Rabbi's weekly Blog

A Practical Tip for Lag BaOmer

a. Write down on a piece of paper what your ultimate life would look like. Describe in detail what your day would look like from morning to night if you were truly living your dream. Write down your Plan A — in every area. Spiritually: mitzvah observance and Torah study. Physically: your home, your car, your capacity for giving tzedakah. And of course, in your personal life: your ideal state of marriage, parenting, career, and the unique mission that God destined for you — and more. The more topics, the more detail, the better. Don’t be shy — no one else is reading this but you.

If you want to be someone who learns Daf Yomi but you’re not managing it at all right now, don’t write down “once a week.” Write “Daf Yomi.” Your personal maximum. If you want to be a woman who finds time to learn and grow but life feels too overwhelming, think for a moment about what you would most love to learn, how much, and how — and put that on paper. If you want more peace in your home, but deep down don’t want to settle for just “no conflict” and truly long for a deep and meaningful connection, write that. If your hope is that your relationship with your children isn’t just trouble-free, but at the highest, most respectful and loving level it could be — write that too. And yes, if you know your family needs a larger home, don’t write “a small extension” or “closing in the balcony.” Write down the real space you actually need.

b. Read over what you wrote. Then read it again — and now ask yourself: Is this really the maximum I could envision? Is this truly what I want my best day to look like within God's possibilities — or just within the limitations of my own imagination? Is this really the ultimate Plan A?

c. Now tear up the paper. And write it again — but this time, write your ultimate life based on God's abilities, not your own. A redemptive Plan A.

That’s it. No special segulah here. No need to light a candle before, during, or after. The goal is to train our mental and emotional “muscle” to first of all recognize what the *maximum* really is. What *ultimate* really means. To not be afraid to admit what life is *supposed* to look like. And second, to train our *emunah* — our belief that God is truly capable of *anything*.

And why write it on paper? Because we need to accustom ourselves to thinking in terms of *miracle*, not just *nature*. Because in the end, both miracles and nature are simply different ways God moves us from place to place. And if there’s an option of taking a fast and comfortable flight, why would we choose the exhausting drive?

Imagine you’re about to meet someone who can grant you all your dreams. Would you know what to ask for? Do you even know what your dreams are? You’d sit down and prepare, wouldn’t you? To figure out what you really need. Well, we meet God every day — whenever we want. We should at least know what to ask for.

And why now? Because somehow I have this feeling that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai taught the world that living through miracles is almost natural. He made the miraculous feel normal. As my grandfather Zeide Avraham used to say: “Why rely on miracles when you can just say Tehillim?”

Jews know — when there’s a problem, when a miracle is needed — we go to Rabbi Shimon. I don’t think most people can explain why. I don’t think they need to. They’ll just say: “You need a miracle? Go to Rabbi Shimon.”

There are those who, when in need of healing, will consult and go to the best doctor. That’s responsible and according to Torah.

Then there are those who, in addition to the doctor, will give tzedakah, say Tehillim, pray, and ask for a blessing — for the doctor to succeed, for the surgery to go well.

But a Lag BaOmer Jew — after doing all that — will still go to Rabbi Shimon and ask that there be no need for healing at all. That the problem simply vanish.

Like the story with Rabbi Zalman Gurary, who once asked the Rebbe for a blessing that a surgery should go well. The Rebbe answered: “If you’re already asking for a heavenly blessing, ask that you shouldn’t need the surgery at all.”

In other words, if you’re asking — don’t ask based on the maximum *you* can imagine. Ask based on the maximum *God* is capable of.

I know — people are afraid of the disappointment if things don’t work out. That’s why they don’t write these things down to begin with. Maybe they fear the evil eye, who knows. For many, the survival instinct will quickly bring all the emotional “proof” that this is too risky, and how it contradicts values like being content with what you have, or appreciating the small things. If that’s where you are — then don’t write anything yet. No pressure. I don’t have the space here to unpack all that survival thinking right now.

Happy Lag BaOmer,

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Zalman Wishedski

I have a rule: I make a great effort not to write about things that I do not personally embody. Because if there is one thing that the Chassidic education managed to instill in me, it's this: not to speak about — and certainly not to demand or preach — something that I don’t myself live by.

Sometimes, I will write about a special behavior of someone else, one that is, in truth, also a goal and aspiration for me.

Rabbi Reuven Dunin, of blessed memory, was likely the Chabad chassid who influenced the most Jews in the Holy land over the years to draw closer to their souls and connect to their Source. I don’t know numbers, but by now we’re talking generations — for today there are children whose great-grandfather found his way to our Father in Heaven through “the house on Borochov 3 Street.”

Much has been spoken and written about Reuven and his path — a man in whom truth shone clearly and sharply; “for real,” as he would say in his distinct Israeli drawl. But there is one specific thing about him that especially struck me: Reuven was wholeheartedly and selflessly devoted to doing favors for others. He did it as if it were his full-time job — to the point that one might have thought that’s what he *actually* did for a living.

Of all the stories I’ve read about him, the one about the washing machine simply won’t leave me.

It turns out Reuven had a natural talent for mechanics. In his youth, he even worked repairing washing machines. An elderly Jew named Barry once said:

“For nearly forty years, Reuven would come help me whenever I had trouble with the washing machine. In recent years, it became hard for him to climb the stairs to my apartment because of his breathing issues. I remember once how he came to my home, panting, and said: ‘Give me a moment to catch my breath, and I’ll get to work right away.’”

How many rabbis or spiritual mentors do you know who come with a toolbox, catch their breath, bend down next to a washing machine, get wet, get dirty — and fix it?

In this week’s Torah portion, Acharei–Kedoshim, we read the famous verse: “And you shall love your fellow as yourself.”

On Shavuot 1958, the Rebbe shared that he had heard from his father-in-law, the Rebbe Rayatz, who had heard from Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev — who in turn had heard from the Baal Shem Tov:

“It says in Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Fathers): ‘Any Torah that is not accompanied by work will not endure.’

The Baal Shem Tov explained: this ‘work’ refers to involvement in Ahavat Yisrael — love for one’s fellow. For Torah to endure, it must be joined with this work: engaging in love for every Jew.”

This teaching deeply influenced the Berditchever, whose entire life became one long act of Ahavat Yisrael.

The Rebbe elaborates:

“Involvement means treating it like a business. A businessman doesn’t just sit at home with his merchandise waiting for someone to discover that he has goods of value and come buy them. He opens a shop in a busy area and puts up a sign so that all passersby know that goods are available. Even this isn’t enough — he advertises, praises the quality of his goods, and tries to persuade people to buy. He actively works to sell his merchandise.”

That’s how Ahavat Yisrael should be — a full-time occupation.

A physical act of kindness often affects a person just as much — and sometimes even more — than a spiritual one.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Zalman Wishedski

Just as I finished preparing this text, my talented son Natan sent another one of his drawings to the family group, as he does every few days. This time, it was a portrait of Reuven Dunin — Natan had no idea that he would be the subject of my words.