Do you feel like you're working hard but not seeing the results you intended? Do you try to do the right thing but struggle to see the benefits? Do you feel tired, worn out by the grind of life?
The answer lies in this week's double Torah portion, Matos and Masei, which together close the book of Bamidbar. While Masei details the 42 journeys of the Jewish people through the desert, Matos begins with the laws of vows and the power of a person's word. At first glance, the two sections seem unrelated, but taken together, they offer a profound lesson about life's journey and our ability to shape it.
Masei records each of the Israelites' stops from Egypt to the edge of the Promised Land. These weren't just travel points on a map; as the Baal Shem Tov explains, they reflect the spiritual stages every soul passes through in life. Some are uplifting, others deeply challenging, but all are part of a meaningful, G-d-guided process. At each stop, no matter how difficult or seemingly mundane, we play a role in our inner growth.
Matos, on the other hand, emphasizes the power of speech, that a person's words can create binding realities. This teaches us that while our journey may be divinely orchestrated, we are not passive travelers. With the words we choose and the commitments we make, we shape how we travel; with intention, dignity, and purpose. Our speech reveals our inner world and determines how we interact with the stages of our personal desert.
Taken together, Matos and Masei teach that life is both a path we follow and one we help define. G-d sets the route, but we determine how we walk it. We are not only being led, we are also leading ourselves, through the strength of our values, our words, and our will to grow.
As we prepare to conclude the fourth book of the Torah, we're reminded: every step matters. Every promise, every struggle, every movement forward is part of the divine map. And though the road may twist and turn, we must continue with faith in G-d and in ourselves, knowing that each mile, each choice we make is bringing us closer to our divine destination. Do this, and together we can learn to enjoy the journey.
Rabbi Mendy's Blog
Are you tired of the grind? Yeah, me too.
Playing defense isn't working, we need you to lead
Was I born a leader? Were you? The truth is, it doesn't matter; this moment in our history demands that we all come together. It's all hands on deck to sustain Jewish life for the future. What should I do if I'm unsure? If I'm not confident about how to lead? Where do I find the courage?
This week's Torah portion, Pinchas, begins with a striking act of leadership. Pinchas, the grandson of Aharon the Kohen, steps up at a critical moment for the Jewish people. In a time of moral crisis, he doesn't wait for someone else to take charge—he acts with courage, conviction, and self-sacrifice. His boldness not only halts a national downfall but also earns him G-d's eternal covenant of peace.
What makes this moment so powerful is that Pinchas wasn't originally part of the official leadership structure. He wasn't Moshe. He wasn't a tribal prince. He wasn't even a kohen yet. But leadership, the Torah reminds us, isn't just about titles. It's about action. It's about recognizing a moment and using your G-d-given strengths to respond. Pinchas didn't wait for permission—he listened to his inner moral compass and led from within.
This message came alive for me this past week when I attended a gathering of 53 Chabad rabbis in Raleigh, North Carolina. We came together from across the country, with diverse backgrounds and personalities, serving different communities. Some of us serve large, bustling centers. Others work with smaller, quieter populations. Some are fiery speakers. Others are deep listeners. But what united us all was a shared mission: to uplift, to support, to lead.
As I looked around the room, I was inspired by the uniqueness of each rabbi. No two were alike. And yet each one had found a way to lead—authentically, creatively, courageously. We strategized, we encouraged, and we reminded one another that leadership doesn't come from uniformity. It comes from the truth. From purpose. From showing up with the gifts Hashem has planted inside of us.
And this lesson isn't just for rabbis. It's for everyone. Each of us has a piece of leadership within us. In our families, workplaces, and communities, we are all placed in situations where our voice, our strength, and our guidance are needed. You don't need a title or a microphone to make an impact. Sometimes leadership is quietly showing up for a friend. Sometimes it's standing up for what's right when it's not popular. Sometimes it's simply being a role model by living with integrity and joy.
Like Pinchas, we each have moments in life when we are called to rise. When we are given the chance to step into our unique role and bring light where it's needed. Hashem doesn't expect us to lead like Moshe or Aharon or anyone else—He asks us to lead like ourselves.
So, let's ask ourselves: What does leadership look like for me? Where can I step up? What are the skills and strengths Hashem gave me that I can use to make a difference? Because leadership isn't for the few, it's the responsibility and the privilege of each of us.
Stop doubting yourself, you speak the truth
We are such powerful beings, and yet we struggle? Why do we doubt ourselves and undervalue our truth? Why do we allow others to weaken our confidence and diminish our potential?
The answer lies in this week's Torah portion, Balak, which introduces us to one of the most unusual and powerful stories in the Torah: a talking donkey, a wicked prophet, and a reluctant blessing. At the center of it all is Bilam, a man known for his spiritual sensitivity, yet equally known for his moral corruption. Despite his desire to curse the Jewish people, Bilam is forced to admit a simple but profound truth: "Whatever word G-d puts in my mouth, that shall I speak."
Even Bilam, as self-serving and flawed as he was, knew that there are moments when we are not in control of our words—when the truth comes through us, and not from us. In these moments, we are vessels, and the words we speak belong to G-d. If Bilam, an enemy of the Jewish people, could recognize that truth, how much more so should we, people striving to live with meaning and values, learn to trust the voice of our soul and speak loudly and confidently from that place of inner G-dliness.
It's one thing to listen to the G-dly voice inside of you, but what about when it comes from someone else? The Torah portion continues, telling us that when Bilam refuses to listen, it's his donkey who ends up giving him the message. The donkey sees the angel standing in the way before Bilam does, and when he is beaten for trying to avoid danger, G-d opens his mouth and he speaks. Yes, G-d's voice can come to us even through a donkey.
The message here is unmistakable: we must not only learn to speak the truth that lives within our soul, but we must also train ourselves to listen for truth even when it comes from unexpected places. Sometimes G-d speaks to us through our children, our critics, or people we don't fully respect. Sometimes the messenger may seem foolish, irritating, or downright stubborn, but the truth they carry is still divine.
Our challenge is twofold. First, to speak boldly and honestly when we feel the fire of truth in our soul. Second, to listen humbly and openly, even when the voice we're hearing seems unworthy or strange. After all, if G-d can speak through Bilam and a donkey, G-d can speak through anyone, including us.
Let's honor the G-dly voice within ourselves, and the one hidden within others, so we can fully fulfill our mission and bring the healing and harmony of Moshiach to our world.
Act first, and then you'll understand
How much time do we waste trying to understand the logic of life? I get it, you have a big brain, but since when do you need to understand everything that happens before you act? We breathe freely without thought and contemplation, and with limited understanding of how our respiratory and circulatory systems work. We know we need air, and beyond that, we trust that through respiration, we can live. So, how can we apply this simple life lesson to our own everyday lives?
This week's Torah portion, Parshas Chukas, begins with one of the greatest paradoxes in all of Torah: the laws of the Parah Adumah—the red heifer that purifies those who are impure, yet renders impure those who are pure. It is the quintessential chok—a supra-rational mitzvah that defies logic. Even King Solomon, the wisest of all men, admitted he could not comprehend its full meaning. And yet, precisely in this paradox lies a deeper truth: that life is not always meant to be understood before it is lived. That true growth often requires faith beyond reason. That purity and purpose are not always born from clarity, but sometimes from surrender.
The Rebbe taught us to embrace this paradox in daily life. He emphasized that the greatest achievements come not just from what we understand, but from what we commit to even when we don't fully comprehend. Whether it's a Jew in New York lighting Shabbat candles for the first time or a student wrapping tefillin on campus in Tampa, the Rebbe's vision was clear: every small act of holiness has a global impact, even if we don't immediately see or understand it.
This message feels particularly relevant as we mark July 4th, America's Independence Day. America was founded on the ideal of freedom, but not freedom without purpose. The Founding Fathers envisioned a nation where liberty was a means to pursue truth, faith, and justice. The Rebbe deeply respected the United States and often praised its "government of kindness," a land that allows the Jewish people to live freely and practice Torah openly.
But the Rebbe also reminded us that America's promise is not guaranteed. It is a mission, one that requires ongoing effort. Just as Chukas challenges us to act even when we don't fully understand, the American ideal challenges us to preserve and elevate freedom not as an end in itself, but as a divine opportunity to bring more light, more justice, and more G-dliness into the world.
One powerful story comes to mind. A woman once wrote to the Rebbe about the confusion and contradictions she felt in her Jewish journey. She wanted clarity before commitment. The Rebbe gently responded: "You do not always need to understand to begin. Begin—and then you will understand."
This is the message of Chukas, of the Rebbe, and of the American dream: We begin with faith. We act with conviction. And we trust that through our small, sometimes irrational steps, we are part of something greater—a world moving toward redemption, one mitzvah and one moment of freedom at a time.