For millennia, the Jewish people have been buffeted by global forces. This pressure has not only manifested as oppression, expulsion, and extermination, but also as a powerful cultural pull. Although Judaism introduced revolutionary ideas that reshaped ancient civilization—including human dignity, universal education, and the sanctity of life—we have often felt drawn to the beliefs, lifestyles, and value systems of other nations.

Ironically, these nations were often hostile to us. Yet, whenever the door to assimilation opened even slightly, we ran toward it. In Moab, we worshipped Kemosh; in Samaria, we followed Baal; in Babylon, we were drawn to the cults of the Chaldeans; and in Europe, we were attracted to the “enlightenment”.

Historically, it seems that the more accessible the sanctity of Judaism became, the more we were tempted by outside influences. During the First Temple era, when Jews experienced Divine revelation upon entering the Sanctuary, they still worshipped every idol known to man. During the Second Temple era, when the Divine presence was less manifest, idolatry ceased, but internal strife took its place. Jews believed false rumors about their brethren and turned against one another.

(This struggle is a deliberate part of the Divine design. To preserve free choice, G-d ensures we always face balanced options. When holiness is manifest, and everything else pales in comparison, the alternatives are no longer truly competitive. To level the scales, G-d makes other paths appear far more attractive than they naturally are, elevating them until they seem like viable rivals to sanctity. When we choose holiness despite these enticing temptations, it becomes a meaningful choice for which we can take credit.)

The question remains: How have we survived these constant trials? If G-d consistently places temptation in our path, why are we still here? While many individuals have wandered from the fold, the nation as a whole remains. Why does our light still burn? To what can we attribute this Jewish intransigence?

The Secret of Mikshah

The answer lies in the Menorah, the candelabra built by our ancestors in the desert, whose light continues to shine even through spiritual darkness. The Torah specifies that the many parts of the Menorah must be mikshah, hammered from a single block of gold. Mikshah is a multifaceted word that reveals the essence of the Jewish soul:

• Kasheh: Tough and unyielding[1]
• Kushya: A question or a lack of understanding
• Kash: Chaff, a cover that conceals what is within
• Hekesh: Aligned and synchronized[2]
• Keshet: A rainbow
• Kosheshu: To gather or assemble[3]

When we were in Egypt, G-d called us keshe oref, a stiff-necked people. We are a stubborn lot, clinging tenaciously to our identity long after others would have surrendered. We do not take our cues from statistics or historical probability. We are kasheh, tough and resilient, refusing to disappear from the pages of history.

Even we cannot always explain the source of this tenacity. We face the same kushya, or lack of understanding, as the rest of the world. However, our lack of understanding stems from a place that transcends logic. When the pressure becomes unbearable, and we are on the verge of sinking, we unplug from reason and connect to faith. We defy the odds because we exist in a realm beyond them. While the G-d of Creation follows the patterns of nature, the G-d of the Torah transcends every premise. Though it may make no sense to hold on in the face of certain defeat, we do so anyway, succeeding in ways no one can explain.

Our sages taught that Moses found the design of the Menorah kashe, or difficult to understand. The secret of our longevity, a light that burns through every darkness, was concealed until G-d revealed it. It was covered by kash, the chaff of reason that hides the kernels of truth within.[4]

The core truth is that in our most difficult moments, we find our hekesh, our alignment and oneness with G-d. Rather than operating on the reasoned plane of the physical world, we connect to the G-d of eternity and become impervious to the pressures of culture and time. We tap into the Divine soul, a spark of the Infinite. When we find this hekesh, a resilience arises that allows us to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of expectation.[5]

G-d partners with us by granting us the strength to survive. After the Great Flood, G-d promised never to destroy the world again. He chose the keshet, the rainbow, as the symbol of this oath. The rainbow represents survival against all odds. Even when we should have been submerged, we rise to the surface. G-d infuses us with the toughness required to endure.[6]

Assembly Required

This transition into strength does not happen automatically. The prophet (Zephaniah 2:1) wrote, “Hitkosheshu ukeshu,” meaning “Assemble and align yourselves.” We must first gather our scattered parts before we can find our oneness with G-d.

To assemble means to gather our disparate thoughts, desires, and interests. We are eclectic people with many passions, some of which align with our values and some of which do not. To find our alignment with the Divine, we must examine our lives and determine which of our pursuits truly serve our higher purpose. If they do not, we must let them go.

When we follow every whim, we rely solely on our own limited power, and external pressures can easily topple us. However, when we align our minds and hearts with G-d, we find true equanimity. By removing the ego, being honest with ourselves, and remaining willing to share our vulnerabilities, we find our strength. We become fully assembled.

Just as a new toy comes in many pieces and only becomes functional once it is put together, we are “assembly required.” We possess a beautiful, resilient soul, but we must integrate our scattered parts to find our wholeness.

This is the secret of Jewish intransigence. The light of our Menorah shines despite the darkness because we are Mikshah, hammered out of one piece, forever inseparable from G-d.[7]

[1] See Genesis 35:16; I Samuel 19:44.

[2] See Rashi to Zephaniah 2:1.

[3] Exodus 5:7.

[4] Similarly, kaskasim are the coat of scales worn by kosher fish and siryon kaskasim (I Samuel 17:5) is a coat of armor.

[5] See Rashi on II Samuel 19:44, who synchronizes the two meanings of vatekash, alignment and strength.

[6] See Genesis 49:24, where Keshet is associated with strength.

[7] This essay is based on Or Hatorah, Bamidbar, pp. 354–355, and Likutei Torah, Devarim, pp. 4a–4b.