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Parshat Lech Lecha: The Answer to Our Happiness Truly Lies Inside Each of Us

A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

According to Aristotle, “Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.” But who nowadays has the time for that? Introspection is so sedentary — and, frankly, boring. We live in an age of velocity, not reflection. 

Yet it’s precisely this lack of self-reflection — and our tendency to substitute reinvention and external change for true self-discovery — that lies at the heart of our modern dissatisfaction. After all, it’s much more fun to scroll through video shorts than to wonder why you want to waste time scrolling in the first place. 

Everyone is on the go: new careers, new locations, new experiences, new “life phases.” If you’re not pivoting, you’re stagnating.

People relocate for “personal growth,” and totally rebrand themselves on LinkedIn, while announcing on Instagram that they’re “leaning into new energy.” Others treat life like a scavenger hunt for fulfillment that never quite fulfills — hopping from city to city, relationship to relationship, hoping that meaning will finally show up. 

But it never does.  Meanwhile, the self we’re trying so hard to discover is right there, ready to be discovered, if only we’d do what it takes. You can change time zones, climates, and cuisines — but if you haven’t yet met yourself, none of it matters.

Everyone remembers George Foreman, the former heavyweight champion who died earlier this year. What fewer people know is that in the 1970s, he was all about grit and intimidation — not just a master of power punches, but a man whose piercing glare conveyed raw menace. 

His persona was built on one unshakable belief: that strength meant never showing softness. Then, in 1977, after a brutal fight with Jimmy Young in Puerto Rico, Foreman collapsed in the locker room and had what he would later describe as a near-death experience that included an encounter with God. 

When he recovered, Foreman didn’t talk about revenge nor did he re-embrace his brutish behavior. Instead, he said quietly, “I have to change. I have to be kinder.”

Within days, Foreman retired from boxing. He was just 28 years old, still in his prime. Though he had never been religious, he became an ordained minister, preached on street corners, opened a youth center, fed the hungry, and spent years becoming someone gentler than the angry young fighter he had once been. 

And then came the twist: ten years later, he returned to boxing, softer, calmer, smiling — instead of scowling and glowering as he had in his younger years. Remarkably, that new, real version of George Foreman, the one who had finally met himself, became world champion again.

The greatest journey of all is the voyage of self-discovery, and ironically, it’s the one trip almost nobody books. In the rush for ambition and adrenaline, people often swap their real selves for a curated version meant for public display. 

At first, it’s like wearing a costume, but soon enough, that costume is a cage. Before long, your true self is concealed, masked by something polished on the outside yet painfully misaligned on the inside. What begins as ambition ends in dissonance and quiet self-destruction.

Which is why the divine instruction that opens Parshat Lech Lecha is so remarkable (Gen. 12:1): לֶךְ־לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ — “Go forth from your land, your birthplace, your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” 

It sounds like an invitation to travel, and it was. Avraham traveled from Ur Kasdim to Charan, from Charan into Canaan, down to Egypt during the famine, and then back to Canaan again. He crossed deserts, borders, cultures, and civilizations. It was no mere symbolic stroll.

But that opening phrase, Lech Lecha, usually translated as “go forth,” is actually quite clumsy — because it doesn’t really mean “go forth.” More accurately, it means “go to yourself,” or “go for yourself.” 

And that is the revolutionary point. Yes, Avraham traveled — but God was telling him that the journey that mattered most wasn’t geographical. It was existential. Lech lecha — “Go to yourself.” Wherever you go, don’t lose sight of the true destination: you. Every step on the road was really a step inward.

Modern science backs up this ancient truth. Psychologists refer to it as the “geographic cure” — the mistaken belief that a new city, a new house, or a new job will magically solve life’s frustrations. 

Countless studies show that while moving might deliver a short-term jolt of excitement, the feeling rarely lasts. If you were restless in one place, you’ll likely be restless in the next place as well — only now with the additional stress of having to adapt to a new environment.

The pattern is clear: changing your surroundings won’t change your soul. And perhaps that’s why, when God told Avraham to Lech lecha, He wasn’t sending him somewhere new to find something there that he didn’t already have. Instead, God gave him fair warning that whatever he was looking for, he already had — and that it was this that he needed to focus on.

The great Chasidic master, Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, told one of the most disarmingly simple and profound stories about self-discovery ever recorded. 

There was once a poor tailor living in a little village in Ukraine who kept having the same dream night after night: a dazzling treasure lay buried beneath a famous bridge in Vienna. 

After weeks of this nightly vision, he could no longer ignore it. So he packed a few belongings and some food, kissed his family goodbye, and set off across Europe to claim his fortune.

When he finally arrived in Vienna, he found the bridge exactly as it had appeared in his dreams. But there was only one problem: it was crawling with imperial guards, and digging for treasure was impossible. 

The poor tailor loitered nearby, day after day, trying to look casual and waiting for a time when he might be able to dig. Eventually, a guard approached him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Cornered, the tailor told the truth. “I had a dream,” he confessed, “that if I came to this bridge, I would find a valuable treasure hidden beneath it.” 

The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he burst out laughing. “A dream? You crossed half the world because of a silly dream? Last week, I dreamt that in some shabby little village in Ukraine, under the stove of a poor tailor’s house, there’s a chest filled with gold. Do you see me running off to chase it?” 

The tailor froze. That shabby little village was his village. And that poor tailor was him. The bridge was never the point. He thanked the guard politely, hurried home, dug beneath his own floor, and found the treasure that had been waiting for him all along.

That is the exact message of Lech Lecha. Avraham traveled, yes. But the Torah isn’t really interested in his meanderings. Rather, it wants to teach us that the longest distance he traveled was inward. 

Wherever he went, he never lost sight of who he was and who he was meant to be. His journey, like the tailor’s, shows us the importance of turning inward rather than outward for fulfillment. 

We often think that fulfillment is just over the horizon. But geography only changes your view, not your soul. If reinvention is what you need, it can only start from within. Lech lecha — go to yourself. That’s where the real treasure is — and where it has always been.

The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California. 

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The call of this Hanukkah moment remains simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere. Even when we’re under attack.

The massacre in Sydney has left Jews around the world shaken and grieving. This act is far more than a heinous crime: It is a regression to darker times, when Jewish visibility itself carried mortal risk.

The commandment of Hanukkah is not simply to light candles, but to light them publicly – pirsumei nisa, the publicizing of the miracle. The point is not private consolation, but shared visibility. Jewish survival, the tradition teaches, is not meant to occur behind closed doors, but in full view.

Historically, however, it rarely did. In exile, Jews learned caution. The Talmud records how, in times of danger, the candles are to be moved indoors – lit discreetly, shielded from hostile eyes. This was not a theological revision but a concession to reality: When the public sphere is unsafe, Jewish life retreats into the private domain. For most of our history, this was our reality.

Modern democracies promised something different. Jews would no longer have to choose between safety and visibility. We could light openly again – on windowsills, in public squares, in front of city halls – because the surrounding society would protect us not merely by law, but by norm. Antisemitism would not just be illegal, it would be unthinkable.

The Sydney massacre, alongside countless incidents in societies Jews have long trusted, forces us to ask whether that promise is still being kept.

Jewish safety in the diaspora does not rest primarily on police presence or intelligence services – necessary though they are. It rests on something more fragile and more fundamental: a public culture in which Jews are not merely tolerated but embraced; in which antisemitism is not merely condemned after the fact but rejected instinctively and unequivocally as a violation of the moral order.

When Jews are attacked for being Jews, and the response is muted, conditional, or delayed, the message is unmistakable. Jews may still live here, but only quietly.

That is why the response to Sydney must not be withdrawal, but the exact opposite. We cannot and will not retreat into hiding our light. The call of this moment is simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere.

Jewish communities and organizations must orchestrate public Hanukkah candle lightings in the central squares of democratic cities across Europe, across the English-speaking world, wherever Jews live under the protection of free societies. Not hidden ceremonies. Not fenced-off gatherings on the margins. But civic events, hosted openly and proudly, with the participation of local and national leaders – and of fellow non-Jewish citizens.

This is not unprecedented. Every year, a Hanukkah menorah is lit at the White House. The symbolism is powerful precisely because it is mundane: Jewish light belongs at the heart of the civic space, not as an exception, not as an act of charity, but as a matter of course. That model should now be replicated widely.

Israeli diplomatic missions, together with local Jewish organizations, should work actively with municipalities and governments to make these public lightings happen – not merely as acts of Jewish resilience, but as declarations of democratic commitment. Because this is not only a Jewish question.

A society in which Jews feel compelled to hide their symbols is a society already retreating from its own values. Antisemitism is never a stand-alone phenomenon; it is the canary in the democratic coal mine. Where Jews are unsafe, pluralism is already fraying.

Lighting candles in public squares will not undo the horror of Sydney. But it will answer it – not with fear, and not with silence, but with a refusal to normalize xenophobia, antisemitism, and Jewish invisibility.

The ancient question of Hanukkah – where we light – has returned as a modern moral test of democratic societies and leaders worldwide. Where Jewish light is extinguished, democracy itself is cast into shadow. If it can still be lit openly, with the full backing of the societies Jews call home, then the promise of democratic life remains alive.

Our light must not hide. Not now. Never again.

The post The call of this Hanukkah moment remains simple and urgent: Light candles everywhere. Even when we’re under attack. appeared first on The Forward.

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Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel

If the shooters who targeted Jews on a beach in Australia while they were celebrating Hanukkah thought their cowardly act would turn the world against Israel, they were exactly wrong: Randomly killing people at a holiday festival in Sydney makes the case for Israel.

The world wants Jews to disown Israel over Gaza, but bad actors keep proving why Jews worldwide feel such an intense need to have a Jewish state.

Think about it. The vast majority of Jews who settled in Israel went there because they felt they had nowhere else to go. To call the modern state “the ingathering of exiles” softpedals reality and tells only half the story. The ingathering was a result of an outpouring of hate and violence.

Attacking Jews is the best way to rationalize Zionism.

Judaism’s holidays are often (humorously) summarized as, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat.” Zionism is simply, “They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s move.”

Theodor Herzl, the founder of modern Zionism, didn’t have a religious or even a tribal bone in his body. He would have been happy to stay in Vienna writing light plays and eating sacher torte. But bearing witness to the rise of antisemitism, he saw the Land of Israel as the European Jew’s best option.

The Eastern European pogroms, the Holocaust, the massacre of Jews in Iraq in 1941 — seven years before the State of Israel was founded — the attacks on Jews throughout the Middle East after Israel’s founding, the oppression of Jews in the former Soviet Union —  these were what sent Jews to Israel.

How many Australians are thinking the same way this dark morning?

There’s a lot to worry about in Israel. It is, statistically, more dangerous to be Jewish there than anywhere else in the world. But most Jews would rather take their chances on a state created to protect them, instead of one that just keeps promising it will – especially when the government turns a blind eye to antisemitic incitement and refuses to crack down on violent protests, as Australia has.

For over a year we have seen racist mobs impeding on the rights and freedoms of ordinary Australians. We have been locked out of parts of our cities because the police could not ensure our safety. Students have been told to stay away from campuses. We have been locked down in synagogues,” Alex Ryvchin, the co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, wrote a year ago, after the firebombing attack on a Melbourne synagogue.

Since then a childcare centre in Sydney’s east was set alight by vandals, cars were firebombed, two Australian nurses threatened to kill Jewish patients, to name a few antisemitic incidents. There were 1,654 antisemitic incidents logged in Australia from October 2024 to September 2025 —  in a country with about 117,000 Jews.

“The most dangerous thing about terrorism is the over-reaction to it,” the philosopher Yuval Noah Harari said. He was talking about the invasion of Iraq after 9/11, the crackdown on civil liberties and legitimate protest. But surely it’s equally dangerous to underreact to terrorism and terrorist rhetoric.

Israel’s destruction of Gaza following the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023 led to worldwide protests, which is understandable, if not central to why tensions have escalated.

But condemning civilian casualties and calling for Palestinian self-determination — something many Jews support — too often crosses into calls for destroying Israel, demonizing Israelis and their Jews. That’s how Jews heard the phrase “globalize the intifada” — as a justification for the indiscriminate violence against civilians.

When they took issue with protesters cosplaying as Hamas and justifying the Oct. 7 massacre, that’s what they meant. And look at what happened in Bondi Beach, they weren’t wrong. Violence leads to violence, and so does support for violence.

Chabad, which hosted the Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, has always leaned toward a more open door policy with less apparent security than other Jewish institutions. But one of the reasons it has been so effective at outreach has also made it an easy target.

As a result of the Bondi shooting, Chabad will likely increase security, as will synagogues around the world. Jewish institutions will think hard about publicly advertising their events. Law enforcement and public officials will, thankfully, step up protection, at least for a while. These are all the predictable result of an attack that, given the unchecked antisemitic rhetoric and weak responses to previous antisemitic incidents, was all but inevitable.

It’s not inevitable that Australian Jews would now move to Israel, no more than it would have been for Pittsburgh’s Jewish community to uproot itself and move to Tel Aviv after the 2018 Tree of Life massacre. That didn’t happen, because ultimately the risk still doesn’t justify it.

But these shootings, and the constant drip of violent rhetoric, vandalism and confrontation raise a question: If you want to kill Jews in Israel, and you kill them outside Israel, where, exactly, are we supposed to go?

The post Australia shooting terrifies Jews worldwide — and strengthens the case for Israel appeared first on The Forward.

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These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney

(JTA) — A local rabbi, a Holocaust survivor and a 12-year-old girl are among those killed during the shooting attack Sunday on a Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, Australia.

Here’s what we know about the 11 people murdered in the attack, which took place at a popular beachside playground where more than 1,000 people had congregated to celebrate the first night of the holiday, as well as about those injured.

This story will be updated.

Eli Schlanger, rabbi and father of five

Schlanger was the Chabad emissary in charge of Chabad of Bondi, which had organized the event. He had grown up in England but moved to Sydney 18 years ago, where he was raising his five children with his wife Chaya. Their youngest was born just two months ago.

In addition to leading community events through Chabad of Bondi, Schlanger worked with Jewish prisoners in Australian prisons. “He flew all around the state, to go visit different people in jail, literally at his own expense,” Mendy Litzman, a Sydney Jew who responded as a medic to the attack, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

Last year, amid a surge in antisemitic incidents in Australia, Schlanger posted a video of himself dancing and celebrating Hanukkah, promoting lighting menorahs as “the best response to antisemitism.”

Two months before his murder, he published an open letter to Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese urging him to rescind his “act of betrayal” of the Jewish people. The letter was published on Facebook the same day, Sept. 21, that Albanese announced he would unilaterally recognize an independent Palestinian state.

Alex Kleytman, Holocaust survivor originally from Ukraine

Kleytman had come to the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration annually for years, his wife Larisa told The Australian. She said he was protecting her when he was shot. The couple, married for six decades, has two children and 11 grandchildren.

The Australia reported that Kleytman was a Holocaust survivor who had passed World War II living with his family in Siberia.

12-year-old girl

Alex Ryvchin, co-CEO of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, told CNN that a friend “lost his 12-year-old daughter, who succumbed to her wounds in hospital.” The girl’s name was not immediately released.

Dozens of people were injured

  • Yossi Lazaroff, the Chabad rabbi at Texas A&M University, said his son had been shot while running the event for Chabad of Bondi. “Please say Psalms 20 & 21 for my son, Rabbi Leibel Lazaroff, יהודה לייב בן מאניא who was shot in a terrorist attack at a Chanukah event he was running for Chabad of Bondi in Sydney, Australia,” he tweeted.
  • Yaakov “Yanky” Super, 24, was on duty for Hatzalah at the event when he was shot in the back, Litzman said. “He started screaming on his radio that he needs back up, he was shot. I heard it and I responded to the scene. I was the closest backup. I was one of the first medical people on the scene,” Litzman said. He added, “We just went into action and saved a lot of lives, including one of our own.”

The post These are the victims of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah celebration shooting in Sydney appeared first on The Forward.

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