The Rebbe’s Enduring Light in Troubled Times
On the 31st anniversary of the passing of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, a remarkable convergence unfolded in Queens, New York. Tens of thousands gathered at the Ohel—the Rebbe’s resting place, the most visited Jewish holy site in North America—to honor a leader whose spiritual influence stretched from the ashes of the Holocaust to the halls of Congress and the hearts of everyday seekers. This year’s yahrtzeit, Gimmel Tammuz, arrived heavy with significance, coinciding with personal stories of loss and resilience following the October 7 terrorist attacks in Israel. It’s no wonder that this annual pilgrimage attracts not only Jews but people of diverse backgrounds and beliefs, united in seeking hope where history has tried so hard to extinguish it.
President Donald Trump’s decision to send a public letter to Chabad’s global movement on this solemn anniversary—and to reference his visit to the Ohel one year to the day after the October 7 attacks—offered his own testament to the magnetic power of the Rebbe’s legacy. Yet, beneath the optics and headline platitudes, it’s worth asking: What is it about the Rebbe, and the movement he inspired, that draws world leaders and grieving families alike to this unassuming cemetery in Queens?
Jewish tradition teaches that “saving one life is as if one saves the entire world.” The Rebbe lived that maxim. His model—one part tireless advocacy, one part relentless optimism—continues to shape Jewish identity and civic engagement three decades after his passing. According to Dr. Erica Brown, director of the Mayberg Center for Jewish Education and Leadership, “The Rebbe’s genius lay in his capacity to inspire action—calls for education, social justice, and the sanctity of every human soul—that continues to ripple far beyond the walls of any synagogue.”
Across the country this week, nearly a thousand Chabad houses, led by Shluchim (emissaries), are holding special gatherings. They distribute pamphlets, Torah study guides, and stories, amplifying the Rebbe’s message for a generation that—more than ever—hungers for dignity, mutual respect, and empathy amidst the loud din of division.
Political Spectacle or Genuine Tribute?
A closer look reveals the complicated dance between politics and religious symbolism. President Trump’s letter to Chabad praised the Rebbe as “one of the most dynamic and influential faith leaders in modern history,” underscored the Rebbe’s advocacy for criminal justice reform, and invoked the trauma and solidarity felt by Jewish communities following the kidnapping of Israeli hostages in Gaza. The timing of Trump’s pilgrimage—a visit to the Ohel on the anniversary of the Oct. 7 attacks, in the company of Edan Alexander’s family, whose son was released from Hamas captivity—reminds us that the intersection of faith and politics is rarely pure.
Yet, for critics on the left, Trump’s engagement raises tough questions. Is this a moment of heartfelt recognition, or calculated political theater? Trump’s track record shows a rushed embrace of faith leaders when it suits immediate objectives, but little of the sustained investment needed to address systemic injustices. Remember the 2018 First Step Act, a bipartisan criminal justice reform bill that Trump touted as inspired, in part, by the Rebbe’s ideals? While the law offered overdue relief to some nonviolent offenders, its impact has been blunted by changes to federal policy and a lack of robust implementation. According to the Sentencing Project, recidivism rates remain high, and “piecemeal reforms have not addressed racial disparities or the root causes of mass incarceration.”
That tension—the aspiration of redemptive faith versus the reality of uneven progress—echoes in many conservative appeals to tradition or religious authority. Applause lines at commemorative events are easy; translating moral exhortation into policy that lifts up the vulnerable is much harder. Compare this to historic moments when faith activism actually moved the needle: the civil rights alliance between Jewish clergy and Dr. King, or the sanctuary movement that aided Central American refugees in the 1980s. Those episodes remind us that faith communities can indeed catalyze change—when leaders commit, not just pose.
“The Rebbe’s call to save a single soul is not a slogan but a mandate. It’s up to us to shape a society where every life—and every family—is sacred, not just at moments of public grief, but in the daily business of justice and compassion.”
The Rebbe’s Challenge for Today’s America
Beyond that, the enduring vibrancy of the Rebbe’s movement stands as a quiet rebuke to cynicism and isolationism so often pushed by right-wing commentators. Annual Gimmel Tammuz observances don’t just mourn the loss of a towering personality—they compel action in the present, inviting participants to dedicate a few minutes each day to Torah study, mitzvot, and acts of kindness. This year’s programming by Chabad places particular emphasis on daily study of the Rambam (Maimonides), reflecting the Rebbe’s vision for spiritual democratization: Jewish wisdom accessible to all, regardless of background.
What does this mean for America—still reeling from rising antisemitism, toxic partisanship, and the sorrow of ongoing violence in Israel and Gaza? The Rebbe’s teachings urge a focus on shared humanity. Harvard historian Deborah Lipstadt points out that “The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s legacy is measured not just by the numbers at his gravesite, but by the movement’s global commitment to education, interfaith outreach, and the everyday dignity of the marginalized.” At a time when certain conservative voices weaponize religion to exclude or divide, the Rebbe’s model is fundamentally inclusive. His legacy calls us to find the spark of dignity in every neighbor—immigrant, prisoner, protester, or even political opponent.
As the Ohel fills with prayers from families yearning for their loved ones’ safe return from Gaza—some joined by former presidents and headline-seeking politicians—the greater test lies elsewhere. Will we answer the Rebbe’s demand for moral accountability when it’s inconvenient, when it means passing policies that address hate crimes, reform policing, invest in education, and support the sort of interfaith, intercultural dialogue that can heal our fractured public square? Or will we confine this legacy to decorative invocations on somber anniversaries, then look away?
