Matzah and wine represent two stages of Geulah and two stages in a Jew’s spiritual growth. Matzah, called lechem oni, symbolizes the rushed redemption of Yetzias Mitzrayim when the Jewish people were spiritually low, deeply influenced by Egyptian culture, and needed to be taken out immediately before falling completely—there was no “taste,” refinement, or enjoyment, only survival and escape. Wine represents the next stage, when a Jew works on himself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, becoming more sensitive to Kedusha and beginning to experience true flavor and enjoyment in Yiddishkeit. The goal of Geulah was not only leaving Mitzrayim but reaching Har Sinai—“You will serve Me on this mountain”—and in the weeks leading to Matan Torah the Jewish people purified themselves and became worthy of receiving the Torah. Even if one fulfills matzah without tasting it, because that moment lacked sweetness, Hashem planted the potential for spiritual flavor, and through pushing forward even during struggle, the “matzah Jew” can ultimately become a “wine Jew,” tasting Torah and experiencing real joy in a relationship with Hashem.

לקו׳ש כו-א

A person’s true greatness is only revealed over time, once their life’s deeds and spiritual impact can be seen. While most souls enter the world concealed and slowly reveal their light through Torah and mitzvos, Moshe Rabbeinu was different—his light shone from the moment of his birth, because he is inseparable from Torah itself, which is eternal. Through the Torah of every generation, Moshe continues to live and actively shape the world. The same is true of Yaakov Avinu, who embodies Emes Hashem—Divine truth—and remains alive as long as his children walk in his path. This is the secret of Jewish eternity: our life is not merely physical, but a life of Torah and truth, which no force can extinguish. As long as we carry Moshe and Yaakov within us, the Jewish people endure forever.

לקו״ש כו-א

Yaakov, on his deathbed, asks Yosef—the ruler of Egypt—to swear that he will take him out of Egypt and bury him in Eretz Yisrael. This was not a lack of trust, but a recognition that a commitment depends on circumstances, while an oath means that failure is not an option. Yaakov understood Yosef’s belief that a true leader must remain with his people in exile to strengthen them through suffering, and he feared that this noble vision might keep him buried in Egypt. But Yaakov’s deeper concern was the danger of exile becoming normal. When people remain too long in darkness, they adapt, accept it as reality, and forget that another life is possible. By insisting on being taken out of Egypt, Yaakov implanted an eternal message into the Jewish soul: exile is not our identity, comfort is not our truth, and even when galus feels stable or meaningful, we must remember that we are a free people whose true home is in geulah, in Eretz Yisrael.

לקו״ש כה-א

Yosef’s declaration, “I am Yosef — and my father is still alive,” was not a question but an expression of astonishment. Realizing that his father had unknowingly mourned him for twenty-two years, Yosef grasped the depth of Yaakov’s unrelieved pain — pain that could never be fully comforted because Yosef was, in truth, alive. Understanding that those twenty-two years were now complete, Yosef refused to allow even one more moment of suffering. He immediately sent his brothers to inform Yaakov that his son was alive, teaching a powerful lesson: there are times when distance and restraint are necessary, but once that time ends, love, closeness, and compassion must return instantly. When the period of pain is over, we do not delay — we reunite, we heal, and we begin living and loving again.

לקו״ש טו-א

The Gemara defines Chanukah through the miracle of the oil rather than the military miracle because the Greek decree was not aimed at destroying the Jewish body, but at severing the Jewish soul from its Divine source. They were willing to tolerate Torah as wisdom and mitzvos as cultural practices, but they could not accept Toras-echa — Torah as a supra-rational bond with Hashem, expressed through mitzvos done simply because He commanded them. By defiling the oil, they tried to contaminate that inner holiness, yet one pure jug remained, symbolizing the eternal purity of the Jewish neshamah that can never be extinguished. While we thank Hashem for the physical salvation through Al HaNissim, the miracle of the oil reveals something deeper: when the inner light of our connection to Hashem shines, the physical world becomes merely a vessel to express that bond, and no external force can overpower it.

לקו״ש כה

Yosef’s brothers were pained by his dreams not out of petty jealousy, but because each shevet had a unique and holy path in serving Hashem, and the dreams seemed to imply that their avodah was secondary or even wrong. Yaakov Avinu, after interpreting the dreams, chose not to write down their content but instead recorded the exact moment and place they occurred, teaching his sons that despite their diverse personalities and different modes of avodah, all service of Hashem is one unified mission. He impressed upon them two truths: it’s not about the person who serves but about Hashem’s will being fulfilled, and every individual’s contribution — no matter how small — is essential to the purpose of creation. The recorded “moment” represents all moments, and the “place” represents all places, revealing that every Jew’s service, in any time or condition, is part of Hashem’s plan. This message echoes in Yud-Tes Kislev, where the Alter Rebbe brought the light of Chassidus into the ordinary world, just as Yosef brought holiness into Egypt, empowering every Jew to transform his surroundings and help prepare the world for Moshiach.

לקו״ש כה-א

Yaakov arrives in Shechem “complete,” meaning he was healed physically from the angel, his wealth was restored despite giving Esav a large gift, and his Torah remained whole despite the years in Lavan’s house. The Torah doesn’t emphasize that he survived Lavan and Esav because Hashem had already promised to protect him; that was guaranteed. Instead, it highlights that even the smaller “wear and tear” of life — the injuries, the financial strain, the spiritual challenges — were also healed and restored by Hashem. Yaakov’s journey mirrors our own: the Jewish people are eternally protected, but the hardships, pressures, and spiritual fatigue we face are temporary, meant only to bring out our strength and mesirus nefesh. Even as we work within the physical world to elevate it, our neshama and our Torah remain pure and untouched, and ultimately every struggle will be transformed and completed with the coming of Moshiach.

לקו״ש כה-א

The story of Yaakov Avinu leaving Eretz Yisrael shows that exile is not only about escape or punishment, but about a deeper Divine mission. Just as Yaakov entered a place of darkness and transformed it into the birthplace of Klal Yisrael, so too our Galus has a purpose: to elevate the sparks of holiness in the world and bring light into darkness through Torah and mitzvos. Hashem sends us angels to protect us, guide us, and give us honor so we can live proudly as Jews even in exile. Our task is not just to survive Galus, but to transform it, until we return home to Eretz Yisrael with dignity and glory.

לקו״ש כה-ב

Our “ashes” — the physical, day-to-day part of our lives — also really belong on the Mizbeach. On the lowest level, the ashes are taken outside to a pure place, meaning our regular life may feel separate from holiness, but we still live it with the intention of making time for Torah, tefillah, and mitzvos. A deeper level is when the ashes are placed next to the Mizbeach — even in our normal routine we see Hashem’s presence and holiness. But the deepest level is to know that even our ashes truly belong on the Mizbeach itself: that our physical life is not just a preparation for serving Hashem, but itself a constant way of serving Him — and the only reason we “take the ashes off” and go out into the world is to make space to bring another korban, to do another mitzvah and more good deeds.

לקו״ש כה-ג

Chevron — the first part of Eretz Yisrael ever purchased — was bought publicly by Avraham Avinu, establishing the Jewish people’s eternal connection to the Land. Among the forty-eight Levi’im cities, Chevron was unique in that it combined eternal and personal ownership, symbolizing the deepest form of belonging. As one of the Arei Miklat, it served as a refuge for those seeking spiritual repair, embodying the mission of Shevet Levi — whose name, from “yilaveh” (“to connect”), reflects their role in uniting Jews with Hashem and with one another. In the Beis HaMikdash, the Levi’im guided and represented all of Klal Yisrael, fostering unity. Chevron, home to the Avos and Imahos, thus stands as an everlasting symbol of connection — between Hashem, His people, and one another — reminding every Jew that within us lies the same power to connect, to heal, and to unite.

לקו״ש כה-א