The Torah column is supported by a generous donation from Eve Gordon-Ramek in memory of Kenneth Gordon.
Shavuot
Deut. 14:22-16:17; Num. 28:26-31
In 1571, the Mughal emperor Akbar set out to build a city unlike any the world had ever seen. On the dry plains of northern India he raised Fatehpur Sikri, a capital of breathtaking beauty.
Its palaces and courtyards, carved from red sandstone and marble, combined Persian refinement with Indian grandeur. It was conceived as a monument to power and permanence, a shining testimony to human greatness.
But there was one thing the architects had overlooked.
Shortly after the emperor and his court arrived, they discovered the arid region had an unreliable water supply.
There, in the middle of the dry plains, there was simply no way to sustain life. The king who had built a city of extraordinary beauty was forced to abandon it. His magnificent dream became a ghost town: exquisite, awe-inspiring and empty.
To this day, Fatehpur Sikri stands as one of the great monuments of history, not only to architectural brilliance, but also to human folly.
When I first heard this story, I realized it was more than a lesson about cities. It was a lesson about civilizations, about families and about life itself.
There are people who spend years building success, wealth, careers, homes and reputations — yet they forget to secure the water supply that sustains the soul.
That water supply is Torah.
Torah is what made Jewish life possible across centuries that no other nation could have survived. Jews lost wars, kingdoms, land, power, and sovereignty. They were scattered across continents, persecuted by empires greater than themselves, and yet they endured.
Why?
Because they carried with them a book, a covenant, a way of life and a tradition of study that transformed faith into something lived daily.
Empires relied on armies and monuments. Jews relied on Torah.
Armies eventually weaken. Monuments eventually crumble. But a people that teaches its children never truly disappears.
There is a modern way to understand this idea.
Almost everyone in the world uses Google. But why Google? Before it existed, there were many search engines. After it appeared, countless competitors followed. Yet Google became dominant.
The reason is simple: the algorithm.
An algorithm determines which results you see. The founders of Google developed a system that understood what people were truly searching for. Use a weaker search engine and you often end up with confusion, distraction and irrelevance. Use the right one and what you seek appears with remarkable precision. Find the right algorithm and you change the way people navigate the world.
More than three thousand years ago, in the desert, God gave the Jewish people an algorithm for life. It was Torah. Again and again, through centuries of exile and upheaval, Torah guided Jews toward lives of meaning, resilience, and moral purpose.
Consider relationships.
No one succeeds alone. Every serious study of human flourishing eventually arrives at the same conclusion: The quality of our lives depends largely on the quality of our relationships. Strong marriages, strong families and strong communities are among the greatest predictors of happiness and emotional well-being.
Torah understood this long before sociology did. It teaches responsibility, loyalty, forgiveness, dignity and covenantal love. It creates not merely individuals, but communities bound together by care for one another.
Or consider Shabbat.
In a world that never stops moving, where people are exhausted, distracted and permanently connected, Shabbat may be one of the most revolutionary ideas ever given to humanity.
For one day each week, the Torah commands us to stop. No buying or selling. No endless striving. No pressure to produce.
Instead, families gather around a table. Parents bless their children. Friends speak face to face rather than through screens. Communities come together in prayer and song.
Shabbat reminds us that we are more than workers, consumers or machines. We are human beings created in the image of God.
That is not merely a ritual. It is a life-saving blueprint for avoiding burnout and restoring the soul.
And then there is morality itself.
Every society needs a moral compass. Without one, power replaces principle and desire replaces duty.
The Torah taught that morality is not simply a matter of opinion or fashion. Just as there is a true north in the physical world, there are enduring moral truths in the spiritual world. Human life is sacred. Justice matters. Every person carries dignity. Freedom must be joined with responsibility.
Torah gave Jews direction in times of uncertainty and hope in moments of darkness. It lifted life beyond survival and transformed it into a calling.
As we celebrate the festival of Shavuot, the anniversary of the giving of the Torah, we should remember that the greatest gift we can give our children is not merely success, but direction; not merely achievement, but meaning.
Give a child wealth and you may improve their circumstances.
Give a child Torah and you give them a compass for life.
We spend years building careers, homes and reputations. Those things matter.
But if we forget the water supply that sustains the soul, we risk becoming like the builders of Akbar’s abandoned city: surrounded by splendor, yet missing the one thing without which life cannot endure.