Dear Friends,
A person can carry many things. Some things we carry in our pockets. Some things we carry in our hearts. Some things we carry for ourselves, and some things we carry for others.
A child can happily carry a dirty pebble found outside, a small toy, or a piece of candy discovered at the bottom of a backpack. To an adult, it may look like nothing. But to the child, it has value. Not because of what it costs. Rather, because it was noticed and chosen, it became something worth holding onto.
As we get older, the things we carry change.
We carry a smartphone, keys, a wallet, and two to three types of glasses. These are useful, necessary things. Things whose value has already been decided for us and marked in ink on a price tag. But the Torah reminds us, especially as we get older, that there is another kind of value. Beyond what something costs, the value of what it can do. A small match may not be worth much in a store. But in the right moment, it can bring light, warmth, and life.
And this week, the Torah reminds us that every Jew carries that kind of power.
The Torah speaks about the lighting of the Menorah. Aharon is commanded to raise the flames. Not simply to light them, but to lift each flame until it can burn on its own.
At first glance, we may think this mission belongs only to Aharon. He was the Kohen Gadol. He lit the Menorah in the Mishkan. He served in the holiest place on behalf of the Jewish people.
But the Rebbe often taught that the message of the Menorah belongs to every one of us. Every Jew is a flame. Every soul has its own G-d-given purpose, its own color, its own movement, its own way of bringing light into the world.
No two flames are the same. Some people bring light through generosity. Some through wisdom. Some through friendship. Some through quiet kindness. Some through strength. Some through warmth. Some through simply making another person feel seen.
And that is why every Jew, regardless of title, is entrusted with light. Because each of us meets people along the way. A neighbor. A friend. A family member. A stranger. Someone who needs a kind word, a listening ear, a gentle smile. Each one is a reminder that every person matters.
The question is not only what we carry for ourselves. The question is whether we realize what we carry for others.
This past week, our community lost two special people, each one a light in his own way.
Our dear friend and member of Chabad Naples, Stanley Star, passed away on Thursday night. As a rabbi, there are moments of great joy, and there are moments that are deeply difficult. There are lifecycle events filled with celebration, and there are moments when we sit with families in their pain and try to be present.
I traveled to New York to be with his family and officiate Stanley’s funeral. The service was scheduled to begin at 10 o’clock, but it did not begin until nearly an hour later. There were lines and lines of people coming to pay their respects. Firefighters, friends, neighbors, community members, one person after another, each one carrying a story of how Stanley had touched their life. It was incredibly powerful to see.
Stanley was a man of generosity, a philanthropist, a person known and respected in his community in Fredonia, New York, and here in Naples as well. Together with his wife, Elizabeth, he touched many lives. But more than what he accomplished, people spoke about who he was.
He had a way of making people feel seen and valued. His employees spoke about how he treated them like family. With dignity and respect. No matter his success, he remained approachable and real. And even long after he had stepped away, many of them still came, years later, to pay their respects.
That says something powerful about a person. How he lifted others and strengthened a community. How he used what he had to bring warmth, support, and dignity to those around him.
Stanley understood what it meant to carry light.
We also remember Paul Kane, who passed away at the age of 99. He lived just a few doors away from Chabad, and over the years he became very dear to us.
About seven years ago, Paul celebrated his first Bar Mitzvah. He was 93 years old! Imagine that. A man later in life, still growing, still reaching, still connecting, still adding light.
And he did not stop there.
Even nearing 100, he was still going to the gym. I would sometimes meet him there. We would sit together. We would talk for a long time. We connected, and in fact, we spoke just before Shavuot. Our children would visit and bring him challah. He was warm. He was present. He had a glow about him.
Stanley and Paul lived very different lives. They gave in different ways. But each one carried something precious.
Stanley carried generosity, responsibility, and a heart for the community. Paul carried warmth, friendship, and the energy and inspiring curiosity of someone decades younger. Each one, in his own way, was both a flame and a lamplighter.
And that is the lesson for all of us.
There is an old thought: a person can build a monument, or a person can dig a well.
A monument may stand through the test of time. It may even be beautiful. But a well gives water. It nourishes people. It continues to help others live and grow long after the one who dug it is gone.
That is the difference between asking the world to remember us and giving the world something it can carry forward.
Let us be well diggers. Let us live in a way that nourishes others, bringing warmth where there is loneliness, encouragement where there is doubt, and light where there is darkness.
So this week, let us ask ourselves: what do we carry with us?
Do we carry patience? Kindness? The courage to call someone, visit someone, encourage someone, forgive someone, help someone? Do we carry a mitzvah ready to be shared? Every day, Hashem places someone in our path whose flame we can help lift.
May the neshamas of Stanley Star and Paul Kane have an aliyah. May their families be comforted. And may each of us honor their memory by becoming lamplighters in our own way, not living for monuments, but digging wells, nourishing others with warmth, goodness, and light.
With faith, resilience, and all the blessings,
Rabbi Fishel and Ettie Zaklos