Why Be Jewish? Identity, Meaning, and Choosing a Life With Purpose
Share
Why Be Jewish? Identity, Meaning, and Choosing a Life With Purpose
By Albert Gindi
Inspired by and based on publicly taught ideas from Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky
This essay is an original written work and not a transcript of any lecture.
Why People Stay Jewish Without Knowing Why
As members of the Jewish nation, we attach much pride to who we are. One would not easily surrender his Jewish identity, even in the face of many trials and tribulations. We come from a great lineage, one which we feel obligated to pass down until the end of time.
When we stop to think about it though, do we even understand why? Yes, it is our legacy; and true, it’s where we come from. But do we comprehend exactly what it is that we are doing? Or are we just continuing something we were brought up on, while holding no deeper meaning to our actions.
Can you answer such an imperative question? Can you explain why you are Jewish?
Throughout our childhood we had heard all different sorts of stories from the Bible. We must realize though, that what we’re hearing is more than just some interesting tales. G-d Himself handed down these stories and parables as a way to convey important lessons which we should take with us as we go through life. It would follow then, that when hearing a story from the Bible, we should put effort into finding its deeper meaning; into discovering those important insights and applying them into the way we live our lives.
Abraham, Nimrod, and the First Choice of Belief
The story of our legacy begins with Abraham, the very first Hebrew. The Torah gives over a little background about the family which Abraham was born into. He was the son of Terach, and one of three brothers; the others of which were named Nachor and Haran.
Nachor moves away to Aram Naharayim, where he settles and begins a lineage which gives birth to Rivka, the wife of our forefather Isaac. In regards to Haran though, we don’t even get that tidbit of information, where he lived, or anything that he did with his life. All it says is one thing; that he died on his father’s doorstep. Rashi explains this to mean that he died because of his father, after which he proceeds to explain exactly how this happened.
Hashem first appears to Abraham to tell him to leave the land when he is already seventy years old. This is not the story which made him who he was; rather it was who he was that brought him to this story. He had experienced a whole life before then, an entire story which had brought him to this point.
Abraham’s Question: Can There Be More Than One God?
As a child, Abraham grew up in a family of idol worshippers. His father was in fact the man when it came to idols. He didn’t just worship gods, he manufactured them. “How’s business?” “Thank gods.” If you wanted a god, he had it. Anything you wanted you went to him, and he made you a god fit straight to your order. You want a money god? He’s got it. A love god? He’s got that too. Whatever you desired; a business god, or a basketball god, just say a prayer and a god you were served. Terach was the constructor of gods, the place to go to find the deity made just for you.
Meanwhile Abraham is growing up in this family of passionate idol worshippers, but the more idols he sees the more he starts thinking, “Gee, how can these all be gods? Wouldn’t it make much more sense if there was only one G-d?” Slowly he starts philosophizing, until eventually he comes up with monotheism. Knowing though that his father may not love how great this will be for business, Abraham refrains from informing Terach about his newfound philosophy.
One day, Terach leaves Abraham in charge of the shop, and Abraham, fresh in his new beliefs, takes a hammer and starts smashing every idol in sight, leaving only the biggest one at dead center. After everything has been reduced to rubble, Abraham takes the hammer and puts it in the big guy’s hands, after which he proceeds to sit down at the desk and do a crossword puzzle. (Just a little historical background; crossword puzzles three thousand years ago were just a little bit more difficult, due to the fact that they were made on slate, and if you made a mistake you had to break it.)
No sooner does he carve out his first word when Terach walks in, to find his entire business, quite literally, in shambles. “What in the world did you do?!” he asks his son in surprise.
“Dad, it wasn’t me,” Abraham replies sincerely. “You should’ve seen what happened. All the gods began arguing, each one trying to prove that they are the most powerful. The discussion became really heated, until the biggest god took his hammer and started smashing all the other gods. All I could do was watch in awe as he reduced them to smithereens.”
At this response Terach begins to turn red with anger. “Abraham, that’s ridiculous. Idols can’t talk! They can’t even move!”
“But Dad,” Abraham replied, feigning surprise, “if they can’t move, and they can’t talk, why do you pray to them?”
At this point Terach is struck right in the face with a devastating philosophical argument. Realizing there is no logical way to reply, he does what any responsible loving father would do when challenged by their son with a religious argument for which they have no response.
He takes him to see the evil king Nimrod.
Off they go, father and son, to see the grand leader of all the idolatrous cults in the world. Terach explains to Nimrod the chinuch problem he’s having with his son, and the evil king starts having a theological discussion with the young Abraham.
“Why don’t you worship the gods like everyone else?” Nimrod challenges Abraham.
“You should worship fire. Fire is full of power. It burns everything in sight. Fire can destroy anything. Fire is power. Fire is god!”
Abraham gazes at Nimrod thoughtfully as he listens to his rant, realizing what a pleasant fellow he had just encountered.
“You want power?” Abraham asks Nimrod.
“Power!” Nimrod shouts with glee.
“So then why don’t you worship water?” Abraham responds calmly. “Water puts out fire.”
At this response Nimrod changes in kind. “Water is god! I worship water!” Nimrod screams with a zeal not previously known to man. “Water! It’s so powerful it even puts out fire! Water is my god!” Meanwhile all of his cronies are chanting in the background, “Water is god! Water is god!”
As this is going on Abraham stands there quietly taking it all in, completely unperturbed by the unfolding of events around him.
“You know, I was just thinking,” Abraham says as the chants begin to quiet down. “Why don’t you worship the clouds? After all, clouds are what give the water.”
“Clouds!” Nimrod cries out once again, although it is clear he is beginning to lose some steam. “Clouds deliver the water! Clouds are so powerful! Clouds are my god!”
“Ooh, but dear King,” Abraham counters respectfully, “why don’t you worship the wind? Wind is what blows the clouds.”
Nimrod’s support group watches in silence, waiting for their ruler to continue the debate, but the grand leader has had enough.
“I see where you’re heading, kid!” Nimrod exclaims. “I’m going back to fire.”
So evil King Nimrod snaps his fingers, and two burly guards appear at his side.
“Take him away!” he shouts, pointing at Abraham.
The guards pick up Abraham and drag him off to the dungeon to wait, while Nimrod has a giant furnace built just for the occasion.
The Furnace Test: Belief Versus Logic
The day arrives and Abraham is brought out to the furnace, as thousands gather to watch the grand display. The guards bring Abraham to stand before Nimrod, as he lays out the following challenge:
“Fire is my god!” he tells Abraham. “Fire is power! Fire burns! And now my god will burn you. If you believe in this invisible, all-powerful G-d, let Him save you. It’s my god versus yours!”
Finishing what he believes to be his final conversation with the young lad, the guards grab him once again and haul him off to the furnace.
At that point the scene freezes, as Rashi informs us that the spotlight is turned to Haran.
Haran is watching the entire scene, and he doesn’t know what to do. He had been influenced by Abraham, and in his mind the whole monotheistic philosophy just made sense. They had done Shabbos lunch together, sung some songs, and by now he was really into the whole Jewish thing.
But watching Abraham about to be tossed into a big fire, he didn’t know where to turn. On the one hand, what Abraham believes makes sense. But on the other hand, there’s this huge furnace he’s about to be thrown into.
Knowing he has to make some sort of commitment at this point, Haran declares a statement.
“If Abraham comes out alive, I will declare myself a believer in monotheism and be a part of it forever. But if he burns, I’m going over to the Nimrod party.”
The scene now switches back to Abraham, as they pick him up and chuck him into the fire.
The thousands of spectators gasp in unison as he lands within the flames, certain that within seconds they will begin to hear him shriek in pain.
Instead, they watch in awe as Abraham simply stands up and dusts himself off, as if he was in any place but within the inferno of a fiery furnace.
They expect him to burn, but he’s absolutely fine. His clothes aren’t even singed.
Suddenly the entire crowd is murmuring. Everyone is shocked at the completely unexpected turn of events. They are all oohing and aahing. “That is unbelievable.”
Abraham is getting a bit bored at this point. Standing in the middle of a fiery furnace is cool, but at a certain point it can get old.
“Can I come out now?”
After getting their agreement, he comes out, followed by a large round of applause. He is perfectly fine, not affected by the flames in any way.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he says humbly, as the crowd gazes upon him in wonderment.
At this point Nimrod is really angry, burning with embarrassment that his dear god had so blatantly failed him. His eyes turn to gaze upon the crowd, until they finally settle upon Haran, whom he finds smirking while looking up at Abraham with what seems to be a look of pure admiration.
“Whose side are you on?!” Nimrod screams with a look of pure fury.
“I’m a monotheist!” Haran replies defiantly. “I believe in the one G-d of Abraham! I’m on his side!”
“Grab him!” Nimrod shrieks, while the guards leap in his direction, hurrying to drag him off to the furnace.
As they approach the roaring flames, they pick him up and chuck him in.
The crowd gasps once again—but this time they watch in silence, as Haran is burnt to death before their very eyes.
The end.
Why Haran Died While Abraham Lived
Now this is a hard story, a very hard story, and there is no doubt that it begs for an explanation. For it leaves an obvious question on our hands.
How is it that Abraham is thrown into the furnace and gets saved, while Haran gets thrown in for what seems to be the exact same reason, but ends up dying?
Following Isn’t the Same as Believing
While in truth there are many explanations for this seemingly perplexing story, the one that has the most meaning to me came to me while teaching a class on intermarriage.
I’ve been giving classes on intermarriage for ten years, and they are very hard, because it is a very emotional issue. And every year, it gets a little bit harder.
For when I first started giving classes on this topic, I would ask who here would consider intermarrying, and just a few hands went up. But every year as time goes on, more hands go up.
By now, when I ask the question, generally half to two-thirds of the hands in the room go up.
Anyway, I begin to give my class and discuss certain points, and suddenly just five minutes into the speech this girl bursts out in tears and runs out of the room. Now I am shocked, because it usually takes about fifteen minutes before they start crying and running out of the room. Five minutes was a new record.
So I went to see her afterwards to see what it was that upset her so much, so that I could use it again.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
“You don’t understand,” she replied. “You see, I come from a traditional Jewish home.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I prodded her further to explain.
“Well, we went to synagogue three times a year, and every Chanukah we had an electric menorah in the window. Year after year we would look forward to our beautiful Passover Seder, and we kept more or less a kosher home. As a child I attended Hebrew School and I was always involved in the shul youth group, eventually becoming president during my high school years. Having the connection that I did, I was certain that intermarriage was completely out of the question.
“But then I went off to university where I met this nice non-Jewish guy, and before you know it we were dating. I knew nothing would ever come of it though, because of how important my Judaism was to me. Then it happened. Two years into college I fell in love.”
She pauses at this point to give me one of those looks, like I don’t know how it happened, must have just happened by itself. Which always surprises me, by the way. Here you are, dating a nice guy whom you find attractive and intelligent—do you really believe two years of that will lead you to despise him?
Now I understand that such a possibility exists, but they’re absolutely shocked when they actually like the guy. They’re like, “Well, I didn’t think this was going to happen.” What did you think was going to happen?
When giving my class on intermarriage, I generally stop midway and ask once again, “At this point, how many of you would consider intermarrying?” and almost no hands go up.
“How many of you would consider interdating?” At this question about half the hands go up.
“Can you explain that to me?” I challenge them.
“Sure,” they reply. “It’s not marriage, it’s just a date.”
So I ask them, “Did anybody you know get married without dating? Any of your parents maybe?” And none of them respond, for of course not. That’s just the way of the world. You date, fall in love, and get married. People don’t really get married any other way.
In fact, parents just love telling over those stories.
“Your father was such a loser, none of the girls wanted to go out with him; but I felt kind of bad for him.”
“Be quiet Gladys!” the father screams from the living room.
“Everybody said his nose was too big, but I thought he was cute.”
“Gladys, be quiet!”
In truth, no one plans on falling in love. Not too many people sit in their room thinking, I have a date tonight. I think I’m going to fall head over heels in love with him and get married.
But of course, you might fall in love. So how can you interdate if you don’t want to intermarry?
As I finished off this question, this one guy raises his hand and says, “Rabbi, if I find myself falling in love with her, I’ll just break it off.”
“Well I’d love to be there when it happens,” I replied. “I can picture it now. ‘Oh Christina, I can never see you again, because I’m starting to love you. When this was a shallow meaningless relationship and I was just using you it was fine, but now I’m starting to develop some real emotions—so I’ll have to dump you.’”
I could see he was thinking over my response.
“I don’t even think you’re that shallow,” I told him.
At that point every guy in the room was sitting there thinking, am I that shallow? It could be. I don’t know. But in the end most of them conceded that yes, they do have actual emotions. It was a beautiful moment.
We are in a story within a story, so let’s move back.
So here I am with this girl, and she says to me that she’s been dating this guy for two years and fell in love.
“I would never intermarry though,” she told me. “So I told him that I could only marry him on one condition—that he converts to Judaism.”
To her delight he agreed to her clause, and off he went to a six-month conversion course. Meanwhile, they buy themselves a joint apartment, merge accounts, and the day of the wedding is drawing closer and closer.
Halfway through the conversion course though, he comes back to her and breaks the news.
“I can’t go through with this,” he tells her. “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?” she exclaims incredulously.
“I don’t want to do this, but my Catholicism just means too much to me. It would also be really hard on my family. If you want, you can become Catholic, or I’ll even marry you the way you are—but I just can’t go through with this conversion.”
She looks at me with tears in her eyes as she finishes her tale.
“So I broke it off.”
“But why?” I push her to explain.
“Because my Judaism is so important to me,” she shoots back, confused.
“What do you mean by that?” I challenge her once again.
“I already told you,” she replies, with a bit of annoyance in her voice. “The Passover Seder, the electric menorah, and the mezuzah on our door—it all means so much to me. I just can’t give it all away.”
“But you can have all that and still marry a Christian.”
At this point she was completely silenced, dumbfounded by where the conversation had led.
“Let me ask you just one more question,” I said.
“Uh, okay,” she replied, the nervousness now clear in her voice.
“If someone put a gun to your head and told you point blank—either convert or be shot—what would you choose?”
“I would die,” she responds with utter certainty.
Nebuch.
That is all I told her. A Yiddish word with no translation, because ‘it’s a pity’ just doesn’t do justice. Absolutely nebuch.
You broke up with the man you love and you’re willing to die—all for the sake of Judaism. But you don’t even know why.
In my opinion, that is why Haran died.
Abraham went into the furnace for something that he believed in. But Haran just went in because Abraham went in.
And if you don’t get anything else while reading this, but this, it will all have been worthwhile:
Don’t ever go into a furnace.
It’s hot.
It’s dangerous.
And you could kill yourself.
Abraham may have jumped into those flames, but he understood what he was going for. There was a reason behind his defiance. Haran didn’t understand. Haran just followed.
And you don’t ever follow anybody into the flames of a fiery furnace.
And yet, if you ask the average Jew today why they are Jewish, the best they can answer you is because their parents are Jewish.
And why are their parents Jewish? Because their parents were Jewish.
Here we are practicing a religion when nobody understands why.
Here we are proclaiming belief in Judaism when in reality we are just following along.
So Why Be Jewish?
One of the most important books written in the past five hundred years is Mesillas Yesharim, authored by Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, known as the Ramchal. The purpose of the book is simple: to teach a person how to live a meaningful life.
The Ramchal begins his work by asking the most fundamental question of all: Why were you created?
And his answer is radical in its simplicity.
The reason we were created is to delight in closeness to G-d, because that is the greatest pleasure possible.
Judaism is not about guilt.
It is not about fear.
It is not about punishment.
It is about choosing a meaningful life—lived intentionally, with clarity, values, and purpose.
Most people live the life that happens instead of the life they want.
Unless you decide where you are going, any road will take you there.
That is why you must decide now—what kind of life you want to live, what kind of person you want to be, and what kind of legacy you want to leave behind.
If there was ever a reason to be Jewish, this is it.
Disclaimer
This essay was written by Albert Gindi and reflects his original interpretation and written expansion of publicly taught Torah ideas. It is not an official publication, transcript, or authorized work of any rabbi mentioned. This page contains no advertising, affiliate links, or monetization.