By Rabbi Dan Lewin
Human relationships play a major role in our happiness and overall well-being, and they are deeply connected to the success of our spiritual service. To a significant degree, our ability to fulfill our divinely charged purpose in this world depends on how attentively we nurture the most essential categories of relationships in our lives — family, mentors, friends and other important connections.
Pirkei Avot, which we continue to read throughout the summer, contains an often-overlooked teaching about relationships. The Mishnah (5:16) begins by describing two kinds of love, with the key emotion being the desire to maintain connection:
“Any love that is dependent on something — when that thing ceases, the love also ceases. But a love that is not dependent on anything never ceases. What is an example of love that depends on something? The love of Amnon for Tamar. And a love that is not dependent on anything? The love of David and Jonathan.”
At first glance, the Mishnah seems to offer no new insight, merely stating an obvious principle: love based on attraction to a specific quality in the other will fade when that quality is lost, while love that is not tied to any particular benefit will endure. After all, the distinction between conditional and unconditional love is widely understood. If so, the examples provided by the Mishnah appear unnecessary — why illustrate a self-evident point? And more curiously, out of all the relationships in Jewish tradition, why choose these two?
A closer look at the Hebrew wording — specifically the term translated as “dependent on” (literally, “tied to”) rather than “originating from” — uncovers a deeper insight into the nature of love and our ongoing responsibility to remain attuned to the emotional drivers within our most important relationships.
The true teaching
Based on this insight, the goal of this Mishnah is not simply to highlight the value of unconditional love, nor to describe what initially sparked the emotion. Rather, its instruction and novelty lie in tracking the current status of the feeling itself: whenever love is presently tied to a specific appreciation or trait — even if it began as unconditional — there is a risk that it may deteriorate. Conversely, even love that originally stemmed from a superficial appreciation or benefit can evolve into a powerful, limitless love. Both of these teachings may seem counterintuitive.
Some people are naturally inclined to think, following the old English proverb “blood is thicker than water,” that family bonds are inherently stronger than relationships outside the family. As a result, they may become lax in nurturing love within their family, taking these relationships for granted. Others may swing to the opposite extreme — so focused on strengthening their family unit and “building their legacy” that they overlook opportunities to deepen relationships beyond the family circle.
To emphasize the importance of effort from both angles, the Mishnah cites specific examples from Tanach. One is the case of Amnon and Tamar — siblings whose innate bond slipped into conditional love when circumstances changed. In contrast, the Mishnah points to a remarkable friendship that reached the unconditional level of brotherhood: “After David finished speaking to Shaul, Jonathan’s soul became joined to David’s soul, and Jonathan loved him as himself” (I Samuel18:1).
Friendships
On the topic of friendship, there are different kinds. Some friendships, for example, are meant to connect us for just a brief moment in life. Even if two people are moving in different directions, their paths may intersect for a time — by Divine design — and that connection can be deeply meaningful. Looking back, even if the friendship no longer continues or you’re no longer in touch, there’s no need to mourn its end. Perhaps that relationship was intended to last only for that particular season.
There are other auspicious meetings of strangers that blossom into lifelong connections. Some of the best friendships, on paper, are the most unlikely matches. Yet because your paths crossed at a crucial juncture and so many experiences were shared, you never truly grow apart — no matter how different your lives or personalities become.
At the same time, it’s important to remain aware of your unique life journey and blessings — understanding and reflecting on your personal path — and never be a passive passenger or mere reactor in a relationship. With good friends, you can express yourself more freely and allow room for mistakes — you have more “credit in the bank,” so to speak. Still, every relationship is fragile and can shift in an instant. That’s why, regardless of history, the bond must be renewed daily by strengthening the connection and consistently bringing your best effort to the table.
One lesson from the Mishnah is that we must identify our most cherished relationships and actively nurture them, elevating the connection to a higher level. With today’s many distractions — and family and friends scattered around the world — keeping that inner flame alive often requires setting aside regular times each day to reach out and stay in touch. If needed, make a list to keep up.
Marriage
Now, what about one’s spouse? Is that relationship more like an essential love of family or a cultivated love? In truth, it contains elements of both.
To begin, our sages make some unusual and puzzling statements about marriage. The Talmud, for example, says that bringing two people together is as difficult as splitting the Red Sea. Elsewhere, it teaches that God invests extra time, so to speak, in making matches. But of course, nothing is truly difficult for the Creator. Creating a fly from nothing is no harder than creating a galaxy. So what does it mean that Hashem “spends more time” on matches when every detail of the universe is supervised? These phrases invite deeper understanding.
What becomes clear is that something unique takes place in a marriage — something that draws divine attention and energy unlike anything else in creation. The phrase “as hard as splitting the sea” in Torah language hints at the uniting of two forces that appear naturally incompatible. Just as the sea had to defy its nature and split, marriage requires a kind of miraculous convergence — an overcoming of natural separation.
On a psychological level, marriage brings together two individuals with different backgrounds, personalities and evolving characters. While the beginning of a relationship may feel effortless and exciting, maintaining unity over time is genuinely difficult. It takes work. On a global scale, the sheer number of details that must align — across generations, continents and circumstances — for two souls to find each other is nothing short of miraculous. We should never take it for granted that two people ended up together. It’s not an accident.
Under the chuppah
On a deeper spiritual level, marriage channels a unique divine blessing and power that does not manifest in other areas of life. This brings us to a fundamental question: What actually changes under the chuppah? What makes a Jewish marriage different from a regular couple living together?
On the surface, it may seem like a formalization — a more serious or symbolic expression of commitment. The couple has now obligated themselves to one another according to Jewish law. But when the Torah guidelines are followed, the ring is placed on the finger, the witnesses are valid and all is done with proper intent — something far deeper takes place. An invisible bond is formed. A new spiritual entity is created, infused with holiness.
This bond exists regardless of the couple’s thoughts, feelings or personal experiences. It is not something that can be produced through human effort alone. But when the channel is opened properly, something real and lasting takes root.
On an even deeper level, it is the reunion of two souls. These souls were originally one, then separated into two distinct bodies. Under the chuppah, they are brought back together in a wondrous oneness — a reunion that requires the extraordinary divine intervention alluded to earlier. The blessings that flow from this unity — and the continuity it generates across generations — are beyond human comprehension and power.
This unity also reflects the purpose of creation and the completion of the human being. That’s why the blessings recited under the chuppah refer to the creation of Adam. At first glance, these blessings might seem more appropriate for birth, but they reflect a profound truth: the ultimate formation of a human being is only completed through this kind of unity.
And finally, this bond fulfills one of the deepest purposes of existence — to create a dwelling place for Hashem in the physical world. That dwelling is the Jewish home: with children, with guests, with a Shabbos table. Through that home, we elevate and refine the physical world and bring holiness into it in the most real, grounded way.
Above and below
A continuation of this idea is the mystical principle that everything in the world has a dimension above and a dimension below. In the case of marriage, what exists “above” — not in a spatial sense, but in a spiritual, hidden dimension — is an essential, unbreakable bond, similar to family. What exists “below” is our day-to-day consciousness: our struggles, our thoughts and our evolving appreciation and feelings toward the other person. The ultimate goal is to bring these two levels into alignment — to live in a way that reflects and reveals the deeper unity that already exists on the soul level.
To be sure, the deeper spiritual bond and our everyday experience are not always aligned. Sometimes, what dominates “below” are the emotional ups and downs, the inner dialogues and frustrations that come with marriage. The soul-level bond may be ignored or momentarily forgotten. At other times, a couple may be aware of this deeper unity but fail to nurture it through consistent attention in daily life. The challenge is to remain conscious — every day — that what was created under the chuppahis a gift: a divine power, a holiness that transcends the fluctuating thoughts and feelings of any given moment.
Our role is to remember to give to that bond — not merely to make ourselves or the other person happy, but to honor and invest in the supernatural, miraculous and unconditional reality that underlies the marriage.
Takeaway:
Returning to the theme of the Mishnah: love, regardless of its starting point, must be cultivated. The ultimate goal is to continually deepen our appreciation for the other’s unique qualities, while ensuring that the force behind that love is not tied — or limited — to what we happen to find attractive or beneficial at any given time.
Rabbi Dan Lewin is director of the nonprofit Maayan Chai Foundation. For information, visit www.maayan-chai.org.