Looking for Spirituality? You May Be Searching in the Wrong Place

A few weeks ago, someone wrote to me that anyone searching for spirituality and inner depth has nothing to look for in Judaism: “Judaism is not spiritual. Being Jewish means taking on the burden of the mitzvot, and that’s it.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That person, it seemed to me, had missed something beautiful at the very heart of Judaism, and that is a shame.

I do not mean to dismiss anyone’s opinion. I am still learning and exploring myself, like a curious child discovering the world for the first time. But perhaps that is exactly why I feel comfortable saying that this view misses the point. Of course Judaism requires us to observe mitzvot. The question is how we experience them, and why we perform them. Do they feel like a burden driven by fear, as that commenter suggested? Or can they come from a place of love, joy, and deep gratitude to Hashem?

To address that question, we first need to consider what we mean by “spirituality.” Broadly speaking, spirituality refers to the belief that human existence involves more than the purely physical world and can include ideas such as purpose, the soul, destiny, and the Divine.

Even in that basic definition, words such as purpose, soul, destiny, and divinity immediately stand out. These are not foreign concepts in Judaism. They are woven into Jewish thought and everyday Jewish life.

Yet many people assume that if they want to find spirituality, they need to travel somewhere far away, perhaps even to a Buddhist monastery in India, as former MTV host Eden Harel once did. Ironically, it is often in those distant places that Jews begin discovering the power and beauty of their own Judaism. Far from Israel and everything familiar, something suddenly awakens.

Harel herself has spoken about being told at a Buddhist monastery that she had nothing to look for there and that what she was searching for could be found in Judaism.

They Go Looking for Spirituality in India and Find Judaism

I belong to the generation that flies to India. The generation that waits to finish military service and then heads to the Far East in search of enlightenment.

They leave behind the pressure and daily anxiety of life in Israel and set off on a journey through a distant country. They travel, meet people, dance at outdoor parties, participate in silent retreats, experience a kind of “high,” sometimes with drugs and sometimes naturally, and feel as though they have discovered America. Or, more accurately, India.

I remember countless young backpackers packing their bags and setting off in search of happiness and the true meaning of life. At a young age, they had already sensed that there must be more to existence than what they could see around them.

Young Israelis became such a familiar presence in India that Hebrew signs appeared in tourist areas and local vendors learned to speak the language. Yet something else happened there too. Many travelers began reconnecting with their Jewish roots. They visited Chabad houses, put on tefillin, or made Kiddush on Shabbat.

Strangely enough, it is sometimes when people are farthest from home that they begin embracing Jewish practices they might never have considered observing in Israel.

I personally have never been to India. I was never particularly drawn to roughing it in a developing country, but I remember many friends returning from their travels glowing and happy. Once they landed back in Israel, some tried to preserve the spiritual atmosphere they had experienced abroad, but the frantic pace of everyday life quickly returned. Some sought that feeling again at festivals, through substances, or by returning to India itself.

I admit that I, too, never imagined that the spirituality everyone seemed to be searching for was right here, under our noses.

That sense of light, calm, and meaning was close to home, but we never dreamed of searching for it in the holy Torah. Why? Perhaps precisely because of the assumption expressed by that commenter: Judaism is not spiritual. Judaism is simply the burden of the mitzvot.

But Why Is Everything Forbidden?

First of all, the word “burden” makes me uneasy.

Someone who tries to understand the deeper meaning behind a mitzvah, first with the heart and then with the mind, may begin to experience it very differently.

Keeping Shabbat, for example, is not a punishment. It is a privilege.

I keep Shabbat for myself. Someone who has never experienced it may find it difficult to understand the immense pleasure the day can bring and what it can do for the soul.

I am not even talking about going to synagogue, making Kiddush, sharing three meals, or experiencing the special atmosphere of Shabbat. Those are bonuses. I am talking about having one day every week when, after working like crazy, we put aside the phone, the WhatsApp notifications, the Instagram feed, the traffic jams, and the endless noise, and simply spend time with the people who matter most to us.

Do you have any idea what that can do for the soul? How much light can enter through one day like that? How deeply our souls may be longing for exactly this kind of pause?

Forget becoming religious for a moment. Every Jew can benefit from a day like this. And if that discovery ultimately comes through teshuvah, then how fortunate we are.

I admit that I once had the same questions. Why is so much forbidden on Shabbat? Why does Judaism sometimes seem so strict? Why can’t you have instant coffee after a hamburger when it feels completely natural? Why can’t you drive on Shabbat when it is the one day you have time to take the kids somewhere? Why do you have to tear toilet paper before Shabbat? What does Hashem care whether I tore a piece of paper?

I looked at religious people and thought they were unfortunate. It seemed as though everything was forbidden to them, as though every pleasure had been taken away. To me, Judaism looked dark, primitive, and disconnected from modern life.

Today, I see things very differently.

The world may have become far more technologically advanced, but that does not necessarily mean we have become more spiritually fulfilled. People are so busy working, surviving, scrolling, worrying, and keeping up that there is often little time left to nurture the inner self.

If only more people knew how much light could enter everyday life through gratitude, prayer, and the work of refining our character traits. All of this exists within Judaism. Yet many secular Jews may never discover it because they have absorbed the idea that Judaism consists primarily of “no, no, and no.”

And who would be drawn to a life presented that way?

Judaism Is About Far More Than Restrictions

Look again at the ideas we associate with spirituality: purpose, soul, destiny, and the Divine. They are all here in Judaism.

Judaism asks us to look inward. It teaches us to work on anger, pride, jealousy, and the character traits that can damage our relationships and prevent us from living with greater peace and happiness.

Understanding that we did not come into this world for no reason is Judaism. Giving tzedakah and performing chesed are Judaism. Honoring our parents is Judaism. Respecting other people is Judaism. Building a healthy marriage is Judaism. Purifying the soul is Judaism. Searching for our purpose is Judaism.

What is that, if not spirituality?

So if Judaism contains so much beauty and depth, why doesn’t everyone embrace it? Why doesn’t everyone walk around singing praises to Hashem all day?

In my view, part of the answer lies in the stigma surrounding Judaism. Many people still believe that Judaism simply is not spiritual. So they search elsewhere: in India, in the desert, or in concepts such as karma, Zen, Buddhism, or Mother Earth.

When I began discovering the beauty of Judaism, people such as Rabbi Zamir Cohen, Rabbi Yitzhak Penager, Rabbi Yuval HaKohen Asherov, and Rabbi Yigal Cohen helped make the Torah feel accessible to me. They spoke about Judaism in a down-to-earth way and explained how its teachings relate to our lives here and now.

I began to understand that the Torah is not primitive, petty, or disconnected from modern life. It is profoundly spiritual and empowering. The mitzvot are not simply a collection of meaningless obligations. Behind them lies a world of depth, purpose, wisdom, and opportunities for growth, if only we are willing to open our minds and make room for it.

So the next time you find yourself searching for your inner essence, your purpose, the reason you came into this world, or the secret to living a happier and more meaningful life, perhaps you do not need to travel quite so far.

Try opening the oldest book you already know.

It may be ancient, but its wisdom only becomes more meaningful with time.