We are doing Torah and Tea for the portion of Yisro. As usual, we’ll cover a bit from Volume 26, along with parts of the first and second Sichos of Yisro. Of course, the central theme of this week’s Torah reading is the Ten Commandments, the Ten Sayings, and we’ll touch on that as well.
I want to dedicate today’s learning for the elevation of the soul of our son, Levi Yitzchak. I had just finished preparing this Sicha when we received the terrible news—first a request to say Tehillim because of an accident, with no details, and then the shocking news itself. We were completely stunned.
Even now, after sitting Shiva for the entire week, it’s still hard to process. It’s especially difficult because just this past Shabbos—somehow Hashem pushed him—Levi came with his family to spend Shabbos with us. He rarely comes, and yet that Shabbos we spent real time together. It was unusually peaceful and calm; no crowds, just a quiet, beautiful Shabbos.
In hindsight, it feels as though he came to say goodbye—to his parents and to Sharon, where he grew up. There’s no other explanation. The last time he had visited was over a year and a half ago.
During Shiva, we learned just how deeply he impacted his community. The outpouring of love, respect, and appreciation was beyond words. Levi was only 43—healthy, strong, and full of life. We still don’t understand what happened, but the pain is overwhelming and difficult to digest.
The support we received was extraordinary. Hundreds of people came, and that love is comforting, even though it can’t undo the loss. The finality is devastating. When someone is older, you can understand it in a different way—but in an instant? It feels unreal.
As I mentioned, I had completed the first Sicha of Yisro when the news came. I never did the second Sicha until today, since during Shiva we don’t learn. Right after Shiva, we put up the matzeivah, which was again deeply painful. There is a gaping hole in our hearts.
We trust that Hashem is doing what is right for him. What is striking is how fitting the Rebbe’s Sicha is for Levi. Without going into all the details,
The opening of the Ten Commandments begins with “Anochi Hashem Elokecha”—“I am Hashem your God”—followed by “who took you out of the land of Egypt.”
Some commentaries understand this to mean that Hashem is our God because He took us out of Egypt—out of slavery—to become His servants. But Rashi uses a very specific expression: meshubadim li—enslaved to Me.
As the Rebbe explains, there’s a difference between accepting Hashem as King and being completely bound to Him. A king gives commands, and when you obey them, you’re loyal. But when there are no commands, you’re free. Even a servant is not serving every moment—when there’s no work, he eats or sleeps and is on his own.
But Rashi’s language implies something deeper. In Egypt, the Jews weren’t just living there—they were subjected to harsh, unrelenting labor. So when Hashem says, “I took you out of Egypt,” it means that now you are bound to Me completely. Whatever you do—sleeping, eating, resting—you always feel that you have a Master over you. You’re never fully “done.” You always ask yourself, “What else can I do for Hashem?”
This, in a nutshell, is how Levi lived his life. He didn’t just do what needed to be done. He was constantly involved, nonstop, in fulfilling his shlichus, doing the Rebbe’s work. And most importantly, he brought in so many people—through love. He literally transformed the lives of hundreds and hundreds of people, connecting them to Torah and mitzvos.
He did it with kindness, gentleness, sincerity, and authenticity. He had no agenda other than Hashem, Torah, mitzvos, and the Rebbe. That was it.
Hundreds of people told me this week—literally hundreds—how much he impacted them. It’s not about numbers, but it shows how deeply he invested his G-d-given talents to help others. People loved him because he was always there. They felt he helped them grow and brought them closer to Yiddishkeit.
People of all ages were crying—young and old, bar mitzvah boys, families. He performed bar mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals. He ran massive Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services—over 700 people, standing room only—and he did the full davening, without shortcuts. Most of the attendees weren’t frum, but they loved it.
He became their rabbi. Whenever they needed something Jewish, they turned to Levi. He always had time, always listened. Many of these people weren’t searching for Torah or mitzvos—but once they got to know Levi and felt his warmth, they wanted what he was teaching.
We heard this all week—how effective he was, how much love there was. Sometimes I wonder how Moshiach isn’t here yet, with so much goodness and impact. Levi truly lived Rashi’s words: meshubadim li.
The Rambam explains that there’s a mitzvah not only to believe in Hashem, but to learn about Him—to understand, to internalize. Levi embodied this. He taught endlessly—classes every day—and every class required preparation. That constant learning made him a true scholar.
There are things we can’t understand, like why Hashem took him. But we trust Hashem’s wisdom. Other things we can reflect on—like the fact that he came home for Shabbos right before his passing. You can say it was coincidence, or you can see the hand of Hashem.
Levi lived a life of learning, teaching, reflection, and deep belief. He was an ish matzliach—someone whose actions transformed lives. Hashem gives each person a certain number of days to complete their mission. Some accomplish in a short time what others need a lifetime to achieve. Levi certainly did.
Yet he never neglected his family. He was a devoted husband and father. He even took in two orphans—despite limited space and resources—and raised them as his own, with tremendous love and sacrifice.
He did everything quietly, humbly, without seeking recognition. If someone asked for help, he didn’t hesitate. He lived to serve.
Levi is not in the past—he is present. He leaves behind a beautiful family who will carry his legacy, and hundreds upon hundreds of people whose lives he changed for the better. They will continue his work.
May all of this be a merit for his soul.