Did you notice that when news of the murder of Chabad emissary Rabbi Zvi Kogan in the UAE broke, the Jewish world was not even surprised that there is Chabad in the UAE? We all act as if an Israeli-Moldovan chassidic Jew moving to the Persian Gulf to serve other Jews is the most natural thing in the world.

Indeed, Chabad is everywhere, and at this point, we kind of expect them to be. Chabad’s reach is so wide that it is sometimes called the “Jewish Coca-Cola.” While the comparison is quite understandable (and fun), it misses a central point: the Coca-Cola Company goes everywhere to take; Chabad goes everywhere to give.

I am not a Chabadnik per se. I possess no long beard, no education in Kabbalistic texts, and no infectious enthusiasm (at least, not yet). Still, at times like these, it is precisely those of us who don’t look the part who are reminded just how much Chabad does for the rest of us:

  • Jewish classes taught in all languages, at all times, for all ages and backgrounds;
  • An incredible website (Chabad.org)
  • Jewish schools opened and operating in every country you can imagine
  • Over 5,000 Chabad Houses in more than 100 countries
  • Chabad Houses on over 900 university campuses around the world, providing a home away from home to thousands and thousands of Jewish students.
  • Pesach Seders, Chanukah-lighting ceremonies, (free) High Holiday and Shabbat services
  • Hospital visits to the sick and elderly
  • Support for Jewish prisoners and soldiers all around the globe
  • Addiction and recovery programs
  • Political and social support for Jewish communities in need
  • … and so, so much more.

We know all this, yet we should remind ourselves of it from time to time.

Last week, I realized there is still one more thing that Chabad gives us. Let me explain.

I was invited to Crown Heights to be one of the speakers at Chabad on Campus’s signature event, the Pegisha (the “meeting”) Shabbaton – an incredible, long weekend for Jewish university students in Crown Heights, Brooklyn.

On Friday morning, I was walking down Kingston Avenue, the commercial hub, when a young Chabadnik, no older than 23-24, approached me with a portable credit card reader, saying “collecting for shlichus.” Jetlagged and with very little American cash on hand, I made some kind of excuse and departed without giving him anything.

Before I got too far, however, I thought to myself, “Wait. I know what that means.” Chabad friends had explained it to me. When a young couple moves away to establish a Chabad presence in a new location, it can often take them years to develop local financial support. There is no “Chabad bank” in Crown Heights paying their bills.

So how do they pay their rent, offer programs, and simply survive while their Chabad House gets off the ground? Before they leave Crown Heights, they raise money from friends, family, and people like me they meet on Kingston Avenue.

This young man and his wife were clearly born after the Rebbe’s passing in 1994 and had therefore never met him, yet here they are sacrificing the relative ease of Jewish life in Brooklyn and dedicating their lives (and raising money on the street corner from strangers!) to move to a place with a growing number of Jews – most of whom they had never met!

Of course, I turned around and gave him a donation. They give so much to us, how could I not give something back?

On a deeper level, how can a person be depressed when hundreds of young couples are joining thousands of established families of Chabad emissaries, a veritable army of Jewish love, inspiration and care?

It’s no surprise that after we heard news of Rabbi Kogan’s murder, numerous young Chabad couples declared their intent to do more, go farther, and reach even more Jews. Chabad emissaries remind us that the future is bright.

That night, the lesson became even clearer. In previous years, over 1,000 college students from campuses around the world have descended on Crown Heights for a long weekend like no other. They experience the warmth and joy of Shabbat in a chassidic community; they choose from dozens of lectures to attend; they sing, dance, and celebrate being Jewish.

This year, 1,500 students signed up and they had to close registration. There simply wasn’t room for more. Where would they sleep? Where would they eat? Where would the events take place? Who would cover the enormous extra costs to an already enormous budget (the students themselves pay very little)?

But then the campus rabbis started calling, and texting, and emailing. Hundreds more students still wanted to come. Indeed, they needed to come. October 7th had changed them. A year of blatant antisemitism had changed them. Chabad on Campus moved mountains to accommodate 500 additional students, and together over 2,000 students welcomed Shabbat with joy and pride, the likes of which I’ve never seen.

The wave of Jewish pride we are witnessing goes even further. Time and time again I heard from campus rabbis that far more students have become active in their Jewish lives on campus than ever before. I also heard from student after student that they didn’t grow up feeling particularly Jewish, often had only one Jewish parent, never had a Jewish education, and hadn’t been in a synagogue in years, if ever. But now they are connected. They are proud.

One medical student who had never been Jewishly active, now proudly (and visibly) wears a Star of David necklace, staunchly pro-Israel in his social media activism despite the torrent of abuse he has been subject to, and now happily enjoys Shabbat at his campus Chabad House every week.

Meeting all these students, hearing their stories, feeling their energy, brought a sorely-needed smile to my face.

The situation in Israel can be depressing, I must admit. The best tonic, perhaps, is witnessing the resurgence of our people. The Talmud (Menachot 53b) likens the Jewish people to olive oil, emphasizing that our greatness comes out when we are put under pressure (the way olives produce their oil when pressed). And we’re seeing exactly that. How can a person be depressed when 2,000 Jewish students are asking to experience Shabbat and dancing the night away to celebrate their newfound Jewish pride?

In Crown Heights, I realized that the future is bright. Chabad gives us so much. Perhaps most potently, they give us hope. Hope in our people, hope in our future, hope in ourselves.