Among the most influential Jewish voices of the 20th century was Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, known to millions simply as the Rebbe. As the leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, he shaped not only Jewish life in his generation, but also how modern Jews and non-Jews alike think about spirituality, purpose, and what it means to live with God. Though he wasn’t the “Rebbe” of all of Judaism (such a thing does not exist), his reach was extraordinary not because of political power or media presence, but because he taught something so many of us crave: that every single life has a mission. And not just a mission – a holy one.
Today marks Gimmel Tammuz, the third day of the Hebrew month of Tammuz. It isn’t a biblical holiday, and it isn’t widely celebrated across the Jewish world. But for many, it holds deep meaning. It’s the yahrzeit, the anniversary of the Rebbe’s death – a moment to reflect on his teachings and ask ourselves whether we are living the mission God planted inside us.
One of the Rebbe’s most insistent messages was that God is not only found in the synagogue or on the battlefield, not only in moments of crisis or revelation, but in the details of daily life. He taught that spiritual life doesn’t begin when you close your front door and open your prayer book. It begins at the kitchen sink, in your marriage, in how you treat strangers and your own children. In other words, there is no such thing as “just” a regular day.
That message is drawn straight from the Bible.
Why would the Torah spend nearly a third of the Book of Exodus describing construction plans?
We go from the splitting of the sea to verse after verse about sockets, curtains, rings, and beams. The Israelites — just freed from slavery, are given divine instructions on how to build a Mishkan, a portable sanctuary where God’s presence would dwell. But the text doesn’t summarize. It lingers. The Torah, which normally leaves plenty to the imagination, suddenly becomes a blueprint manual. Every measurement, every material, every stitch is described not once, but twice. First as a command, and then again when the people actually carry it out.
Here’s the kicker. God doesn’t say “I will dwell in it.” He says, “I will dwell among them.” Not inside the structure, but within the people.
The Rebbe unpacked this verse with relentless precision. The goal was never to build a tent. The goal was to create space for God within us, and that space is built through physical action. Gold, silver, wood, wool, all elevated through work. The Rebbe taught that every human being has a mission to build a kind of personal Mishkan, to take the raw materials of life and make them shine. That’s the heart of spirituality: not escaping the world, but refining it.
You don’t need a fancy title, a perfect worship attendance. You just need to show up with your hands, your time, your words, and treat your life like it matters. Because it does.
This vision is deeply embedded in the Jewish understanding of service. Not just worship, but holy work. The craftsmen who built the Mishkan weren’t prophets. They were laborers. Artists. Seamstresses. They shaped holy space not through visions but through tools. The Rebbe returned to this point over and over: Judaism isn’t afraid of the physical, it harnesses it. The goal isn’t to flee the world, but to transform it.
For those of us who spend most of our days in what feels like “non-spiritual” work – deadlines, errands, parenting, problem-solving, this is both liberating and demanding. Liberating, because it means no moment is meaningless. Demanding, because it means no moment is off the hook. There are no spiritual sabbaticals from your mission. You are building a sanctuary with your life, or you’re not.
The Rebbe saw that exile, personal, communal, global, is ultimately a spiritual disconnect. We forget who we are. We forget what matters. We see dirt where there’s gold. But when we realign with purpose, when we stop waiting for thunder and start using what’s in our hands, we move the world forward.
The Rebbe believed that our national mission is not just survival. It is to bring about redemption. Not through force. Through light. Through doing what is right in a world that constantly rewards what is wrong.
You don’t have to believe in everything the Rebbe taught to take this one message seriously: that your life matters, that the details matter, and that God is not waiting in heaven, He’s waiting in your next small decision.
So on this day, as thousands remember the Rebbe’s legacy, maybe we all can take a cue from the story of the tabernacle. Look at your life. The materials are there. Gold, wool, wood, words, moments. Build something with them. Not just for yourself, but for the presence of God to dwell, not in a tent, but among us.
