Ancient Wisdom in a Changing World: Can the Torah Still Speak to Us Today?
The world is changing at a dizzying pace. Momentous changes unfold daily, and the gap between our generation and those who lived just two generations ago feels enormous, in language, mindset, values, and nearly every aspect of life. So how can the Torah, given over 3,300 years ago, possibly still be relevant?
Some of the Torah’s laws seem bound to an ancient world, like offerings in the Temple, agricultural commandments, the priesthood, and more. Humanity has progressed so far since then. Why hasn’t the Torah adapted to the modern age?
To develop an answer to this question, it’s instructive to recall that even 3,300 years ago, the Torah didn’t “fit” with the dominant ideas of the time. It called for rest on Shabbat when the rest of the world worked seven days a week. It rejected idolatry when idol worship was universally accepted. It insisted on the sanctity of human life at a time when even the most “advanced” cultures, like Greece and Rome, routinely killed children who didn’t meet social expectations. So when we say the Torah feels out of sync with our era, we’re not saying anything new—it never aimed to follow the crowd.
On a deeper level, the Torah’s unchanging nature is exactly what gives it enduring power. We live in an age of rapid transformation: science, technology, transportation, communication, and law are all in constant motion. Everything shifts. Aside from one thing: human nature.
Human beings today struggle with the same inner world as our ancestors did. We still battle desires and chase pleasure. We still resist effort, fudge the truth, worry endlessly, and cling to what feels familiar. And just like generations before us, we still long for meaning, yearn for beauty, crave spiritual elevation, and aspire to do good. The fundamental questions of existence haven’t changed.
Who am I? What is the purpose of life? Where am I going, and what happens after I die? How should I live? And, perhaps most importantly, why?
The world we live in may be high-tech, but technology is a tool—not the end game. Science can describe what exists, but it can’t tell us why we’re here. It’s like an aviation engineer who can calculate a plane’s speed and fuel range, but can’t determine its destination. That decision depends on values, and values come from deep faith.
The Torah offers guidance for these timeless human questions. It doesn’t adapt itself to conform to the latest trends because it doesn’t need to. It offers guidance that remains profoundly relevant in every generation.
A Timeless Guide in a Changing World
Our world is obsessed with change—new lifestyles, new philosophies, new solutions. But the Torah is not a book of temporary social norms or time-bound customs. It’s a Divine guide, designed to lead human beings toward wholeness and inner refinement. The purpose of life and the path toward that purpose are fixed. They do not shift with cultural tides.
In foreign cultures, ideals evolve constantly. Values, beliefs, and ways of life are shaped by the spirit of the times. Judaism, in contrast, does not mold itself to fit the trends of the day. It stands firm, resisting external pressures and refusing to chase the latest fads. The Torah is a heavenly document, eternal in nature, untouched by the currents of history.
Embedded within the Torah are profound spiritual truths—secrets of creation, hidden dimensions of the universe, and the unseen forces at work in our world. The same God who created the universe established the eternal laws of the Torah. These laws alone have the power to guide the Jewish people, and all of humanity, toward spiritual perfection. The Torah is like a roadmap: it charts the way to our destination. And just because the scenery changes doesn’t mean we change direction.
Each of the 613 commandments has a spiritual root that impacts the world in unseen ways. That’s why Torah and mitzvot (Divine commandments) don’t expire, even when the outer world looks radically different.
A thousand years ago, Jews were commanded to don tefillin, recite blessings, and pray before enjoying food, and those same obligations remain in place today. In Judaism, both the goal and the path to reaching that goal are fixed and eternal. Only by living according to the Torah’s guidance can a person arrive at their highest spiritual destination.
The Torah sets a clear ideal, a vision of the kind of person a Jew is meant to become. And that ideal is not shaped by advances in technology or shifts in culture. Even laws that may seem outdated or out of step with modern values carry deep spiritual significance we may not fully grasp.
A Fixed Compass in a World of Noise
In an age of confusion, nonstop noise, and shifting identities, the Torah is a steady backbone. It anchors us to our past and points us toward a purposeful future. Especially in today’s postmodern world—where people claim there’s no such thing as absolute truth—the Torah’s firm foundation is more necessary than ever. Because only someone who knows where they come from can know where they’re headed.
The world may change. Technology may advance. Culture may evolve. Science may progress. But human nature and human purpose remain the same.
The Torah is here to refine us and help us uncover the good hidden within. But growth takes effort. It requires discipline. It demands that we fight laziness and rise above illusions. It behooves us to work on our character, overcome temptation, engage in Torah study, observe Divine commandments, and cultivate the faith within us. That’s why the Torah will never lose its relevance. Not now, and not in the generations to come.
The eternal truth of the Torah is the ninth of the 13 Principles of Faith articulated by the Rambam (Maimonides): “This Torah will never be replaced, and there will never be another Torah from God.” This principle establishes that the Torah is immutable. Nothing can be added to it or taken away.
Even if someone were to perform wonders, miracles, or supernatural feats, and claim that God sent him with a new message to cancel or alter a single mitzvah, or introduce a new one, beyond a shadow of doubt, he is a false prophet.
The Torah cannot be changed.
Our understanding of the physical world has grown exponentially—but when it comes to grasping spiritual truths, we’ve drifted farther and farther from clarity. The Sages referred to this reality with a powerful analogy: “We are like dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants.” The dwarf may see farther, but only because he stands on the giant’s back. Today’s advances in science and technology can sometimes breed a sense of arrogance toward earlier generations. But in truth, the spiritual and moral stature of those who came before us supercedes our own.
Long ago, there were prophets who spoke the word of God, and Sages who were able to tap into mystical secrets that defy our comprehension. Even children knew the entire Torah by heart, and attained levels of scholarship most devout adults can only dream of today.
We may see more with our microscopes and satellites, but when it comes to spiritual vision, the earlier generations tower over us.
Shabbat is more than a day of rest—it’s a sacred covenant between the Jewish people and God. Observing Shabbat is a powerful affirmation of faith in the God of Israel. Beyond its deep spiritual significance, Shabbat offers profound psychological and ethical benefits.
In the modern world, defined by constant motion and an endless race against the clock, Shabbat gives us one day each week to disconnect from the chaos. And it is precisely this disconnection from the outside world that allows us to connect with ourselves and the people who matter most to us.
Israeli singer Rami Kleinstein shared in an interview with the Yediot Acharonot newspaper:
“Over time, I started to feel that on Shabbat I just prefer quiet with my family.”
Singer Eliad Nachum captures the feeling in his song “Sof HaShavua” (The Weekend):
“I love when Shabbat comes in. I longed for the day I could finally breathe.”
Actor Aviv Alush spoke about his spiritual journey in an interview with Menta magazine:
“I put on tefillin in the morning, that’s how I bind myself to the Creator. I go to synagogue Friday night, make kiddush Shabbat morning, keep kosher, and a few months ago, we started keeping Shabbat as a family. It’s amazing. First of all, there are no phones on Shabbat. That device just pulls us away from our partners and families. Right now, this is what feels right for us.”
In a modern world that never stops moving, Shabbat invites us to stop, breathe, and remember what truly matters.
One popular approach to life maintains: “Live it up while you can. Travel, eat out, have fun. After all, isn’t that what life is about?” Judaism offers a different vision: Live a life of deep and eternal meaning, and only then will you experience real joy, lasting satisfaction, and true happiness that doesn’t fade.
In 2012, Oprah Winfrey, the famed American talk show host, spent time with chasidic Jewish families in Brooklyn, New York. In a special interview about the experience, she shared her reflections:
From the moment I walked into the Ginsburg home, I felt welcomed and accepted. I sensed warmth, family closeness, and values that come from something deeply true. I connected to that, because it’s how I think about life, too.
I don’t have a tradition like theirs. I don’t have a Sabbath that begins Friday and ends Saturday night. But I do believe in many of their values and principles.
She went on to describe the powerful faith she encountered:
Every family member I spoke with had strong belief in God, and a deep sense that we’re all here to live according to God’s will. That was their highest value, not just among the adults, but even among the children, who spoke about living a meaningful life.
When asked what she would say to a Jew who isn’t religious or observant but is curious about Jewish heritage, Oprah replied:
Everyone should reflect and ask themselves, “What does this mean for me?” That’s what I hope people take away from this experience.
What I always try to do is help people look inward—and from there, discover the path that leads to God. Life is a spiritual journey.
Moral standards shift from generation to generation. What was considered acceptable 30 years ago may be frowned upon today—and vice versa. But the Torah sets eternal values, unchanging and absolute, relevant in every era.
One powerful story illustrates this idea:
During the Holocaust, a group of Jews in the ghetto wanted to fulfill the mitzvah of wearing tzitzit. To do so, they needed wool. But where could they find wool in the ghetto?
There was only one place: the German storage warehouses, filled with property looted from Jewish homes. Despite the danger, some Jews working in those warehouses occasionally managed to “arrange” supplies. The question arose: Could they take wool from the Nazis’ stolen goods to use for tzitzit, or would that be considered theft?
They turned to the ghetto’s rabbi to ask.
Even in the depths of horror, these Jews were not only focused on survival. They wanted to follow the Torah’s moral directives, even when it involved taking materials from murderers to fulfill a mitzvah. Their question was not simply practical. It was profoundly ethical. It showed that even in unimaginable darkness, they looked to the Torah as their moral compass.
The Torah doesn’t just teach commandments. It defines eternal values, even when the world turns upside down.
The eternal truth of the Torah is the ninth of the 13 Principles of Faith articulated by the Rambam (Maimonides): “This Torah will never be replaced, and there will never be another Torah from God.” This principle establishes that the Torah is immutable. Nothing can be added to it or taken away.
Even if someone were to perform wonders, miracles, or supernatural feats, and claim that God sent him with a new message to cancel or alter a single mitzvah, or introduce a new one, beyond a shadow of doubt, he is a false prophet.
The Torah cannot be changed.
Shabbat is more than a day of rest—it’s a sacred covenant between the Jewish people and God. Observing Shabbat is a powerful affirmation of faith in the God of Israel. Beyond its deep spiritual significance, Shabbat offers profound psychological and ethical benefits.
In the modern world, defined by constant motion and an endless race against the clock, Shabbat gives us one day each week to disconnect from the chaos. And it is precisely this disconnection from the outside world that allows us to connect with ourselves and the people who matter most to us.
Israeli singer Rami Kleinstein shared in an interview with the Yediot Acharonot newspaper:
“Over time, I started to feel that on Shabbat I just prefer quiet with my family.”
Singer Eliad Nachum captures the feeling in his song “Sof HaShavua” (The Weekend):
“I love when Shabbat comes in. I longed for the day I could finally breathe.”
Actor Aviv Alush spoke about his spiritual journey in an interview with Menta magazine:
“I put on tefillin in the morning, that’s how I bind myself to the Creator. I go to synagogue Friday night, make kiddush Shabbat morning, keep kosher, and a few months ago, we started keeping Shabbat as a family. It’s amazing. First of all, there are no phones on Shabbat. That device just pulls us away from our partners and families. Right now, this is what feels right for us.”
In a modern world that never stops moving, Shabbat invites us to stop, breathe, and remember what truly matters.
Moral standards shift from generation to generation. What was considered acceptable 30 years ago may be frowned upon today—and vice versa. But the Torah sets eternal values, unchanging and absolute, relevant in every era.
One powerful story illustrates this idea:
During the Holocaust, a group of Jews in the ghetto wanted to fulfill the mitzvah of wearing tzitzit. To do so, they needed wool. But where could they find wool in the ghetto?
There was only one place: the German storage warehouses, filled with property looted from Jewish homes. Despite the danger, some Jews working in those warehouses occasionally managed to “arrange” supplies. The question arose: Could they take wool from the Nazis’ stolen goods to use for tzitzit, or would that be considered theft?
They turned to the ghetto’s rabbi to ask.
Even in the depths of horror, these Jews were not only focused on survival. They wanted to follow the Torah’s moral directives, even when it involved taking materials from murderers to fulfill a mitzvah. Their question was not simply practical. It was profoundly ethical. It showed that even in unimaginable darkness, they looked to the Torah as their moral compass.
The Torah doesn’t just teach commandments. It defines eternal values, even when the world turns upside down.
Our understanding of the physical world has grown exponentially—but when it comes to grasping spiritual truths, we’ve drifted farther and farther from clarity. The Sages referred to this reality with a powerful analogy: “We are like dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants.” The dwarf may see farther, but only because he stands on the giant’s back. Today’s advances in science and technology can sometimes breed a sense of arrogance toward earlier generations. But in truth, the spiritual and moral stature of those who came before us supercedes our own.
Long ago, there were prophets who spoke the word of God, and Sages who were able to tap into mystical secrets that defy our comprehension. Even children knew the entire Torah by heart, and attained levels of scholarship most devout adults can only dream of today.
We may see more with our microscopes and satellites, but when it comes to spiritual vision, the earlier generations tower over us.
One popular approach to life maintains: “Live it up while you can. Travel, eat out, have fun. After all, isn’t that what life is about?” Judaism offers a different vision: Live a life of deep and eternal meaning, and only then will you experience real joy, lasting satisfaction, and true happiness that doesn’t fade.
In 2012, Oprah Winfrey, the famed American talk show host, spent time with chasidic Jewish families in Brooklyn, New York. In a special interview about the experience, she shared her reflections:
From the moment I walked into the Ginsburg home, I felt welcomed and accepted. I sensed warmth, family closeness, and values that come from something deeply true. I connected to that, because it’s how I think about life, too.
I don’t have a tradition like theirs. I don’t have a Sabbath that begins Friday and ends Saturday night. But I do believe in many of their values and principles.
She went on to describe the powerful faith she encountered:
Every family member I spoke with had strong belief in God, and a deep sense that we’re all here to live according to God’s will. That was their highest value, not just among the adults, but even among the children, who spoke about living a meaningful life.
When asked what she would say to a Jew who isn’t religious or observant but is curious about Jewish heritage, Oprah replied:
Everyone should reflect and ask themselves, “What does this mean for me?” That’s what I hope people take away from this experience.
What I always try to do is help people look inward—and from there, discover the path that leads to God. Life is a spiritual journey.
By Ilana Kendal
The Cubs and the Indians may be battling for the World Series title, but I know a young man who is this season’s true baseball hero. Meet Josh Schwartz (pseudonym), a regular 6th grader at a local public school in Toronto. Only, he’s not so regular: he keeps Shabbat. Which means that even though he has a passion for baseball (and quite the throwing arm), he can’t join the local league since their games are all on Shabbat. It also means that when the school team was slated to play this fall, his parents made sure none of their games were on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur.
First round he pitched five games and his team made it to the conference finals. Amazing. Josh pitched a two hour game in the rain. And pitch he did, leading his team to a 6-0 victory. It’s the stuff baseball dreams are made of; they were going to the city tournament. But here’s the clincher: the tournament was scheduled for Simchat Torah. And suddenly Josh’s dream-come-true turned into a nightmare. How could he let his team down? How could he miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
While the school board had been aware of the “major Jewish holidays,” Simchat Torah was deemed a “minor festival”. And just like that, Josh was faced with his Sandy Koufax moment. He and his parents talked it over. Yes, some of his Jewish teammates would be at that game and he would be the only one missing it. But observing the holidays was not a sometimes kind of commitment. The baseball field was over an hour’s drive away. There was no way to get to the game and play while observing Simchat Torah. Staying true to his values meant only one thing: he could not play. And so, with a heavy heart, Josh told his team and school.
I’m not sure how many of us could stand by our convictions with a team depending on us and the lure of winning. Would you try to bend the rules? Find some wiggle room or make a “just-this-once” exception?
Josh stood strong. And then he received a call from the school principal: he had taken matters into his own hands, and the tournament date was changed to Friday. And not only that, the school board was beginning a process where all Jewish holidays would be marked as “the same level of significance” on the calendar, ensuring this struggle would hopefully never be repeated.
Josh may have simply been standing by his own values, but he won a victory far beyond his 11 years.
I am watching the World Series, but I already know who the real winner is: a young man who stood up to the world and proclaimed, “I am a Jew and that comes before baseball.” Now that deserves a standing ovation.
A similar version of this article originally appeared on aish.com
