed forward to greet the honored guest, the rootless trees toppled to the ground. Churchill, with his characteristic insight, told Dizengoff something profound: "Mr. Mayor, without roots, nothing will grow here..."

What do we do when things appear to be falling apart, when the world seems to be in upheaval and craziness? How do we use the “rotting” of the world around us as a catalyst for growth? How do we solve problems with fresh eyes?

Light cannot illuminate light; it simply dissolves into it. To receive new light, we must first create space by releasing our attachment to previous understanding. For a seed to grow, it needs to decompose into the soil and only then when it is dark, can it birth a tree.

However, that tree only grows when we invest deeply in nurturing their roots. The journey often requires letting go of our protective layers to unite with something greater than ourselves. To create something far greater than itself, the seed must empty itself and open to the infinite power of growth. As long as the seed maintains its current form, it can only produce results of similar size. But, to give rise to a majestic tree capable of bearing countless new seeds, it must sacrifice its outer layers and connect with the infinite force of growth itself.

The challenge with this is that it is uncomfortable.  This spiritual vertigo isn't just uncomfortable, it can be frightening. Into this emptiness might creep doubt and uncertainty, challenging our sense of security. But this very uncertainty is the birthplace of renewal.

No one wants or asks to be challenged. Yet, when we are, we need to look at it with the lenses of growth. 1) This darkness, this job loss, this world upheaval is an empty space on the path for greater light and 2) If our roots, our trust in G-d, are strong then nothing can topple us.

Have a good Shabbos and a happy Tu B’Shvat! (Today, Thursday, is the 15th of Shvat - the new year for trees)

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman

P.S. Did you ever wonder why the dove in Noah’s ark came back with an olive branch? The olive tree has deep roots, spread horizontally, growing tough and strong, penetrating deep into the earth and between rocks, preserving them through time. Through these resilient roots, the trunk continuously renews itself.

Noah's dove managed to find one stubborn, resilient olive tree whose trunk and roots have survived the flood's pressure (perhaps it stood at a higher elevation where the water pressure was less intense). In the brief time since the water began receding, it had already sprouted fresh leaves - a powerful symbol of renewal and resilience.

The weight of financial responsibilities can feel overwhelming. The costs of maintaining a Jewish lifestyle, from kosher food to yeshiva tuition, from community obligations to daily necessities, can create a deep sense of fear.

When the Jewish people cried out in fear of starvation, Hashem's response wasn't punishment for their lack of faith. Instead, He provided the manna precisely to create the conditions for spiritual growth.

The Midrash's teaching that "Torah was given to be expounded upon only by the eaters of manna" reveals a fundamental truth: When our basic needs are met, we gain the mental and emotional space to connect with something higher. Just as the manna provided physical sustenance, it also created the foundation for receiving and understanding Torah.

This wisdom speaks directly to our daily struggles:

• When we hear voices of doubt about dedicating time to Torah study
• When we feel pressured to prioritize material success over spiritual growth
• When we worry about providing for our families while maintaining our commitment to Jewish life

The message isn't to abandon practical efforts entirely. Rather, it's about finding the balance, having "basic work" that creates a vessel for Hashem's blessings, while maintaining our primary focus on spiritual growth and Torah study. Just as the manna came daily, teaching dependence on Hashem while requiring action to gather it, we too must combine our practical efforts with deep faith.

The same Hashem who sustained our ancestors in the desert continues to provide for those who dedicate themselves to His service. When we shift our perspective from anxiety about tomorrow to gratitude for today's provisions, and dedication to what Hashem wants from us, we create space for both material and spiritual abundance to flow.

Have an amazing Shabbos,

Rabbi Kushi Schusterman