Once, when Rabbi Noach of Lefkovitz was in his room, he overheard a student begin to recite Maimonides’ Principles of Faith in the Beit Midrash (study hall). The young man paused after saying, “I believe with perfect faith,” and whispered, “I do not understand… I do not understand.”
Upon entering the Beit Midrash, Rabbi Noach asked the student, “What is it that you do not understand?”
The student replied, “If I really do believe, how can I possibly sin? But if I don’t believe, why am I lying?”
“You do not understand,” answered the rabbi. “The words ‘I believe with perfect faith’ are not a declaration—they are a prayer. ‘Oh, that I may believe!’”
At that, the student cried out, “Oh, that I may believe, oh that I may believe!” and was suffused with an inner glow. [1]
Choice and Paradox in the Commandments
As parents, we are faced with a conundrum. Should we encourage our children to leave the fold so that they can later return on their own terms? Would it not be better to allow a child to decide for him or herself whether or not to observe the commandments? Is this not more authentic, and to be preferred? But how can a child decide without knowing what the choices are?
This is a serious educational problem and seems to be at the core of this weeks’ parasha:
See, this day I set before you blessing and curse. Blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God… and curse, if you do not… (Devarim 11:26–28)
But where, precisely, is the choice? At first glance, this verse seems to coerce obedience by tying it to reward. How can one truly choose when the “correct” path is mandated and deviations are threatened with curse?
The Torah appears to suggest a paradox: that even the obvious choice—blessing—must be chosen freely, despite uncertainty. If there is no room for doubt, then there is no real choice. Only when one has reasons to hesitate does the act of choosing acquire meaning.
In other words, the choice for the blessing is only authentic when the blessing itself is not self-evident.
Faith Demands Doubt
For this reason, a faith that does not doubt is ultimately a stillborn faith. Faith is not born of certainty or logical deduction; it is forged in the fires of unresolved doubt. It is not a destination, but a lifelong journey. It thrives not in proof, but in wonder. As such, the commandment to “choose the blessing” is in fact a commandment to live with doubt and choose regardless.
Faith without doubt is not faith but conformity.
Doubt appeals to the intellect, but faith transcends it. The intellect alone is too barren a soil for religious vitality. When doubt is no longer the dominant faculty in our spiritual life, the path to real faith opens. But doubt must be transcended—not erased.
To pray, to study Torah, to observe mitzvot: these are acts that the intellect cannot fully reach. They belong to a separate category altogether—a world inaccessible to purely rational inquiry.
Faith as Existential Risk
True faith demands existential risk: to act as if God exists, even when we lack proof. It is the willingness to praise before certainty, to respond before question.[2] It is to say: “I am prepared to stake my life on something of ultimate value—even if I can never know for sure.”
As Alfred North Whitehead put it:
Ultimately, philosophy begins in wonder. And at the end, when philosophical and scientific thought have done their best, the wonder remains. [3]
Faith is born from the light of the soul, not from certainty. The mind can grasp facts; only the heart can encounter the Divine. Faith lives not in answers but in questions. Any answer too quickly offered is a deathblow to the soul of belief.
A Music Beyond Words
The difference between certainty and faith is like the difference between a word spoken and a word set to music.
To show someone one of Mozart’s musical scores and say, “Now you no longer need to hear the music,” is absurd. Faith is like music: it must be experienced, not deduced. It marvels at the incomprehensible. It is the refusal to settle for answers that rob life of wonder.
If we want our children to become deeply religious people, we must give them a Jewish education grounded in this vision of faith. They must be given the tools to choose Judaism or not on their own terms—not from ignorance, but from deep familiarity with both the tradition and its challengers.
The verse in our parashah urges us to “choose the blessing,” but no one can choose what they do not know. Jewish education must inform them what they are choosing—and why.
Spinoza, Nietzsche, and Sartre in the Beth Midrash?
Doubt is the great emancipator. It is through confrontation with opposition that we achieve inner strength. We owe much of our religious insight not to those who we agree with, but with those to who challenged us to doubt.
To educate inspired young Jews, we must expose them to ideological opposition. High schools and Yeshivot must become arenas of intellectual challenge. Students should learn how to confront critiques of Judaism head-on—with the tools of the Talmud, Midrash, and Jewish philosophy.
Imagine a curriculum in which Spinoza’s Tractatus, Nietzsche’s critiques of religion, and Sartre’s existentialism are studied alongside the Mei HaShiloach and the Kotzker Rebbe. Imagine tractate Sanhedrin taught alongside John Locke’s A Letter Concerning Toleration. This process would sharpen the minds of students, engendering critical thinking, and deepening their love for Judaism.
Judaism Thrives on Challenge
Would it be so terrible if a yeshiva occasionally invited an apikoros—a heretic—to challenge students’ beliefs? The ensuing debates would spark a new depth of understanding. But this must be done with care, by seasoned educators who themselves have struggled with doubt and emerged strengthened.
Judaism has nothing to fear. It was born of protest and rebellion. It overthrew empires and revolutionized the moral imagination of the world. It learned from its enemies. It corrected itself when necessary. That is why it has survived.
We must raise bold religious students. And that requires that we stop fearing every challenge to Judaism. Greatness cannot grow in comfort. Judaism was built with courage. Let us reclaim that legacy.
The Courage to Choose
When the Torah tells us to choose between a blessing and a curse, it means: Choose after the struggle. The blessing can only be recognized by those who have grappled with its alternative. What one calls a blessing, another may call a curse. What one sees as life, another may call death.
Only those who have walked the path of opposition—and returned—can recognize the profundity of an authentic Judaism. Only they can know what it means to choose blessing.
Notes:
[1] Martin Buber, Tales of the Hasidim, Vol. 2 (New York: Schocken Books, 1948), p. 158.
[2] See the famous “Ein kaElokenu” song/prayer at the end of the morning prayers. It first declares: There is nobody like God, and only afterwards asks: Who (actually) is our God?
[3] Alfred North Whitehead, Modes of Thought (New York: Macmillan, 1938).
Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo
Rabbi Dr. Nathan Lopes Cardozo is the Founder and Dean of the David Cardozo Academy and the Bet Midrash of Avraham Avinu in Jerusalem. A sought-after lecturer on the international stage for both Jewish and non-Jewish audiences, Rabbi Cardozo is the author of 13 books and numerous articles in both English and Hebrew. He heads a Think Tank focused on finding new Halachic and philosophical approaches to dealing with the crisis of religion and identity amongst Jews and the Jewish State of Israel. Hailing from the Netherlands, Rabbi Cardozo is known for his original and often fearlessly controversial insights into Judaism. His ideas are widely debated on an international level on social media, blogs, books and other forums.
