A personal address from the Yanuka to the Jewish people, recorded shortly after an old audio recording from his early twenties resurfaced — in it, he can be heard expressing a desire for great wealth. Circulated without context, it drew sharp criticism in the media and parts of the Jewish community. In this message he explains what he meant, revisits the years that shaped him, and shares what has largely gone unheard until now.
My dear brothers and sisters, the people of Israel — I love you with a great love. Be strong, every one of you. May Hashem watch over you. Thank you for all your prayers, for all your love, for everything you have done. I love you, I pray for you, and I ask Hashem to bring you salvation, to protect you, and to spread His shelter of peace over each of you.
Today I want to share with you something deeply personal — a small glimpse into a reality that very few people have ever known.
There is a voice that has never truly been heard.
For many years, my real voice has remained unheard. No one has truly understood what I have gone through. Very few have stopped to listen, to understand, or to hear what I have genuinely been trying to say. Baruch Hashem, there is One who has always heard my voice — Hashem. That is the greatest kindness He has bestowed on me: that He listens to my prayers and hears my cry. It is important to me that you know this.
I am fully aware of everything that has taken place over this past period — the רדיפה (persecution), the disputes, the baseless hatred, the rumors, the slander, and every accusation directed against me. Baruch Hashem, I have accepted it all. Everything comes from Hashem, and everything He does is true and just. Whatever He has decreed for me is ultimately for my good. My prayer is only that it should bring Him pleasure, and that in the end everything will be transformed for the good. I judge favorably all those who have spoken against me — those who have criticized me, accused me, opposed me, or sought to harm me. I accept it all with love, because I know that everything comes from Hashem.
Even so, the רדיפה has taken a tremendous toll on me, both physically and emotionally. This past week was especially difficult — I became extremely weak. Yet with Hashem’s help, when Shabbos arrived we continued learning Torah together. I did everything I could to keep studying, teaching, and strengthening others, and baruch Hashem we merited to learn together once again.
But today I want to speak to you from my heart. I know that I am strong. I know that I will continue to fight. I will not surrender. With Hashem’s help we will prevail, and everything will ultimately be for the good.
I want to speak to every one of you — not only to those who support me, but also to those who oppose me, and even to those who consider themselves my enemies. There is a story you do not know. You do not know the pain I have endured. You do not know what it is to experience רדיפה without cause — to be falsely accused simply because, with Hashem’s help, I have tried to bring merit to others and to help people draw closer to Him. I have seen people receive guidance, prayer, hope, and salvation. I have seen Hashem perform miracles and wonders on their behalf, giving them counsel, strength, and direction.
Today I would like to take you back to the beginning of the real story.
As many of you know — though some may not — the following period was the most difficult chapter of my life. Baruch Hashem, I got married. But before that, many people tried, again and again, to extinguish everything I had worked to build — to destroy what I taught, to undermine everything I had devoted myself to, to erase whatever good I had tried to accomplish. Then came the darkest period of my life. It was a time of pain. A time of רדיפה.
Today I want to tell you the truth. I will not mention names. I will not describe what specific people did to me — I don’t want to go there. My prayer is only that Hashem forgive them and grant them atonement.
At the time I was about twenty-one or twenty-two years old. The רדיפה was relentless. You know how lashon hara works: once people begin speaking negatively about someone, the words take on a life of their own. They spread from one person to another like a wheel that never stops turning. One person repeats what he heard, another accepts it without question, then passes it along, until eventually everyone believes it — without ever stopping to ask whether it is true. That is exactly what happened to me. False reports spread everywhere, and I will never forget how many people turned their backs on me. Rabbis whom I had known. Respected community leaders. Wealthy patrons. People who had once stood beside me. One after another, they all turned away. All it took was for a certain rabbi to speak against me, and within a matter of days everything changed. The people who had once supported me disappeared; only a small handful of devoted students remained by my side. Those who had donated withdrew their support, and the rabbis who had once welcomed me no longer gave me a place to teach.
I would arrive at a synagogue to deliver a shiur, only to find that notices had been torn down, the doors locked, and the key taken from the gabbai so that I would not be allowed inside. Someone had gone to him and said: do not let him teach here — he belongs to the sitra achra (the Other Side), he must not even be allowed to enter. More than once I found myself standing outside, looking at the people gathered there, quietly accepting the humiliation, simply giving the shiur in the street because I was forbidden from entering. Sometimes I would search for another synagogue; sometimes I would simply teach in an open square. Many people still remember those days — how I was humiliated, how I was insulted, how they pursued me from one synagogue to another, week after week, the same thing happening again, and again, and again. Almost no one knows what those years were really like. No one truly understands what I lived through.
During that time I cried out to Hashem with all my heart. Financially, I was in the worst condition I had ever known — I had nothing, absolutely nothing. It was a period of extraordinary hardship, a time of hester panim, when it felt as though Heaven itself was hidden from me. And yet everything I had built had been built alone — with sacrifice, with hardship, with dedication. Every student, every shiur, everything that existed had been built without the backing of wealthy patrons, benefactors, or influential supporters. No one stood behind me. Instead, people turned their backs.
There was only one thing I asked of Hashem. I prayed: Ribbono Shel Olam, grant me עשירות דקדושה — wealth dedicated to holiness. Give me the means to carry out the mission You have entrusted to me. Grant me the resources so that I will never again be dependent on people who can choose one day to support me and the next day to abandon me.
I watched as those same rabbis who had rejected me aligned themselves instead with wealthy patrons whose values were far removed from the ideals of Torah — men of great means who were nonetheless immersed in wrongdoing and lashon hara, men distant from Hashem altogether. They celebrated my downfall. They rejoiced in my humiliation. And they spoke harsh words against me. At that point I prayed that I would never again need support of that kind. I asked Hashem for עשירות דקדושה — not for honor, not for luxury, and not for personal comfort, but so that I could carry out His work independently, free from the influence of people whose support came with conditions.
As time went on, I came to understand something that left a deep impression on me: I saw that many of those rabbis had become dependent on wealthy patrons. Everything revolved around preserving the honor and interests of whoever held the money — the patron would speak, and the rabbi would follow, together forming a single force in which protecting the patron’s honor mattered more than pursuing the truth. That realization wounded me deeply; to this day I don’t believe anyone fully understands the depth of that pain. So I prayed that Hashem would show me kindness, that He would send me wisdom from Heaven, that He would send me a miracle, and that He would grant me עשירות דקדושה — not because I desired wealth for its own sake, not because I sought comfort, but because I wanted to demonstrate what wealth could accomplish when it was devoted entirely to holiness.
At that time I had no financial backing whatsoever. Sometimes I lacked even relatively small amounts of money just to get through the month. I was supporting several Torah scholars and students myself, while struggling to meet my own personal obligations. There were moments when I needed no more than ten thousand dollars simply to carry on — and even that amount was completely beyond my reach. I remember pouring out my heart before Hashem, begging Him to grant me עשירות דקדושה, and asking anyone willing to help me reach that goal. But understand — for years I hardly spoke about wealth at all. People did not hear me asking for it. When I speak about עשירות דקדושה, I am not speaking about personal prosperity. I am speaking about having the means to accomplish what Hashem has placed before me — to carry out everything I believe I have been sent to do. Anyone who truly understands, knows that when wealth is dedicated to holiness, it becomes a vehicle for revealing Hashem’s Kingship in the world. Without the proper tools, that simply cannot happen.
Today some people point to reports that have appeared about me — they speak of houses, of properties. But does anyone stop to ask where those properties came from? Those assets belong to my father-in-law, may Hashem grant him long life and good health. He acquired them through his own labor, with his own resources — not from public funds, not from donations, not from money entrusted to us by others. Everything came from what Hashem blessed him with through his own hard work. These are properties purchased many years ago, more than a decade ago; they have absolutely nothing to do with public money. Some may imagine that whenever I speak about money, I am asking the public to support my personal needs. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have never asked anyone to finance my private life. When I pray for עשירות דקדושה, I am praying for the ability to spread Torah, to carry out my mission, and to do what I believe Hashem wants from me — without being dependent on anyone else.
For years I searched for a permanent Beis Midrash in Jerusalem. I invested endless effort trying to secure the right place, and again and again obstacles were placed in my path, opportunities blocked. After giving shiurim I would go to that location late at night. I would stand there in the cold, praying over the ground itself, asking Hashem to grant me the privilege of establishing a Beis Midrash on that very spot. Hashem knows the place I mean — long before many others became interested in it, my heart was already there. People told me that acquiring such a place would require enormous wealth, that without very large sums of money it would never be possible. At the time I could barely provide for my own basic needs; the cost of such a dream was completely beyond anything I could imagine.
And so I continued to pray — that Hashem would grant me עשירות דקדושה, that I would never again have to depend on any wealthy patron, that this path would never rest upon the changing will of another person, that I would be able to fulfill my mission freely without wondering whether someone would support it one day and withdraw that support the next. Because after everything I had experienced — the rejection, the betrayal, watching people to whom I had given advice, encouragement, and kindness repay that goodness with rejection — I understood how fragile it is to build a mission upon human approval. All I asked of Hashem was that He raise me up. I had seen with my own eyes how much falsehood exists in this world, and how easily wealth can influence people’s judgment. I saw rabbis honoring wealthy men whose lives were far removed from Torah, while those who had done nothing wrong were slandered and condemned. And I found myself asking: if I had been wealthy, would they have spoken about me this way? If I had possessed great resources, would they have dared treat me like this? I came to understand that perhaps the only way they would truly listen to me was if I possessed עשירות דקדושה — that perhaps then they would finally hear what I had been trying to say all along. But the רדיפה was relentless, and it is impossible to describe the pain I endured during those years. So I continued praying that Hashem would grant me עשירות דקדושה, that He would send me help from Heaven, that He would perform a miracle, that He would show me the path He wanted me to follow.
Today, many people ask me about the miracles. “What about the miracles?” “Does he really perform miracles?” “What are these miracles everyone talks about?” You know, miracles did not begin with me. Hashem has always performed miracles. Long before I was born, there were holy and righteous people through whom Hashem revealed miracles. These miracles are not because of me, not in my merit, not for my sake — they are simply the miracles that Hashem continues to perform throughout His world. But I
rejoiced that Hashem chose to let those miracles take place while I was present, because to me it was as though Hashem Himself was saying: “I am with him.” Perhaps some will accept that, and perhaps others will not; some will always say, who says this proves anything? But when I witnessed these miracles, it was as though the Holy One, blessed be He, was saying: look, I am with him, I hear his prayers — why are you fighting against him? Why won’t you leave him in peace?
You must understand — for years I have carried the bitterness of seeing my words distorted. Everything I tried to do was twisted; everything I built was misrepresented. Again and again, people tried to undermine the path I was trying to establish. Yet all I have ever wanted is that Jews should pray, that they should return to Hashem, that His Presence should become more revealed in this world. Whether that happens through me or through someone else is ultimately unimportant. Of course I would be overjoyed if Hashem granted me the privilege of being His instrument — that He would give me the tools to reveal His Kingship in the world, give me a free hand and the means to accomplish what I long to accomplish, so that I would merit to reveal His glory through the opportunities He places before me. That is my dream: to reveal the Kingship of Hashem, to bring His light into this world. If I am not worthy of that privilege, then I accept it. I do not seek honor that is not mine; I do not seek a role Hashem has not given me. But one thing I do know: there is an enormous amount of falsehood in this world, so much deception, and there has been so much רדיפה that no one can truly comprehend it. I would never wish such suffering on another human being.
This has been a voice that was never heard. No one came to hear my side. No one came to understand what I experienced or truly tried to understand the pain I carried. And that pain is beyond measure. That is why I tell you that helping this mission move forward is something of immense importance.
Allow me to say something more. If there is someone whom Hashem has blessed with great wealth, whom He has chosen to entrust with extraordinary resources, then I would gladly pray that Hashem bless him with even greater abundance — sincerely, I would rejoice in it — provided he would use it to help fulfill the mission that burns within my heart. And if I am not the one who ultimately carries out that mission, then let him do it. I would be genuinely happy, because there is so much that still needs to be done. Our world is filled with darkness. It cries out. It longs for light. People look at the world from a distorted perspective; very few stop to ask how it was truly meant to be. The instruments through which Hashem’s Kingship can be revealed today require עשירות דקדושה. If we wish to crown the King, we must honor Him as a King — when a king is welcomed, he is welcomed with dignity befitting royalty, and the King of kings deserves no less. It is not enough merely to cry out “Hashem! Hashem! Hashem!” without understanding what those words demand of us. Our task is to reveal His Kingship — that is what we have been sent here to do.
You should know that עשירות דקדושה is not merely a material blessing. It has profound spiritual roots; it emerges from a lofty source within the Divine order and carries immense spiritual power — it is like attaining a new level of understanding. When a person merits it through holiness, it becomes another means of serving Hashem. But when wealth is disconnected from holiness, it becomes something entirely different. We all know that wealth exists in this world, but not every form of wealth comes from the side of holiness. There is wealth that elevates, and there is wealth that corrupts — the difference lies entirely in how it is used.
It was during that period — after I had endured that great betrayal from those wealthy patrons, from those rabbis, and from the people who stood with them — that this became clear to me. There were only a few patrons. Some of the people around them were not even observant, did not live lives of Torah and mitzvos — and yet they rejoiced in my downfall, celebrated what was happening to me, and together formed a united front against me. Over the years many of them changed; some regretted what had happened, others quietly walked away. Time passed. But one thing remained: once lashon hara has been released into the world, it has a way of growing stronger with time. Its impression lingers, and the רדיפה never truly ended. Even today people continue searching for “something,” as though there must be some hidden scandal, some hidden truth. So let me tell you plainly: there is nothing. I have a purpose. It is a great purpose, and I am not going to reveal all of it. With Hashem’s help I hope to accomplish what I was sent here to accomplish. I do not owe anyone an explanation of every dream or plan Hashem has placed within my heart. Whoever wishes to believe me will believe; whoever chooses not to believe — that is his choice. No one is obligated to listen to me. I ask only one thing: believe that I have something to give. Because I truly do.
I know why I came into this world — to reveal as much of Hashem’s Presence, His truth, and His Torah as I possibly can. Everything I have struggled to build has had only one purpose: to help crown Hashem as King. Not so that I should become someone important. Not so that I should be pitied. Not so that I should live in poverty, endlessly struggling just to survive.
Even today I have a Beis Midrash — baruch Hashem — but it is far too small. It cannot contain the people who come. There is no room for the sick who seek help, no room for everyone who wishes to enter. My greatest desire is to sit with every individual, to hear each person’s story, to give every person the time they deserve — but I simply do not have the space to receive them all, and that is heartbreaking.
Constructing buildings requires enormous resources, and Jerusalem is something else entirely. To establish a proper Beis Midrash there — one capable of holding five hundred people, or even a thousand — requires extraordinary sums of money. The costs are immense. That is why I speak about עשירות דקדושה — not because I am searching for wealthy patrons. In fact, we do not have wealthy patrons in the way people imagine. Many rumors circulate claiming that our organization possesses tens of millions; that simply is not true. Our finances are completely transparent, and anyone who wishes may examine them. Many people have visited my home in Jerusalem; they know exactly where I live, they have immersed in the mikveh there, they have learned there — it is no secret. It is a small place, almost like a modest Beis Midrash. When we pray there, perhaps thirty people fit comfortably; on one occasion, during the Yamim Tovim, we managed to squeeze in nearly fifty, and even that was difficult. It is not a place capable of serving the number of people who want to come.
I have tried everything within my power. But people do not realize what lashon hara can do — how it spreads, how it fractures, how it distorts, how it destroys. I have never pursued anyone; I only know what it means to be pursued, and that pain is immense. So I ask each and every one of you: please judge me favorably. Do not become part of the voices that continue spreading accusations. There are even those who believe it would be a mitzvah to destroy me — that it would be a mitzvah for me to no longer exist. Can you imagine such a thing? The stories that have been invented about me — that I am the son of a non-Jewish woman, that my mother is Muslim, that my mother is Christian, that I came from Christian missionaries, that I was once a woman and later became a man, that I was born in a mosque. The inventions never stop. So many fantasies, so many distortions, so many lies that I can hardly remember them all.
This — this is the voice that was never heard. There is so much more inside me than I have ever been able to express — not because I have nothing to say, but because there are things that simply cannot always be spoken. People look at me standing before large crowds and think, “look how honored he is.” But that is not honor. It is a burden — a tremendous burden. To see fellow Jews suffering, to see people confined to wheelchairs, children battling illness, people living with tumors, feeding tubes, and unimaginable pain — those things break my heart. That is not honor. Honor belongs to kings. What I carry is responsibility, the weight of other people’s pain.
There is nothing to gain from me. No one needs to “buy” me. What we need is for people to rise up and help the Jewish people. Many who know me understand why Hashem has given me a good name — they have seen the way I have lived. For years I have tried to be among those who give rather than those who take. People know that my hand has always been open; I have helped countless individuals, supported families, helped people get back on their feet, lifted those who had fallen. Hashem knows every act of kindness, every gift of tzedakah, every moment of assistance, every opportunity He gave me to help another person — those merits belong to Him. Whatever I have is only because Hashem has blessed me with it. I have never taken public funds for myself; I have never tried, G-d forbid, to enrich myself from the money of others. That has never been my purpose. My students know how I have cared for them, what I have given them, the sacrifices I have made.
Now imagine living for years under constant רדיפה — every day someone searching for another accusation, every day someone inventing another story, every day another attempt to damage everything you are trying to build. This has affected me deeply, not because of my own honor, but because every moment spent defending myself is a moment I cannot spend helping someone who truly needs help. People do not realize how much time and strength this consumes. I barely sleep — day and night I am surrounded by people whose situations are literally matters of pikuach nefesh, life and death, from every background, every circumstance, every kind of suffering. This is not a profession. It is giving one’s life. That is why, when I pray for עשירות דקדושה, I am not asking for the ability to escape to some secluded island — I am asking for the ability to expand the good that Hashem has allowed me to accomplish until now. With the limited resources I have had, I have tried to bring light into people’s lives; imagine what could be done with the proper tools. My dream is to flood the world with goodness, to flood the world with light. That is my purpose, and that is why this pain is so difficult.
I also want to say something else. There are rabbis, and there are rabbis. There are rabbis who are righteous, who are holy, who truly seek the good of others and look upon people with a generous eye. And then there are others. As Chazal teach in Maseches Shabbos (139a): if you see a generation overwhelmed by suffering, go and examine the judges of Israel. That is one of the greatest pains of all — to see the Torah itself used as a weapon, to watch Torah sources employed to humiliate, discredit, and destroy another Jew. People search for rulings, for responsa, for Midrashim, for every possible source — not in order to discover the truth, but to justify what they have already decided to do. They say, “see, I’m right — it’s permitted, everything is permitted.” No. That is not the Torah I know.
So let me say this clearly. Baruch Hashem, I am not a sorcerer. Some have claimed that the miracles associated with me are the result of magic or deception. Nothing could be further from the truth. The miracles are real, but they are Hashem’s miracles — He alone performs them. I perform no miracles; I claim no miraculous powers. I simply had the privilege of witnessing Hashem’s kindness. When another Jew experienced a miracle, I happened to be there and saw what Hashem did — that is all. And every time I witnessed one of those miracles, I thanked Hashem, because during years when almost no one stood beside me, those moments reminded me that He had never abandoned me. He strengthened me. He remained with me. Very few people strengthened me during those years. Of course, many Jews encouraged me — they would tell me, “be strong,” and those words meant a great deal. But I want you to know that there were many times I was completely broken. And I would ask myself: why? Why so much רדיפה? I know that everything comes from Heaven, and I accept it with love. I know that in the eyes of those who oppose me, they sincerely believe I am in the wrong — that is how they see me. So I pray that Hashem will reveal the truth to all of us, because none of us will remain in this world forever, and those upon whom burdens and hardships are placed never know how long they will be able to carry them. The burden I bear is very heavy. Baruch Hashem.
I am not asking to live for my own sake. My only desire is to continue helping my people, to continue serving the Jewish people. I am not chasing wealthy patrons, and I am not chasing rabbis. If a rabbi wishes to support this work, may Hashem bless him. If a wealthy patron wishes to help, may Hashem bless him. If someone chooses not to help, that is also fine; if someone prefers to stand on the sidelines, let him stand on the sidelines — may Hashem grant him success as well. I harbor no resentment. To this very day, everything I have built has been built without the support of influential rabbis or wealthy patrons. The only thing many of them gave me was their backs, as they turned away from me. Even that I accepted with love.
Let me tell you something more. Recently we traveled to France, hoping to establish a Beis Midrash — a place large enough to receive the people who come seeking help. Today, many arrive, but not everyone can even get inside. Some come on stretchers, some arrive by ambulance, some come in wheelchairs, others come connected to feeding tubes — people carrying unimaginable suffering. And you may be surprised to hear this: many of them experience salvation. Many leave in a completely different condition than the one in which they arrived. What brings about that change? Prayer. I give them prayers to say for healing; I encourage them to draw closer to Hashem; I try to awaken within them the power of prayer. I never attribute any of this to myself — that is why I distribute prayers and encourage people to pray for themselves, to strengthen their own relationship with Hashem. People should understand that prayer itself is part of what is taking place. That is why we need a larger place. Even the municipality recognizes that our current location is no longer adequate; we simply cannot accommodate the number of people who come. And in Jerusalem the need is even greater. I cannot begin to describe the cost of the place I dream of establishing there — some already know the numbers, and they are staggering.
This past Rosh Hashanah, people spoke about the sale of seats. To be honest, I felt uncomfortable about it myself; I was pained that things had reached that point. Those who have known me for years know that four or five years ago we sold nothing. I opposed that approach — instead I would ask people to accept spiritual commitments. I would tell someone: learn a certain number of pages of Gemara, recite Tikkun HaKlali, read Tehillim. I encouraged people to undertake mitzvos and spiritual commitments rather than making financial contributions; that was the path I wanted to continue following. But the number of people kept growing, and growing, and growing, until eventually those helping me said, “Rabbi, we simply cannot continue like this.” Until now I have carried this burden myself — not because of some wealthy patron, not because someone financed everything for me, but from whatever Hashem enabled me to give. Baruch Hashem, my father-in-law encouraged and supported me in every way he could. And one of my beloved students, Daniel — a remarkable young Torah scholar with an exceptionally generous heart — also stood beside me. His father, of blessed memory, was one of the great pillars of support; every Rosh Hashanah he was with me, personally preparing every meal. He was a truly great man, of extraordinary kindness, and Hashem blessed him with a son who is himself a Torah scholar of exceptional character. There were only a handful of people like that — true pillars, faithful people. Another quietly helped by printing sefarim. One of the very first things I dreamed of purchasing was a printing press. I prayed to Hashem, again and again, from the depths of my heart, that He grant me עשירות דקדושה so that I could spread Torah and reveal His Presence throughout the world. That has always been my deepest desire — not to accumulate wealth, not to build a life of comfort, but to use whatever Hashem grants me as a vessel for revealing His Kingship.
People often misunderstand me. They hear the word “wealth” and immediately think of luxury — that has never been what I meant. When I speak about עשירות דקדושה, I mean having the resources necessary to accomplish what Hashem asks of a person: to build places where Torah can flourish, to help those who are suffering, to spread holiness, to reveal Hashem’s light throughout the world. That has always been my prayer — nothing more, nothing less. If Hashem grants me those means, I will use them for His honor; if He does not, I will continue serving Him with whatever He gives me. But I will never stop praying for the ability to do more, because there is still so much to be done, so many people waiting, so many broken hearts, so many searching for hope. How could I not ask Hashem for the tools to help them?
I want you to understand something else. When people hear the word “money,” they immediately become suspicious — they imagine motives that are not there. But money itself is neither holy nor unholy; it is simply a tool. Everything depends on how it is used. A knife can save a life, or the same knife can take a life — the object itself is not the issue; the question is whose hand holds it, and for what purpose. The same is true of wealth. When wealth is used for holiness, it becomes עשירות דקדושה. When it is used for selfishness, it becomes something entirely different. That distinction is what I have tried to explain for so many years — and unfortunately, many people never wanted to hear the explanation. They heard one sentence and ignored everything else. That has happened to me many times: people take one statement, remove it from its context, and build an entire story around it. That is how misunderstandings are created. That is how lashon hara spreads. And that is how the רדיפה continues.
I do not expect everyone to agree with me. I do not expect everyone to believe in me. But I do hope people will at least judge fairly — listen before judging, hear before deciding, ask before accusing. That is all I ask. Because once a person’s name has been damaged, it is very difficult to repair. Words have tremendous power; once spoken, they cannot be taken back. They continue traveling from person to person, sometimes for years, sometimes for decades. I have lived with that reality, and I pray that no one else should ever have to experience it. May Hashem spare every Jew from such suffering, and may He grant us the wisdom to guard our speech, to judge one another favorably, and to seek the truth before accepting what we hear.
There is another point I want you to understand. Throughout all these years, I never stopped believing that everything comes from Hashem — even when people misunderstood me, even when they judged me unfairly, even when they spoke against me. I knew that nothing happens unless Hashem wills it, and that knowledge gave me strength. Not because the pain disappeared — it did not. The pain remained, the רדיפה remained, the loneliness remained. But alongside all of that, I knew that Hashem had not abandoned me, and that gave me the strength to continue. Many people ask me, “how did you keep going?” The answer is simple: I never relied on people. People can encourage you today and reject you tomorrow; people can praise you and, the next day, speak against you. If a person’s strength depends on people, that strength will constantly rise and fall. But if his strength comes from Hashem, no one can take it away. That is what carried me through those years. Every time another door closed, I prayed. Every time another rumor spread, I prayed. Every time another person turned away, I prayed. Because I knew there was only One to whom I could truly turn, and He never turned me away. That is why I continued — not because I believed the road would become easier, but because I believed that if Hashem had placed me on that road, He would also give me the strength to walk it. Of course I become discouraged sometimes; I am a human being. There were times I cried, times I felt broken, times I asked Hashem why all of this was necessary. But after every prayer, strength returned — not my strength, His strength. That is what carried me forward.
I also want people to understand something else. When they hear stories about me, when they read reports, when they hear accusations, I ask them for one simple thing: do not decide before you have heard both sides; do not condemn before you have sought the truth. The Torah teaches us justice, and justice begins with listening — with refusing to accept every rumor that reaches our ears. If people had done that, much of what happened would never have happened. But that was Hashem’s decree, and I accepted it — not because it was easy, but because I knew it came from Him. Even today I continue praying for those who spoke against me. I bear no hatred toward them; I ask Hashem to forgive them, to bless them, to guide them, because I do not want to spend my life carrying resentment — that would only darken my own heart. I would rather continue praying, continue teaching, continue helping, continue trying to bring another Jew closer to Hashem. That is the path I have chosen, and with Hashem’s help, it is the path I will continue walking. I have no desire to fight anyone, no desire to prove myself to anyone. Time reveals the truth. Hashem reveals the truth. That has always been my trust. My responsibility is not to win arguments — it is to continue doing the work Hashem has placed before me: to keep teaching Torah, to keep strengthening people, to keep helping those who come seeking guidance. That is enough for me. Everything else belongs in Hashem’s hands.
Some ask me, “if everything comes from Heaven, why speak about it now?” Because there comes a time when silence is no longer enough — not in order to defend myself, but so that the truth should also have a voice. For many years only one side was heard, only one story was told; people spoke, people repeated, people judged, and very few ever stopped to ask, “what does he have to say?” That is why I chose to speak now — not because I seek sympathy, and not because I seek honor, but because the truth deserves to be heard. After all these years, I felt it was time. Even now, I ask no one to accept everything I say simply because I have said it. Think. Examine. Ask. Seek the truth honestly. That is all I ask. If, after doing so, a person reaches a different conclusion, I respect that — but let it be based on truth, not on rumors, not on lashon hara, not on stories that have traveled from one mouth to another until no one remembers where they began. There is enough division among the Jewish people, enough pain; we do not need to create more. We need more understanding, more compassion, more patience, more willingness to listen before judging. That is the Torah’s way — not to rush to conclusions, not to condemn, but to seek truth with humility.
I know I am not perfect. I have never claimed to be. Every human being has shortcomings; every human being continues growing. I too ask Hashem every day to correct me where I need correction, to guide me, to help me become a better servant of His — that is my prayer, every single day. And if I have ever made a mistake, may Hashem forgive me; if I have hurt someone, may He help me make it right. I do not stand here claiming perfection. I stand here asking only that people judge fairly, that they remember there is another human being on the other side of every story — a human being with a heart, with pain, with struggles that others may never see. Only Hashem knows everything; only He sees what is hidden; only He judges with complete justice. That is why I place my trust in Him alone, and that trust has never disappointed me. Even during the hardest years, even during the deepest רדיפה, Hashem never abandoned me. He strengthened me. He carried me. He gave me the strength to continue one more day. And then another day. And another. Until today.
Baruch Hashem.