“Hashem, Who Will Make My Son a Bar Mitzvah?”

In the weekly Torah portion called Terumah, we learn about three special mitzvot (commandments). One is to build a holy place for Hashem called the Mishkan. Another is to place special bread, called lechem hapanim, on the table every Shabbat. The third is not to remove the wooden poles from the Aron Kodesh—the Holy Ark that held the tablets from Mount Sinai.

This last detail might seem small. Why shouldn’t the poles be removed when the Ark wasn’t being moved? The Lubavitcher Rebbe (in Likkutei Sichot, vol. 16) explains that this teaches us something powerful: every Jew is like the Ark. Just as the Ark held the Torah, we too carry Torah within us. And the poles that were always attached to the Ark remind us that Torah is not meant to stay hidden—it should always be ready to go outward. We are meant to carry its light into the world, to share it with others.

But how do we “carry” the Torah to others? The Rebbe explains: by opening our hearts. If a friend is struggling, check in on them. Suggest they check their mezuzahs, or offer a kind Jewish word. If you read something inspiring in the weekly parsha (Torah portion), share it with a friend. Even a small act can make a big difference. It’s about Jewish care—being someone who brings light.

A beautiful true story shared on the Chabad House website shows just how far that light can reach.

Shmuel, a Jewish businessman from England, often traveled to the Far East for work. One of his stops was Indonesia—the country with the world’s largest Muslim population. During one visit, he heard that the only synagogue in the city of Surabaya was about to be demolished to make way for a city park. Wanting to honor the holy place, he went to visit.

He learned that the key to the synagogue was held by a woman living nearby. She was Jewish—the daughter of the synagogue’s former gabbai (caretaker)—but she had married a local Muslim man. Their family lived a Muslim life, and the key to the locked-up synagogue was the woman’s last connection to Judaism.

Shmuel knocked on her door, asking to borrow the key. But before she could even answer, her son—a young boy named Menam—ran up and said with excitement, “Mom, look! This rabbi will make me a Bar Mitzvah!”

The mother turned to Shmuel and quietly explained that just a few weeks earlier, she had gone into the old synagogue and stood before the Ark. With a full heart, she whispered, “Hashem, my son is almost thirteen. Who will make him a Bar Mitzvah?”

And now, here stood Shmuel—an observant Jew, in a faraway country—knocking on her door.

Shmuel was moved. He reached out to Rabbi Nechemia Wilhelm, the Chabad shaliach (emissary) in Bangkok, who was overjoyed to help. Together, they arranged a Bar Mitzvah for young Menam. Shmuel himself began teaching the boy what it means to be a Jew and a member of Am Yisrael—the Jewish people.

The celebration was incredibly special. It wasn’t just a Bar Mitzvah—it also included a brit milah (circumcision), through which Menam received his Jewish name: Menachem.

This entire journey, sparked by a mother’s quiet prayer, came to life because one Jew chose to notice, to care, and to act.

In a world that often feels large and distant, this story reminds us: wherever you are, you can carry Torah. You can bring light. And sometimes, with one caring step, you might just become the answer to someone else’s prayer.