The following is a letter I received from Rabbi Netanel Kaszovitz, rabbi of the Auckland Hebrew Congregation in New Zealand:

 “Shalom, Sivan. You recently published a story about a small Jewish village that consisted of ten families. Every morning there was a minyan in the village because a man from each family felt responsible to ensure that there would be a minyan that day. But then another family moved to the village—family #11—and the next morning, there was no minyan. Everyone felt less responsibility towards the community.

“This past Pesach, we experienced in our community the very opposite situation. Even though we have a small community, there is a minyan, thank God, every Shabbat. But on the last day of Pesach, there was a huge rain storm. I was worried that there wouldn’t be a minyan that day. 

“Arnold is a 101-year-old member of our community. In just a few weeks, we will be celebrating his 102nd birthday. On the last day of Pesach, he woke up, noticed the weather outside, and said to his wife: “I’m worried that there won’t be a minyan today because of the weather.”  So, he walked in the rain to join our minyan. 

“When he arrived at shul, he told me why he had come that morning and I was amazed and moved. Over the course of the prayer service, more and more people kept coming. Apparently, many had been worried about the weather so they had decided to come—specifically that day—to ensure that there would be a minyan. 

“My wish is that each one of us should always feel as if he or she is the 'tenth person for the minyan'—important, precious, and special!’ 

Have You Heard About These Ceremonies?

These days, in Kibbutz Be’eri, the homes damaged on October 7 are being torn down. But these demolitions are not only acts of clearing away ruins. They have become ceremonies of memory, grief, faith, and rebuilding.

Take Eli Sharabi. He came to see the place where his wife, Lianne, and his daughters, Noiya and Yahel, were murdered.

“It was important for me to be here,” he said as the demolition began. “We are the Jewish people. We have a very special DNA — the DNA of rebuilding. I think that precisely in order to honor those who fell, I must move forward and build a life of action and meaning.”

Not far away, the home of Rachel Fricker was also demolished.

“A million emotions are mixed together,” she said as she watched the walls come down. “For twelve and a half hours, the terrorists were inside this house with me.”

Rachel arrived with rabbis and friends. “I recited Birkat Hagomel, the blessing said after surviving danger. I said Mizmor Letodah, a psalm of thanksgiving, and we raised a glass — to the home that was, and to the home that will yet be built.”

She shared another striking story. Not long ago, a rabbi asked to take ashes from her house for his son’s wedding, in keeping with the custom of placing ashes on the groom’s head as a remembrance of destruction. When he entered the house, he saw a fox. For those familiar with the story, it immediately called to mind Rabbi Akiva, who saw a fox emerging from the ruins of the Temple and understood it as a sign that the place would one day be rebuilt.

“It was a sign for me, too,” Rachel said.

After the ceremony, she returned to her caravilla in Hatzerim “with a feeling of peace, of closure.” Rachel, who also manages the Be’eri synagogue, added that a new, large synagogue is soon to be built in the center of the kibbutz.

Then there is Avida Bachar, who managed Be’eri’s agriculture. On that morning, he lost his wife, Dana, his son, Carmel, and his leg.

“This was a home of life,” he said, standing opposite the tractor that had come to demolish his house. “You meet a woman, build a family, build a life — and in one second, everything is destroyed. But when you look at things from above, you say to yourself: We must build life and family again.”

Since October 7, Avida has carried with him everywhere what he calls his “crying towel.” He used it often at the ceremony, especially when his friends stood beside him and sang Shir LaMa’alot, A Song of Ascents, moments before the demolition began.

He also wanted to convey two messages: a firm security message to the outside — “I woke up. Gaza must cease to exist” — and a message of unity within: “For the first time, I got to know my people, and I am awed by their strength.”

Eli, Rachel, Avida — thank you for these words. They, too, are part of the rebuilding.

Parashat Korach: Be Yourself

Korach, whom we read about in this week’s Torah portion, became synonymous with dispute. He rebels against the leadership of Moshe and Aharon, and seeks to replace them. What happened to him? And what sometimes happens to us as well?

Rabbi Elimelech Biderman explains that this is a mistake that remains common to this day. After all, Korach already had an honorable role. He was one of those responsible for the holy work in the Mishkan. But instead of focusing on his important position, he envied others and wanted to replace them. As Rabbi Biderman writes:

“If Korach had known that a simple person who fulfills his mission in this world is as important before the Creator as Aharon Hakohen when he enters the Kodesh Hakodashim, he would never have begun the dispute.”

Korach thought that striving higher meant replacing the person at the top. But the Torah portion reveals to us that being number one means excelling and investing yourself in the place that is right for you. You are important precisely when you are fulfilling your own unique mission, carrying out the task of your life.

That is why the Torah portion turns to us and warns: “And he shall not be like Korach and his assembly.” Do not be jealous. Do not fight. Do not try to be someone else. Be the best version of yourself.

The Root of the Dispute

I recently heard an interesting take on Korach’s dispute.

Our sages explain: There is a “dispute for the sake of Heaven,” one that is important to navigate. But there is also a “dispute that is not for the sake of Heaven,” such as the one initiated by Korach and which is rooted in ego, a grasping for honor, and other ulterior motives.  

In essence, Korach’s dispute was based on a quarrel he had with himself. He felt discouraged and detached, and consequently failed to discover his own unique place and mission in life. The commentators explain that his wife was likewise frustrated with her situation, and she kept filling Korach’s mind with poisonous thoughts: You deserve more; you should be like Moshe and Aharon; you aren’t appreciated enough. 

I encourage you to examine your interpersonal relationships, at home and at work, to determine whether you aren’t stirring up controversy in your surroundings because, at the root of it all, you are dissatisfied with yourself.