Rabbi Fishel's Blog

Dear Friends, 

To this day, I can hear my mother asking me, “Fishel, are you wearing your Moshiach glasses?” Moshiach represents the Jewish hope for a healed and redeemed world filled with peace, goodness, and the clear presence of G-d. To wear Moshiach glasses is to look at the world as it is and recognize the beauty, blessing, and possibility within it.

This week’s Torah portion, Va’etchanan, contains one of Moses’ most heartfelt prayers. After leading the Jewish people through the desert for forty years, he pleads with G-d:

אֶעְבְּרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה
“Please let me cross over and see the good land.”

There is something remarkable in his choice of words. Moses had never entered the Land. Years earlier, ten of the twelve spies sent there had returned frightened and convinced that the Jewish people could not succeed. How could Moses already call it “the good land”?

We often see what we have prepared ourselves to find. Even while standing outside the Land, Moses called it good. He knew that entering it would require courage, effort, and sacrifice, yet he was already preparing himself to notice its beauty, promise, and blessing.

We all see the world through a certain lens. Our perspective and attitude shape what catches our attention, what stays with us, and how we respond to the people and situations around us. When we prepare ourselves to see goodness, we become more able to recognize it. And when we notice goodness in another person and tell them that we see it, we strengthen it and help it grow.

The ten spies approached that same Land through fear, and their report filled the Jewish people with despair. The people cried that night, the ninth of Av, and that date would become marked by national tragedy. There is an important place for honest questions, constructive criticism, and speaking up when something needs to change. But when complaint becomes our entire way of seeing, we leave ourselves very little room to recognize blessing.

This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of Comfort, which follows Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the destruction of both Holy Temples and the tragedies our people have endured. Tisha B’Av asks us to face what has been lost. Shabbat Nachamu invites us to begin turning toward the comfort, healing, and rebuilding still ahead. That movement begins by making room to see hope again.

Again and again, people tell Ettie and me that at Chabad of Naples they experience the warmth, friendship, and love of a community that truly sees them. They feel valued and are reminded that they have something meaningful to contribute. We feel deeply fortunate to be part of a community where people recognize the goodness in one another and help bring it forward. That is the beauty of Chabad of Naples.

Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk offered a beautiful prayer whose words later became a beloved song, asking G-d to place within our hearts the ability to see the virtues of others rather than their faults. These are words we should begin every morning with. Imagine waking each day and asking: “G-d, help me recognize the goodness in the people I meet today. Help me strengthen it and bring more of it into the world.”

As I write these words, many of us are shaken by the recent violence in New York and alarmed by the growing hostility toward Jews and Israel. We are especially troubled when that hostility is echoed by those entrusted with leadership. Words from leaders matter. When they inflame division and make hatred feel acceptable, the consequences are real. They create a climate in which Jewish New Yorkers feel increasingly vulnerable. Our prayers are with the victims, their families and the entire New York Jewish community.

This is not a time for silence or passivity. We must remain alert, speak out clearly, stand proudly as Jews, support one another, and be ready to act when our community is threatened. Wearing Moshiach glasses does not mean looking away from danger. It means seeing the danger clearly while also recognizing the courage, unity, faith, and goodness that give us the strength to confront it.

And in the middle of all of this, I am trying to hear my mother’s voice: “Fishel, are you wearing your Moshiach glasses?”

Perhaps these are precisely the moments when we need them most. They help us confront what is painful while continuing to recognize the courage, kindness, faith, and extraordinary goodness around us. They remind us that fear and hatred do not have the final word.

Before a meeting, a family conversation, or a new opportunity, pause and ask: What am I prepared to see? When you look at another person, search for the goodness within them. When you look at yourself, recognize the strength G-d has placed within you and the person you are still capable of becoming.

This Shabbat, I am trying to put on my Moshiach glasses. I invite you to join me. Let us see the good in one another, encourage it, and help it grow.

May G-d open our eyes to the beauty around us and within us. May this way of seeing bring greater comfort, healing, peace, and redemption into our lives and into the world.

With love and blessings,

Rabbi Fishel and Ettie Zaklos

Dear Friends, 

Most of us carry a few sentences about ourselves: “I am not good at that.” “I could never do what they do.” “That is simply not who I am.” Sometimes another person gave us that label years ago. Sometimes we repeated it to ourselves until it began to feel like the truth. Moses once had a sentence like that. When G-d first called him at the burning bush, Moses answered:

“I am not a man of words.”

Moses saw his difficulty with speech as a serious limitation. How could he stand before Pharaoh, address a nation, and lead the Jewish people with his voice?

Yet decades later, the final book of the Torah, Devarim, which we begin reading this week, opens with:

“These are the words that Moses spoke.”

The man who once said, “I am not a man of words,” reached the final chapter of his life with words that would guide the Jewish people for generations.

What changed?

Moses stopped measuring the mission only by what he believed he could accomplish on his own. He understood that this was G-d’s calling. He trusted that G-d would guide him, and he stepped forward. Through years of serving, leading, teaching, and caring for the Jewish people, he found a voice filled with truth, responsibility, and purpose.

He did not become someone else. He became more fully the person G-d knew he could be.

I think about this when I look at Chabad of Naples today. When Ettie and I came to Naples 23 years ago, we could never have imagined all that would grow here. Had you shown us then the families, the friendships, the sanctuary filled with life, the laughter of hundreds of children in our preschool, Hebrew school, and summer camp, and the endless moments of kindness that have become the heartbeat of the Chabad Naples family, we would have been amazed, deeply grateful, and smiling from ear to ear.

It is a humbling reminder that when we take the next step, connect ourselves to a mission, and trust G-d with what comes next, the future can become far greater than anything we could have envisioned.

Words do more than communicate what we think. They shape what we believe is possible, both for ourselves and for others. Moses once used words to describe his own limitation, but that sentence did not become the final definition of his life. We must be careful not to make our words the final definition of another person’s life either.

Moses also understood the responsibility of speaking to others. In his final message to the Jewish people, he needed to remind them of their mistakes so they could grow. Rashi, the classic Torah commentator, explains that Moses referred to their failures indirectly, protecting their dignity even while offering correction.

Truth should guide a person, not crush them.

We grew up hearing, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” But we know that is not true. A broken bone can be set and helped to heal. A sentence that breaks a heart can remain with a person for decades.

Words can trap someone inside a definition. They can also help a person see something greater: “I believe in you.” “There is more inside you than you realize.”

The Torah begins with G-d creating the world through speech, and its final book is called Devarim, “Words.” Words create worlds. They shape confidence, relationships, families, and communities.

This week we approach Tisha B’Av, the Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of both Holy Temples. The tragic history of this date began in the desert, when the spies returned from the Land of Israel with a report that filled the people with fear and despair.

That report filled a nation with fear. Our words can build courage, trust, and connection.

Before we speak, we can pause and ask: Will these words make someone feel smaller or help them grow? Can I be honest while protecting their dignity? Can my voice bring courage rather than shame? We should ask the same questions about the way we speak to ourselves.

This Shabbat, let us choose words that build. More than ever, the world needs them. Let us use our voices to encourage our children, strengthen our families, lift our friends, and bring our community closer together.

May our homes, our sanctuary, and our community always be places where every person hears words of kindness, dignity, and faith, words that help them recognize the gifts and possibilities G-d has placed within them.

That’s the community we’re building together at Chabad of Naples. We look forward to seeing you in shul this Shabbat.

With love and blessings,

Rabbi Fishel and Ettie Zaklos

Dear Friends, 

There are weeks when a simcha belongs to one couple, and there are weeks when that joy belongs to all of us.

This week, as Sasha Troufanov and Sapir Cohen stood beneath the chuppah, people around the world were moved. For Am Yisrael, it reached even deeper. We rejoiced with tears of joy. After so much pain, prayer, and waiting, their wedding became a moment of celebration for the entire Jewish people.

Their story is known to so many of us. They were taken hostage on October 7. Sapir was released after 55 days in captivity. Sasha remained in Gaza for 498 days. His father, Vitaly, was murdered on October 7. And now, after everything they endured, Sasha and Sapir have begun building a Jewish home together.

There is another part of their story that moved me deeply. Sapir had spoken openly about faith. Sasha was on his own journey. Then everything changed. In captivity, something opened inside Sasha. He began to pray. He became stronger in faith. And when he was finally released, one of the first things he asked for was to pray with tefillin.

That detail says so much.

Even in the darkest place, a spark of G-dliness can be revealed. Even when someone is torn away from home, faith can remain alive. And after enduring what no human being should endure, Sasha and Sapir chose to build, to love, and to bring more holiness into the world.

All of Am Yisrael feels connected to this joy. For our Chabad Naples community, there is also a special closeness. One year ago, in April, Sasha and Sapir came to Naples and spoke to more than 400 people in our community. We heard their story. We saw their courage. We felt their love, their faith, and their strength. And during that conversation, right here in Naples, they shared their engagement.

The room erupted with joy.

So our mazal tov this week comes from a place of deep connection. We rejoice with Sasha and Sapir, with their families, with Am Yisrael, and with our own community that was blessed to hear their story firsthand.

These are the moments when the Jewish people are reminded of who we are. We are bound together in prayer, in pain, in hope, and in joy. Seeing Sasha and Sapir stand beneath the chuppah reminds us of the power of a Jewish home, of faith, of love, and of Am Yisrael continuing forward.

This week’s Torah portion is Matot-Masei, מטות־מסעי.

Matot, מטות, comes from the word mateh, מטה, a staff. Chassidic philosophy explains the difference between a mateh and a shevet. A shevet is a branch, fresh and flexible because it still draws life from its source. A mateh has been separated from where it once belonged.

At first, that separation feels like a loss. Yet the mateh carries its own unique quality. It becomes firm. It stands strong. It becomes something a person can lean on, something that helps another person walk forward.

There are times in life when a person is torn away from everything familiar. From home. From safety. From the people and places that give life comfort and stability.

Most of us cannot begin to imagine what they went through. But we saw what they carried with them. Sapir never gave up. Sasha returned with a faith and quiet strength that moved everyone who heard him. Together, they showed us what a mateh can mean: the ability to stand firm, to hold on to Hashem, and to help others stand taller too.

Masei, מסעי, means journeys. The Torah recounts the travels of the Jewish people through the desert, step by step. Every stop mattered. Every stage became part of the path that brought them closer to the Promised Land.

Sasha and Sapir’s journey is one we can never fully understand. But we can be inspired by what they chose next. They chose to build a Jewish home and bring more life, faith, and light into the world.

King David says: לֹא אָמוּת כִּי אֶחְיֶה וַאֲסַפֵּר מַעֲשֵׂי יָ-הּ

“I will not die, but I will live and tell of the deeds of Hashem.”

That is the message we take from this simcha. We build. We tell the story of Hashem’s kindness. We hold tightly to faith, to Torah, to life, and to one another.

This Shabbat, let us celebrate Sasha and Sapir, and the enduring spirit of Am Yisrael. Let us take inspiration from their courage to live with more faith, more love, and more light in our families, our community, and the world.

May Hashem bless Sasha and Sapir to build a בנין עדי עד, binyan adei ad, an everlasting Jewish home, filled with health, happiness, healing, and only open and revealed good. May all those who returned from captivity find healing and strength. And may we merit to see only simchas, only comfort, and only good news for all of Am Yisrael.

With love and blessings,

Rabbi Fishel and Ettie Zaklos

Dear Friends,

This Shabbat, as America marks 250 years since the Declaration of Independence, we pause to appreciate one of the greatest blessings a person, a family, and a community can know: the blessing of freedom.

There will be flags, family, barbecues, and fireworks. But July 4th is more than a national celebration. It is a moment for all of us to recognize the freedom, opportunity, and dignity this country represents.

For us as Jews, that appreciation runs especially deep. For so much of our history, Jewish life was lived under fear, restriction, or uncertainty. Here in America, we have been blessed with the freedom to live openly and proudly as Jews. We can build a synagogue, place a mezuzah on our doors, educate our children, gather for Shabbat, serve Hashem with confidence, build communities, and be there for one another. That is a blessing we should never take for granted.

From its founding, America recognized a powerful truth: our rights and dignity are not given by government alone. They are endowed by our Creator. Every person has value because every person was created by Hashem.

Freedom built on that foundation is not only a privilege. It is a responsibility. This week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, speaks directly to that responsibility. Moses is told that he will not enter the Land of Israel. This was the dream of his life. He had led the Jewish people out of Egypt, through the sea, to Mount Sinai, and across the desert. And now, at the very edge of the Promised Land, he learns that he will not go in.

What does Moses do at that moment?

He does not focus on himself. He turns to Hashem and asks for the next leader.

He says:

יִפְקֹד ה׳ אֱלֹקי הָרוּחֹת לְכָל בָּשָׂר

“May Hashem, the G-d of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the community.”

And he asks that the people not be left “like sheep without a shepherd.”

Moses understood something powerful. Life is not only about what we build. It is about what we leave for the next generation. That is true for the Jewish people, and it is true for America.

Freedom is precious, but it is never automatic. It must be cherished, protected, and passed on with responsibility. At a time when antisemitism is rising and moral clarity is needed, we must continue to stand proudly for the values that make this country a blessing: faith in the Creator, respect for every person, moral courage, kindness, and the willingness to stand up for what is right.

That is one of the messages of Pinchas: there are moments when values require courage. We cannot be passive about the future of our people, our families, or our communities.

So this July 4th, we do not only look back with gratitude. We look forward with purpose. What kind of country will we help build? What kind of community will we leave behind? What values will our children and grandchildren see in us?

The answer begins with how we use our freedom. Use it to do a mitzvah. Use it to help another person. Use it to build family and community. Use it to bring more light into the world. That is the spirit we try to live every day at Chabad Naples. Every person is cherished. Every soul is precious. Our hope is that everyone feels loved, welcomed, and part of one mishpacha, one extended family.

We felt that so powerfully this week with the launch of Kitchen of Kindness. The response was beautiful because it was not only about meals. It was about people being cared for, feeling connected, and knowing they are part of a community that shows up for one another.

That is freedom at its best: using the blessings we have been given to bring kindness, dignity, and goodness into the lives of others.

May Hashem bless this country, protect those who defend it, and help each of us use our freedom with purpose, gratitude, courage, and kindness.

With love and blessings,

Rabbi Fishel and Ettie Zaklos