But the point at which no rational hope exists should not be the end of one’s faith; this is the time for its deepest expression.
Much of my after-school elementary Jewish education focused on the Holocaust. We visited the Holocaust Memorial in Miami, we heard stories from survivors, and we watched the movie “Escape from Sobibor.” But never did we speak about maintaining faith in the face of evil.

It wasn’t until I opened up “Aish Kodesh,” (Holy Fire) by Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto, that I was able to learn this message.

His insights into the infamous story of the scouts that we read in Parshat Shelach offer a powerful model for faith under duress.

The spies return from Canaan and give their report to the waiting nation: The people living there are too strong for us; we saw giants, and the walls of their city are too high!

Calev, himself a member of the scouts, gives a simple rebuttal: We can do it.

Asks the Rebbe: The spies had a logical concern about entering the land. Why didn’t Calev give a pointed response to their report, instead of just saying, “Let’s go”?

There are times when logic challenges faith. But the point at which no rational hope exists should not be the end of one’s faith; this is the time for its deepest expression. God is above the realm of natural law, and in a second our salvation can come. We cannot let our intellect barricade real faith.

This is Calev’s message to the nation: true, logically we are militarily outmatched; but this is not a time for intellectual calculations; this is a time to act on faith according to the word of God. We can do it.

The Rebbe’s words take a different tone when we consider them in the context of the death and destruction he faced. However, the message is one we can relate to in our daily lives. Logic should certainly be our guiding principle, yet there comes a point when we must recognize its limitations and embrace simple faith.

Over the past few months two different friends informed me that they are getting divorced. In both cases I was surprised, and both times a little heartbroken. The news made me grateful for my marriage, but also reminded me how it requires continual work. Part of that means learning what makes a good marriage, and Judaism certainly has many pearls of wisdom on this issue.

The first time the Torah uses the word “love” in reference to a couple is in the story of Yitzhak and Rivkah. We learn that first Yitzhak and Rivkah were married, and then, only after marriage, does the text say that he loves her. But shouldn’t it have been the opposite? Doesn’t love precede marriage?

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak, one of the Polish Chasidic Masters, explains regarding this verse that there are two types of love. The first type of love is that which is based on fulfilling one’s emotional or physical needs. That type of love is nothing more than self-love, and is bound to dissipate.

But there is a higher type of love: that which relates to marriage as a mitzvah. A mitzvah is an act that reveals G-d’s presence in the world.  Yitzhak and Rivkah wanted their marriage to act as a vessel to achieve this exalted goal. The story records Yitzhak’s love for Rivkah after marriage to teach that their relationship was founded on this higher love, a love of mitzvah, and not self-fulfillment.

A relationship that places God at the center changes the entire dynamic; the couple does not ask, “What have you done for me lately?” but rather, “How can we bring the presence of Hashem into our home?” It is this type of love that the Torah outlines as a foundation for a successful marriage.

Though this paradigm is a difficult one, for me it serves as an ultimate goal. A marriage based on such high ideals, even if it never reaches them, is already a big step!

When I was a kid, I used to love my birthday. For weeks in advance I would count down the days. My anticipation was not for the cake or the party, but for the gift! Sometimes I would sneak into my mom’s closet a few days beforehand to shake the wrapped box and try to guess what was inside.

Since the day after Passover we have been counting toward Shavuot. So what’s the gift waiting for us at the end of the fifty days?

The beginning of The Ethics of the Fathers begins with a description of the transmission of the Torah: “Moshe received the Torah from Sinai, and then passed it to Yehoshua…

The Maharal of Prague asks a question: why does it say that “Moshe received the Torah from Sinai”? Did he not receive it from God?

He answers that if the teaching had stated “Moshe received the Torah from God,” then we would have thought incorrectly that God bestowed wisdom only on Moshe. Really God is constantly bestowing wisdom on each and every one of us.

The learning of Torah is nothing short of God intimately bestowing his precious gift upon us. This is why we say the blessing over the Torah that God is the “giver of Torah;” God is constantly giving freely to whoever wants to receive.

On Shavuot we are not only celebrating the historic event of Moshe receiving the Torah, but also the gift of our own, personal, unique relationship with Torah and God, which is accessible in each moment.