Beyond the Headlines: The Message of Ayala Shkuri

A weekly glimpse into the Israel you won’t read about in the news 

Sivan with Ayala Shkuri

In the photo with me is Ayala Shkuri. Visible in the photo behind us are her daughter, police officer Mor Shkuri, who was murdered at the Sderot police station on October 7th, and Ayala’s husband, policeman Roni Shkuri, who was murdered in a terror attack less than a year later.

Ayala, both a bereaved mother and a widow, was one of the participants in the special trip to

the United States organized by Menucha V’Yeshuah and led by Mendy Kenig. Fifty-three bereaved families from Israel received deep warmth, comfort, and tremendous appreciation from the US Jewish community.

On Shabbat, Ayala addressed the audience:

“People ask me how I am. How I’m doing. They ask how I managed to return to living alone in our home in Sderot. And I answer: ‘I’m not alone. I always knew that God was with me. And now I have two representatives of mine with Him: Mor and Roni. Their physical bodies are no longer here, but their souls exist forever. I feel them.’

“I was privileged to live with two people who wanted only to do good. I’m grateful for that privilege, and I also think about how to continue what they embodied. Both were great souls. Mor would recite Mizmor L’Todah every single day, so how can I not say it too? Mor excelled in honoring her parents; I ask young people to carry that forward.

“The night before she was murdered, our Mor encountered a slightly drunk and confused teenage girl who wanted to go to the Nova music festival. Mor stopped her from going and brought her home. That evening she said: ‘I already did my good deed for today.’ That’s just one small example of how caring she was.

“Roni was pure soul. People ask me what I miss most, and I tell them: ‘Honestly, I just want him to be sitting on the couch again, doing nothing.’

 My message to people is this: Appreciate your loved ones while they are with you. Find joy simply in their presence, in the fact of your relationship, in their very existence.

“My answer to this double loss is one thing: do, do, do—and then do some more. Choose life. Hold on to routine. Act. Work. Wake up each morning and take on the day’s tasks.”

I told Ayala that she reminds me of what we read last week in the Torah portion of Chayei Sarah. Our forefather Avraham concludes his mourning for Sarah, “to eulogize Sarah and to weep for her.” But the very next word in the Torah after his crying is: “vayakam, and he rose.”

To weep and to mourn, and then …  to rise.

Preserve the Unity

Rabbi YY Jacobson speaking at the Menucha Veyeshua event

Also present at the event was the acclaimed Rabbi YY Jacobson who shared the following:

“I remember arriving in Israel after October 7th. I met a young man, a survivor from Kibbutz Be’eri, and he hugged me and said: ‘Every Jew I meet, I just want to hug him.’ I remember the atmosphere then; there was a very distinct frequency in the air, a sense of Jewish unity, of a deep understanding of who we are and who the enemy is. Despite all the differences among us, people genuinely wanted to embrace every Jew. That deep, shared Jewish point was revealed.

It was a moment of great clarity, a moment of profound truth. I am asking all of us to return to that feeling. To preserve it.”

We Are All Shluchim

Family photo of Chabad shluchim

“Who are you, and where are you a shaliach?” That’s how every conversation began at the recent international conference of Chabad emissaries in New York.

Then came the answers, one after another: “Mendy, shaliach in Thailand.” “Yossi, shaliach in Tel Aviv.” “Shmuel, shaliach in Siberia.” After hearing this repeatedly, I found myself almost addressing other people the same way out of sheer habit.

But perhaps that instinct wasn’t mistaken. Maybe each of us really should be asking ourselves that very question: Who am I, and where am I a shaliach? Because in a deeper sense, every one of us is an emissary.

A mother preparing school lunches for her children is fulfilling a mission. So is a farmer working out in his field. In every small action throughout the day, we can recognize this role. We were all sent into this world, a soul within a body, with a unique purpose that God has entrusted to us, shaped by the circumstances of our lives.

Many people walk away from this annual gathering struck by the scope and strength of the Chabad movement. And that admiration is well deserved. But the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s true innovation was the very concept of shlichut—that emissary work is not limited to the 6,500 official Chabad shluchim who pose for the annual group photo. Everyone who sees that picture is invited to ask themselves:

Who am I, and where am I meant to be a shaliach?

Parashat Toldot: The Tent, the Well and the Ladder

Three powerful symbols are associated with our nation’s forefathers—Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. Each one represents a different spiritual path, a different way of serving God, and a different message for our own lives.

Which image is most closely linked to Avraham Avinu? A tent. A tent open on all four sides to anyone who is hungry, thirsty, or weary. It is a symbol of hospitality and generosity, a home that is always open, where travelers find food, comfort, and an introduction to faith, kindness, and tzedakah.

And Yitzchak? If Avraham’s tent is horizontal, spread wide to welcome the many wayfarers, Yitzchak’s symbol is vertical: the well. Yitzchak re-dug the wells his father had dug before him, teaching us perseverance and spiritual depth. The message endures: meaning often lies beneath the surface. Even when the path to inner clarity is blocked by sand or debris, if we keep digging and refuse to give up, sweet water awaits.

And Yaakov Avinu, whom we accompany to Charan in this week’s Torah portion—what is his symbol? After Avraham’s outward-reaching tent and Yitzchak’s inward-reaching well, Yaakov’s symbol is the ladder from his famous dream in which he saw “a ladder on the earth, and its top reached the heavens.”

Yaakov teaches that this world and the next need not be separate. There is a constant link between the physical and the spiritual, between what we see and what is hidden.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov explains: “A ladder standing on the ground while its top reaches heaven—that is the essence of human striving.” Our task is to connect earth to heaven, to infuse the ordinary rhythm of our days with holiness and purpose.

Yaakov Avinu entrusts us with this mission. May we each succeed in elevating our daily lives and building our own ladders upward.

Translated by Yehoshua Siskin and Janine Muller Sherr

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