The following is from a session of Torah n’ Tea, a weekly Torah study class hosted by Rabbi Chaim Wolosow of Chabad. This session focuses on Parshat Yitro, the Torah portion that contains the Ten Commandments and the revelation at Mount Sinai.
This week’s parsha is the most foundational section of the entire Torah, because it includes Matan Torah—the giving of the Torah itself. Everything we observe, study, and practice begins here. This is the moment we truly became a people. In fact, it was a kind of national conversion. Just as an individual who wishes to join the Jewish people must undergo a process of conversion, so too, at Sinai, the entire nation underwent that process together.
At that time, we entered into a covenant with Hashem. There were defined requirements—immersion, circumcision for males, and offerings—and through this, we became a Torah people.
Two themes are explored here. One is the relationship of non-Jews to Torah, and the other is the unique and profound connection women have to Torah. As will become clear from the verses describing the giving of the Torah, the bond women have with Torah is in certain respects even deeper than that of men.
The Rebbe constantly pushed forward with new initiatives—tefillin, mezuzah, Torah study, tzedakah, and the well-known ten mivtzoim. There was never a sense of “enough.” Whatever had been accomplished was good, but there was always more to do. New campaigns emerged regularly, each one expanding the reach of Torah and Yiddishkeit to a broader audience.
The emphasis was always on growth. Not fewer people—more people. When the Torah was given, all of Israel had to be present. Six hundred thousand. If even one person had been missing, the Torah could not have been given. That same principle applies today: bringing Mashiach requires involving as many people as possible.
What was especially striking was a campaign that began in 5743 (1983). Until then, all the Rebbe’s initiatives were directed inward—toward Jewish men, women, and children. Then came something entirely unexpected: a campaign to reach non-Jews and encourage them to observe the Seven Noahide Laws.
While Jews are bound by 613 mitzvos, all humanity is commanded in seven fundamental laws that form the basis of a moral and just society. The Rebbe taught that it is our responsibility to encourage the observance of these laws among non-Jews—neighbors, friends, coworkers, and society at large.
This brings to mind my late sister, Miriam, may her memory be a blessing. Like Miriam the Prophetess, she led others with quiet determination. In Pittsburgh, on Murray Avenue near a busy shopping area, she would sit regularly—often in the cold—distributing what were known as “Good Cards,” which outlined the Seven Noahide Laws.
She did this faithfully, week after week. Others joined her. When Jewish men were nearby, she encouraged them to put on tefillin. Everything was connected—Torah, mitzvos, Mashiach, and responsibility for the world around us.
This campaign is rooted in the Rambam, who writes explicitly that Jews are obligated to influence the inhabitants of the world to observe the Seven Noahide Laws. The Rambam’s language is strong, but in our time it means persuasion, encouragement, and moral leadership.
These laws are found primarily in Bereishis, where they were given to Noach. And the conclusion is clear: this is not optional. It is a responsibility. The Rebbe meant exactly what he said—this is part of our mission.
The Rebbe asks a fundamental question: why is a Jew responsible for this at all? What is the connection? The Torah was given to the Jewish people, yet the Rambam says that we must ensure that non-Jews observe the mitzvos given to them—the Seven Noahide Laws—because these are laws of Hashem that were conveyed through Moshe Rabbeinu. What is the relationship between their mitzvos and our Torah?
The Rebbe explains that the answer is actually obvious. If the Torah records the Noahide laws within our Torah—the Jewish Torah—it must mean that there is a connection and a responsibility. The question is not if there is a connection, but what that connection is.
The Rebbe explains that the purpose of all Torah and mitzvos is not only personal refinement, but to bring Hashem’s kingship into the world. As we say in the Rosh Hashanah davening: “V’yeida kol pa’ul ki Ata pe’alto”—that every creation should recognize Hashem. We are meant to create an atmosphere in which the existence of a Higher Authority is acknowledged.
That is part of the responsibility of a Jew: to affect the world. And the world includes non-Jews—the Bnei Noach. When we speak to them about Hashem, about morality, about mitzvos, we are helping establish Hashem as King over all humanity, not only over ourselves.
Historically, this could not be done openly. The Rebbe asks: if this is such a clear directive in the Rambam, why didn’t earlier generations launch such a campaign? Why did it wait until now?
The answer is simple and realistic: until recently, doing this openly would have endangered Jewish lives. Today, we live in a time when it is possible to speak, to distribute cards, to encourage moral responsibility without risking one’s safety.
And this answers the concern about offending people. If someone will be angered by it, if it will provoke hatred or danger—especially in a climate of antisemitism—that is not what we are talking about.
The Rebbe points out something striking. After the devastation of the Holocaust and World War II, the world saw that advanced societies—cultured, educated, technologically sophisticated—were capable of unimaginable cruelty. What was missing? A belief in G-d. Those who believed in a Higher Authority, even within other religions, had moral restraints. The absence of belief leads to moral collapse.
The world needs moral clarity. It needs accountability. That is why the Rebbe insisted that humanity must be reminded that there is a G-d and that there are laws.
And practically speaking, when you deal with a normal, decent non-Jew—a coworker, a neighbor—kindness and sharing values are usually met with appreciation, not hostility. Often, it creates goodwill and benefit in return. But that is not the reason we do it. We do it because it is a clear directive of the Rambam—and experience has shown that it brings blessing.
Every year on the Rebbe’s birthday, the President of the United States issues a proclamation emphasizing education and moral responsibility. The Rebbe also pushed strongly for a Moment of Silence in public schools. There was opposition, but the Rebbe clarified: this is not about religion, but about awareness that life is not hefker—that there is accountability.
This approach reflects the Rebbe’s global vision—not only for Jews, but for all humanity. We may not always be able to measure the impact, but we do see increasing responsibility among nations and people helping one another in times of crisis.
Morality spreads gradually. Torah has taught the world how to live, and little by little, it takes hold.
In earlier years, outreach meant asking, “Are you Jewish?” and offering tefillin. Today, there is something meaningful to offer everyone. No one needs to feel excluded.
I saw this personally. After a major blizzard, I was stuck in my driveway. A non-Jewish neighbor saw my situation, went out in terrible weather, and shoveled me out. I thought to myself: I wish I had a Noahide card to give him, to say, “You just fulfilled your mitzvah—making the world a better place.”
This is what happens when people feel valued and included. We must remain distinct and careful in halacha, but appreciation of humanity builds bridges.
I have seen this again and again—neighbors who go out of their way to show that goodness still exists, people who return lost property without being asked. These are expressions of moral responsibility.
It is important to give the world a sense that there is Hashem, that there are mitzvos, and that there is something meaningful we can do.
Now, briefly, another important subject—especially relevant in a class for women.
Before Matan Torah, Hashem tells Moshe: “Koh tomar l’Beit Yaakov, v’tageid l’Bnei Yisrael.” Why split it into two groups? And why change the language?
Beit Yaakov refers to the women. Bnei Yisrael refers to the men. And notice—the women come first.
Judaism follows the mother. Jewish identity comes from the mother, while tribal identity comes from the father. The Rebbe explains that women possess an innate emunah—a natural faith—without needing complex analysis. Men question more, analyze more, doubt more.
Therefore, Hashem first gave the Torah to the women, who could accept it in its essence without needing all the details. The Ten Commandments begin with general principles and only later move to specifics.
To the women, Hashem says “tomar”—speak gently. Women do not need force. To the men, “tageid”—strong instruction.
The Rebbe emphasized that the woman is the foundation of the home—Beit Yaakov. She carries the home with her faith, dedication, and unwavering acceptance of Hashem.
This is why the women sang and danced with timbrels at the Sea. They had suffered more, and therefore rejoiced more deeply. Their connection is personal, emotional, and profound.
And just as it was in the merit of the women that we left Egypt, so too it will be in the merit of the women that we will leave this final exile—speedily, with the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu.