We have endured a year of hardship that has tested our faith.
The savage slaughter of our people and the painful aftermath have left us grappling with profound questions of belief.
We have witnessed moments of euphoric victory during this war, but we have also suffered deep and traumatic losses, our triumphs feeling incomplete as our enemies regroup, retool, and return to their murderous designs.
This past week, our pain has been magnified. The images of our three hostages emerging from a year and a half of torture and deprivation sent shock waves through our hearts and filled us with horror.
The sight of gaunt prisoners being led from confinement evoked painful memories of the Holocaust. Watching our hostages return fills us with joy and jubilation, yet seeing their condition, imagining the horrors they endured, and thinking of those still trapped in the darkness leaves us shaken and brokenhearted.
Once again, we are reminded of the deep hatred directed at Jews, a hatred that persists across generations.
The world’s underwhelming response serves as another painful reminder that, while many may not directly partake in violence against us, much of the world is willing to tolerate the unspeakable suffering inflicted upon our people.
Our faith is being tested in the most agonizing way. How can we explain the relentless horror and violence inflicted upon our people? How is God allowing this to happen – yet again? Are we not promised this land through prophecy? Why must our return be marked by such anguish?
This entire experience shakes the foundations of our faith – our belief in a merciful God and in the prophecies that assured us of this land. Where does faith arise from, and how can we fortify it in these turbulent moments of Jewish history – moments when we need it more than ever?
The mountain
The source of our faith traces back to our encounter with God atop a mountain in the heart of a barren desert.
It was a singular moment in history – an entire nation, three million strong, speaking directly with the divine. That conversation with God at Sinai planted within us an unshakable faith, a reservoir of conviction that has sustained us through the struggles and travails of Jewish history.
Despite generations of oppression and hatred, that direct dialogue with God imbued us with the inner strength to hold fast to our faith, even in the darkest of times.
However, faith is never empirical – Har Sinai cannot be proven through scientific means. Faith demands a leap of belief, a trust that the encounter at Sinai was real and its truth endures.
Once a person takes that leap, faith fortifies itself. But how do we choose faith over doubt, conviction over uncertainty? Faith is not an intellectual conclusion; it is a decision of the heart. What helps us make that decision and take that leap?
People, not ideas
We often assume that faith is rooted in grand ideas articulated by great thinkers. We search for answers in philosophy and theology, believing that ideas alone can sustain belief.
But faith, at its core, does not arise from abstract concepts but from people. It is not ideas that move us, but those who live and embody them. Ideas don’t move people; people move people.
In moments of crisis, uncertainty, and perplexity, we do not cling to theories; we hold fast to those who have passed faith down to us, drawing strength from their presence and example.
As my mentor, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, wrote in a landmark essay titled “The Source of Faith Is Faith Itself:”
“Without question, during my formative years…, the source and bulwark of my commitment was not so much a cluster of abstract factors or arguments as key persons... What I received from all my mentors was the recognition that it was not so necessary to have all the answers as to learn to live with the questions.
“Regardless of what issues – moral, theological, textual, or historical – vexed me, I was confident that they had been raised by masters far sharper and wiser than myself; and if they had remained impregnably steadfast in their commitment, so should and could I.”
Faith is not merely an intellectual construct; it is a living force, nurtured and transmitted from soul to soul. Some are privileged to encounter great “masters” – towering figures whose lives embody faith in its most exalted form.
But in truth, faith is not only found in the grandeur of scholars and leaders. Often, it shines just as brightly in the quiet devotion of simple people living lives of steadfast commitment. Their unwavering belief, expressed through common acts of dedication, can serve as powerful models for our own journey of faith.
For example, watching Agam Berger emerge from captivity and attribute her survival to her unshaken faith can stir us to greater faith. Her conviction stands as an inspiration – a reminder that faith is not just taught in books or preached from pulpits, but lived, even during crisis.
During these confusing moments in our national history, seek out those in your life – or those whose stories you have encountered – who embody unshakable faith. Hold fast to them in moments of darkness, drawing strength from their conviction.
I know that in my own struggles, I have clung tightly to my own role models who have demonstrated faith. Their light has guided me through my own shadows.
Faith from history
There is a second wellspring of faith – the enduring legacy of Jewish history. We have withstood the test of time, outlasting formidable and fearsome enemies who sought our destruction.
However, our story is not merely one of survival. We have reshaped the world, molding lofty values – community, family, dignity, education, faith, and morality – that have illuminated human civilization.
Jewish history itself is a testament to faith, a force that strengthens belief with every chapter of our remarkable journey.
But history does more than inspire faith; it challenges us to uphold it. Despite the hardships we face today, we are living in the most extraordinary era to be a Jew. What would our grandparents have given to witness a sovereign Jewish state, to stand beside a Jewish soldier defending our people?
They endured conditions far harsher, far more terrifying, yet they clung to their faith – and in doing so, they secured our destiny. We owe them more than remembrance. We owe them our strength. We owe them our faith. Jewish history doesn’t merely bestow faith; it demands it.
Sometimes, faith is not gifted through inspiration but demanded through obligation. Paradoxically, when we recognize that faith is expected of us, we often find the strength to rise to the challenge and make it our own.
Faith, not answers
Faith does not mean having all the answers. The Holocaust left our people with profound, agonizing questions – questions that remain unanswered to this day. Our current trials, too, have shaken us, leaving us grappling with uncertainty.
One day, the answers will come. Until that day, we hold on to faith. We search for those who embody resilience, who illuminate the path of belief through their unwavering trust. We listen for the echoes of Jewish faith reverberating through history, drawing strength from those who came before us.
We remain loyal to them, summoning the faith that they carved out and that they expect from us. And in that strength, we find the courage to continue.
The writer is a rabbi at the hesder Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with YU ordination and an MA in English literature from CUNY. His most recent book, Reclaiming Redemption: Deciphering the Maze of Jewish History (Mosaica Press), is in bookstores and at www.reclaimingredemption.com.