Acts of kindness and generosity form an essential cornerstone of Judaism, whose very heart is built on loving-kindness. Yet, the ultimate purpose of Jewish life goes beyond doing good for others. Being Jewish is about forging a deep and enduring relationship with God through the guidance of the Torah given at Mount Sinai.
Being a "good person" is noble and important, but it is only part of the picture. A "good Jew" seeks not only moral goodness, but a life infused with spiritual depth and eternal meaning.
I’m a Good Person-Isn’t That Enough?
I’m someone everyone likes. I treat people kindly, I’m a devoted family man, I do good deeds, and I give charity from time to time. Haven’t I fulfilled my obligation in this world? Does fulfilling Divine commandments that I don’t feel drawn to or inspired by really make me a better person?
Some people give to the needy, help the elderly, or volunteer in various fields like emergency services, youth counseling, or emotional support. Isn’t that enough? Will observing religious laws really make us better people? Will putting on tefillin or keeping kosher elevate us or make us more ethical?
There’s no doubt that Judaism encourages the development of good character traits such as compassion, kindness, and generosity, as well as behaviors like giving, letting go, supporting others, and lifting the spirits of the downtrodden. The Talmud even praises these traits, stating that they are identifying signs of the Jewish people: “There are three distinguishing traits of this nation: they are compassionate, modest, and perform acts of kindness” (Yevamot 79a). Likewise, the Mishnah underscores the centrality of giving: “The world stands on three things: on Torah, on worship [i.e., prayer], and on acts of kindness” (Ethics of the Fathers 1:2).
So, isn’t that enough? God wants us to be good and moral people. Why do we need additional rules that seem to have nothing to do with helping others?
Not Just a Brother-Also a Son
Let’s consider the following: Imagine someone who treats his brother with great compassion and generosity, but repeatedly ignores the requests of their father. Would we call him a good person? Certainly, he may be an incredible brother, but is he a devoted son? Probably not.
God’s love for us is often described in the Torah as a father’s love for his child: “Israel is My firstborn son” (Shemot 4:22), and “Is Ephraim [i.e., the Jewish people] My dear son, a delightful child? For whenever I speak of him, I remember him still; therefore My inner self yearns for him. I will surely have compassion on him, says the Lord” (Yirmiyahu 31:19). “You are children of the Lord your God” (Devarim 14:1). These are just a few of the many verses in which God calls us His beloved children.
This relationship is also reflected in the creation of man. The Talmud teaches: “There are three partners in the formation of a person: God, his father, and his mother” (Niddah 31a). The parents provide the physical body, while God grants the spiritual essence-the soul.
God, who calls us His children, is the One to whom we owe our deepest gratitude for our talents and gifts, for every kindness we’ve received in our lives, and even for life itself. How can we ignore the will of the One who gave us everything we have?
God asks us to do good to others through the commandments that govern interpersonal conduct, but He also asks us to fulfill the mitzvot (Divine commandments) that define our relationship with Him. Over and over again, the Torah commands us: “You shall keep My mitzvot and perform them-I am the Lord” (Vayikra 22:31); “You shall observe My ordinances and My statutes and follow them-I am the Lord your God…and you shall live by them” (Vayikra 18:4-5); “It shall be for you as tzitzit…and you shall remember all the mitzvot of the Lord and perform them” (Bamidbar 15:39); “You shall observe all the statutes and ordinances that I place before you today” (Devarim 11:32).
Being good children to our loving God means valuing His wishes, listening to His voice, and stepping beyond our comfort zone, as any loyal child would.
Living with Purpose
“What is the meaning of life?” This ancient question has been asked by philosophers and seekers across generations. Judaism offers a clear answer: the purpose of a Jew’s life is to develop a deep connection with God through loyalty to the Torah. As King Shlomo, the wisest of men, wrote: “The end of the matter, all has been heard: Fear God and keep His commandments-for this is the whole of man” (Kohelet 12:13). In other words, this is why man was created.
Every Jew is born with a unique spiritual purpose. Even if he possesses a golden heart, is compassionate, and generous to others, if he is living a life that leads him away from that purpose, he is missing the very point of his existence.
The purpose of life includes inner work and positive actions, building moral character, developing one’s personality, treating others with respect, and doing good in the world. But it doesn’t end there. It also includes prayer, Torah study, stepping outside of our comfort zone for the sake of God’s will, and fulfilling the rest of the Torah’s mitzvot.
The ultimate goal is to build a relationship of love and closeness with God through faithful observance of the Torah, as the verse states:
“If you will surely listen to My commandments to love the Lord your God and to serve Him with all your heart and all your soul…place these words upon your hearts and souls…For if you will observe this entire mitzvah that I command you, to love the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways and to cling to Him” (Devarim 11:13,18, 22).
God gave us the Torah at Mount Sinai and established it as the sole path to creating a relationship with Him. The Torah and mitzvot are not one option among many. They are the only way to connect to the Creator. Whether it’s keeping kosher, praying, observing the laws of modesty, having interpersonal ethics, or observing Shabbat or family purity-these mitzvot are the channels through which we access a relationship with God, and they represent the true purpose of life.
Living Truth
What if someone lives their entire life based on a certain worldview, only to discover at the end that they were headed in the wrong direction? The sense of regret would be unbearable.
We owe it to ourselves to make sure we are living a life aligned with truth-otherwise, we’re only harming ourselves.
Now, suppose someone believes that the Torah is true and was given by God, but he still maintains that it’s enough to be a moral, decent person who doesn’t harm others. He doesn’t see any value in mitzvah observance. To him, Jewish laws seem dry or illogical. He simply doesn’t “connect” to the commandments. Is such a lifestyle valid?
Let’s consider a parable: A person feels unwell and goes to the doctor. The doctor gives him a prescription with detailed instructions about which medications to take, when, and how much. Will the patient now begin studying pharmacology to understand how each pill works? Of course not. He trusts the doctor’s expertise and follows the instructions, knowing the doctor is the expert.
The same is true of the Torah, which we received at Mount Sinai from the Creator Himself. When the Jewish people were offered the Torah, they proclaimed “We will do, and we will hear,” placing action before understanding. They trusted that if the commandments were from God, then they must be for their good, even if they didn’t understand the full-blown details of the process.
God, Who created us and the world, is the ultimate expert in how to live both materially and spiritually. Even if we don’t always grasp the logic behind a mitzvah, it doesn’t mean it isn’t for our benefit. Every mitzvah is an instruction from the Manufacturer of man, designed purely for our own good, and it is also an absolute truth that obligates us.
In today’s world, there’s a popular trend of “doing what you feel connected to.” But this often leads people down paths that don’t serve them well in the long term. Part of adult life is fulfilling responsibilities, even when they don’t always align with “what I’m feeling.”
The Torah contains two genres of commandments: those between man and fellow man and those between man and God. Many people relate easily to the first, because the impact is visible. But the spiritual impact of the mitzvot between man and God is no less real-just less visible. Every mitzvah, in either category, has a profound effect on the spiritual world and on the soul of the person who performs it.
A person who believes in God and the truth of the Torah cannot cherry-pick which parts to follow. Doing so creates a contradiction between one’s inner beliefs and outward behavior. A Jew who wishes to live a life of integrity with his Creator must strive to embrace the entire Torah. That journey must be gradual, balanced, and tailored to the individual’s soul-ideally with the guidance of a rabbi or mentor experienced in working with those who are growing in religious observance.
The driving force behind living according to the Torah is truth. If the Torah is indeed true, then our lives must align with that Divine truth, not with a subjective human perception.
That said, although God commands us to live lives of truth, He does not want us to suffer along the way. Like a loving parent, He wants us to enjoy the path itself, not just the destination. That’s why the mitzvot He gave us also enrich our quality of life here and now.
There are countless examples: circumcision prevents illness, Shabbat strengthens family bonds and offers much-needed rest, and family purity renews intimacy in marriage. All of the Torah’s guidance is for our benefit, not to harm or burden us.
Just like a manufacturer includes a user manual to ensure the user will have an optimal experience with the product they created, the Torah is the Creator’s manual for human life. Its goal is for us to live meaningfully, joyfully, and fully, both in this world and the next, both physically and spiritually.
Have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether your understanding of reality is objective or subjective? Most of us would instinctively answer, “objective,” confident that our worldview is rooted in truth rather than bias. But not everyone agrees.
Austrian physician and philosopher Alfred Adler introduced what he called the principle of subjectivity, which suggests that our perception of the world is shaped by our life experiences, personal assumptions, and subconscious interpretations. According to Adler, these form internal narratives that define how we see life and reality.
The problem? Most people assume that their views are objective truths-when in fact, they are entirely subjective.
The real danger lies in becoming mentally rigid: when we’re so attached to our current beliefs, we reject new ideas that contradict them. In this way, our existing worldview can actually work against us, by closing us off to new perspectives and ways of thinking.
So before you continue taking your assumptions as truth, ask yourself: Is what I believe really the truth? Or just the version of it I’ve grown used to?
Dr. Viktor Frankl was a renowned Jewish neurologist and psychiatrist. During World War II, he was deported to Auschwitz along with his family. After the war, he documented his experiences in his best-selling book Man’s Search for Meaning.
As a Holocaust survivor, Frankl observed that people who were physically weak but had a sense of purpose were more likely to survive the horrors of the camps than those who were physically strong but lacked meaning in their lives.
Frankl explained that the search for meaning is the deepest human drive. He argued that even more than the will for pleasure or power, it is the longing for meaning that shapes a person’s inner world.
Ironically, in modern life, although people enjoy greater comfort and material abundance, they often lose their sense of purpose. This leads to what Frankl called an “existential vacuum”-a feeling of inner emptiness and meaninglessness.
According to Frankl, when a person fills that inner void by discovering meaning in something beyond themselves, they begin to reconnect with their true human essence. As a result, many of the emotional and spiritual struggles rooted in that emptiness begin to heal.
If a person lives according to positive, ethical social norms, does that automatically make him a good Jew? The nations of the world are commanded to observe the Seven Noahide Laws, which form the foundation of a just and functional society. But a Jew is called upon to do more.
The Jewish people were given a unique mandate: “And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Shemot 19:6). To be considered a “good Jew,” one must fulfill the conditions that define that title-not just the qualities of a good person.
What sets a Jew apart is that beyond morality and decency, which define goodness in a general sense, he brings spiritual holiness into his life-holiness that stems from the Torah. The Jewish nation is the beating heart of humanity, and it was entrusted with a distinct role: to serve as a channel through which the Divine becomes known within human society.
A Jew’s life mission is to embody goodness while simultaneously revealing a Divine ideal. While a non-Jew fulfills his purpose by upholding moral and societal norms, for a Jew, that alone is not enough to complete his calling. The role of someone with a Jewish soul is not only to be a good person, but also to be a good Jew.
The Ten Commandments are a unique set of mitzvot (Divine commandments) that were engraved on the Tablets of the Covenant. They are traditionally divided into two columns: the right column contains commandments between a person and God, while the left column contains commandments between a person and others.
It is striking that the commandment “Honor your father and your mother” appears not in the left-hand column, with the interpersonal laws, but in the right-hand column, alongside the commandments between man and God.
The obligation to honor one’s parents is rooted in gratitude: appreciation for those who invested their lives in raising their children, and even simply for gifting them the gift of life. Through cultivating gratitude toward our parents, we learn to develop gratitude toward God-for all the kindness He has shown us throughout our lives and for sustaining us at every moment.
God, who gave us so much-including life itself-asks us for our loyalty in return. We express that loyalty by striving to be good Jews, as defined by the Torah He gave us, namely by living a life of mitzvot and Torah observance.
What holds greater importance-mitzvot between one person and another, or mitzvot between a person and God?
For most of us, it’s easier to relate to interpersonal commandments, such as helping others, than to mitzvot between man and God, whose meaning or purpose may not always be clear.
But in truth, even our obligation to fulfill interpersonal mitzvot stems from one source: they are God’s will.
The Jewish people are obligated to observe all of the Torah’s commandments-those that govern our relationships with others and those that govern our relationship with God. There is no inherent hierarchy that assigns more importance to one category over the other.
To be sure, each individual mitzvah has its own unique spiritual weight, based on the depth of its value and the level of refinement it brings to the soul and the upper worlds. Still, there is no essential difference in value between interpersonal mitzvot and mitzvot between man and God.
Though there are differences between certain mitzvot (and prohibitions), these differences are limited to their impact on the individual, on society, on the soul, and in the spiritual realms, which are reflected in the severity of their consequences, the magnitude of their reward, and in the way halacha (Jewish law) prioritizes one commandment over another when they come into conflict. When it comes to our responsibility to observe them though, every mitzvah is equally binding.
Have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether your understanding of reality is objective or subjective? Most of us would instinctively answer, “objective,” confident that our worldview is rooted in truth rather than bias. But not everyone agrees.
Austrian physician and philosopher Alfred Adler introduced what he called the principle of subjectivity, which suggests that our perception of the world is shaped by our life experiences, personal assumptions, and subconscious interpretations. According to Adler, these form internal narratives that define how we see life and reality.
The problem? Most people assume that their views are objective truths-when in fact, they are entirely subjective.
The real danger lies in becoming mentally rigid: when we’re so attached to our current beliefs, we reject new ideas that contradict them. In this way, our existing worldview can actually work against us, by closing us off to new perspectives and ways of thinking.
So before you continue taking your assumptions as truth, ask yourself: Is what I believe really the truth? Or just the version of it I’ve grown used to?
If a person lives according to positive, ethical social norms, does that automatically make him a good Jew? The nations of the world are commanded to observe the Seven Noahide Laws, which form the foundation of a just and functional society. But a Jew is called upon to do more.
The Jewish people were given a unique mandate: “And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Shemot 19:6). To be considered a “good Jew,” one must fulfill the conditions that define that title-not just the qualities of a good person.
What sets a Jew apart is that beyond morality and decency, which define goodness in a general sense, he brings spiritual holiness into his life-holiness that stems from the Torah. The Jewish nation is the beating heart of humanity, and it was entrusted with a distinct role: to serve as a channel through which the Divine becomes known within human society.
A Jew’s life mission is to embody goodness while simultaneously revealing a Divine ideal. While a non-Jew fulfills his purpose by upholding moral and societal norms, for a Jew, that alone is not enough to complete his calling. The role of someone with a Jewish soul is not only to be a good person, but also to be a good Jew.
What holds greater importance-mitzvot between one person and another, or mitzvot between a person and God?
For most of us, it’s easier to relate to interpersonal commandments, such as helping others, than to mitzvot between man and God, whose meaning or purpose may not always be clear.
But in truth, even our obligation to fulfill interpersonal mitzvot stems from one source: they are God’s will.
The Jewish people are obligated to observe all of the Torah’s commandments-those that govern our relationships with others and those that govern our relationship with God. There is no inherent hierarchy that assigns more importance to one category over the other.
To be sure, each individual mitzvah has its own unique spiritual weight, based on the depth of its value and the level of refinement it brings to the soul and the upper worlds. Still, there is no essential difference in value between interpersonal mitzvot and mitzvot between man and God.
Though there are differences between certain mitzvot (and prohibitions), these differences are limited to their impact on the individual, on society, on the soul, and in the spiritual realms, which are reflected in the severity of their consequences, the magnitude of their reward, and in the way halacha (Jewish law) prioritizes one commandment over another when they come into conflict. When it comes to our responsibility to observe them though, every mitzvah is equally binding.
Dr. Viktor Frankl was a renowned Jewish neurologist and psychiatrist. During World War II, he was deported to Auschwitz along with his family. After the war, he documented his experiences in his best-selling book Man’s Search for Meaning.
As a Holocaust survivor, Frankl observed that people who were physically weak but had a sense of purpose were more likely to survive the horrors of the camps than those who were physically strong but lacked meaning in their lives.
Frankl explained that the search for meaning is the deepest human drive. He argued that even more than the will for pleasure or power, it is the longing for meaning that shapes a person’s inner world.
Ironically, in modern life, although people enjoy greater comfort and material abundance, they often lose their sense of purpose. This leads to what Frankl called an “existential vacuum”-a feeling of inner emptiness and meaninglessness.
According to Frankl, when a person fills that inner void by discovering meaning in something beyond themselves, they begin to reconnect with their true human essence. As a result, many of the emotional and spiritual struggles rooted in that emptiness begin to heal.
The Ten Commandments are a unique set of mitzvot (Divine commandments) that were engraved on the Tablets of the Covenant. They are traditionally divided into two columns: the right column contains commandments between a person and God, while the left column contains commandments between a person and others.
It is striking that the commandment “Honor your father and your mother” appears not in the left-hand column, with the interpersonal laws, but in the right-hand column, alongside the commandments between man and God.
The obligation to honor one’s parents is rooted in gratitude: appreciation for those who invested their lives in raising their children, and even simply for gifting them the gift of life. Through cultivating gratitude toward our parents, we learn to develop gratitude toward God-for all the kindness He has shown us throughout our lives and for sustaining us at every moment.
God, who gave us so much-including life itself-asks us for our loyalty in return. We express that loyalty by striving to be good Jews, as defined by the Torah He gave us, namely by living a life of mitzvot and Torah observance.
People who do not yet observe Torah and mitzvot (Divine commandments) often ask: Can’t someone find meaning in life without Torah? Isn’t choosing to do good and be a decent human being meaningful enough?
Rabbi Daniel Blass shared a story that directly touches on this question-one that left his conversation partner speechless.
“Once,” he recounts, “a medical student approached me and asked about the purpose of life. He explained that his goal in studying medicine was to advance humanity and save lives.
‘That’s certainly a noble goal,’ I replied, ‘to be a person of kindness. But is that truly the highest summit you can aspire to? Could it be that there is an even greater and deeper purpose in life?’
I suggested a thought experiment to push the boundaries of his thinking and test how far his understanding of life’s purpose really went:
‘Imagine, just for a moment, that you’ve traveled in time to the year 7000. Humanity has reached the peak of scientific advancement. Every illness and disability has been cured, robots do all our work, poverty no longer exists, every equation in physics has been solved, and no one needs to study anymore because a chip in your brain provides instant knowledge.
Now tell me-what would your purpose be? Would you just sit around watching reality TV and eating popcorn?
You’ve chosen today to dedicate your life to curing disease and healing people. But in a world where nothing is lacking, would your life still have meaning? Can you see that your life’s purpose, as you understand it now, is based entirely on what’s missing? But what positive value are you ultimately striving for?'”
To my surprise, he fell silent.
He had been so focused on his mission in life that it had never occurred to him that there could be a higher spiritual goal than improving physical life in this world. Finally, he answered: “I don’t know.”
I asked him, “You said you believe in God. Why do you think He created suffering, illness, and hardship? Surely God has hidden purposes that are beyond our understanding, for our ultimate good.
God gave us compassion and intelligence to discover medicines and develop technology. Clearly, He wants us to care for the sick and help those in need. But that doesn’t mean this is the entire purpose of your life.”
There’s no doubt that positive action has great value. After all, God chose Avraham (Abraham) because he was a man of truth and kindness.
Moshe had compassion even for animals, fled Egypt after rescuing a Jew, and tried to make peace between fellow Jews. He even rebuked a wicked man, saying, “Why would you strike your fellow?” (Shemot 2:13). Later, as a poor fugitive in the desert, Moshe fought to save young women from violent men.
Because he demanded justice and showed mercy, God chose him. The Sages teach that compassion is one of the defining traits of the Jewish people.
But we must also understand: good people can achieve much more through Torah and mitzvot. The Torah is the guide for spiritual growth.
By analogy, a good person is like a rough, uncut diamond that’s full of potential but lacks refinement. The diamond needs to be polished to reveal its brilliance and sparkle.
The Jewish soul has incredible potential to reach lofty spiritual heights. But without the Torah, that potential can never be fully realized.
The mitzvot were given to polish the soul and help it achieve its holiness and purpose. Not just to become good, but to overcome our negative impulses, refine our character traits, and attain deep, authentic, and eternal joy.
Our goal is to gain Torah knowledge, fulfill mitzvot, pray, strive, and even sacrifice for God, and live by the words of the verse: “And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.”
That is the purpose of our life in this world. And it is greater than life itself.
