Rabbi Abrams Blog

I’ll never look at a minyan the same way again. For all these years I had it wrong. It’s not about religion! On Sunday, I received a call from a nice young orthodox man who asked if we have a daily minyan in Temecula. Jews pray three times a day, and it should be done in synagogue with a minyan (quorum). I tried to explain to him that Temecula is not so religious and we don’t have a daily minyan. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around it. “So what do you do yourself for prayers?” He asked. I told him that while in a place without a minyan, I’m exempt, but that I’m very particular to pray with a minyan when I’m in a city with one (this is based on the Jewish code of law). “But I’m saying kaddish for my father!” He exclaimed. Something about his determination touched my heart, and I told him that I’d try to pull a minyan together, but that my experience is that more than one weekday minyan gets to be too much very quickly in this town. Sure enough, we had a minyan three times

The Rebbe was always important to me, even before I chose to go to yeshiva and become a rabbi.  I was  born with a miraculous blessing  from the Rebbe.  At the same time, I wasn't part of the 770 scene in the early 90's, and didn't understand the intense emotion that people experienced on Gimmel Tammuz (the day of the Rebbe's passing, which we're marking today). I remember attending farbrengens on this day, watching elder Chassidim cry about how abandoned they felt, how they can't continue alone and how much they want to see the Rebbe.  "We can't continue without Moshiach.  Moshiach must come now!" is what they declared.  My first reaction was probably feelings of inadequacy.  Why was I so numb to the disaster that had occurred?  Why wasn't I bothered like they were? As I matured and learned more of the Rebbe's teachings, I felt empowered to know that any one person could bring Moshiach, if they only want it enough.  Maybe it will be me, I