In many circles that cherish the Hebrew Scriptures, heartfelt declarations abound: “I love the Land promised to Abraham and his descendants.” “The Torah is Hashem’s eternal, life-giving instruction.” “The Temple represents the purest devotion to Hashem.” These words often arise from a sincere desire to connect more deeply with the God of Israel and the ancient roots of faith. Such admiration is beautiful and profound.
Yet love, in its fullest biblical expression (ahavah, the selfless, enduring, covenantal love) reveals its true depth not only in words about places, texts, or promises, but in our closest human relationships. We may hear passionate affirmations of the Land, the Torah, the Temple, the appointed times, and the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but we hear less often the simple, direct statement: “I love the Jewish people” as living individuals today, in all their diversity, journeys, and ways of drawing near to Hashem.
A gentle yet powerful litmus test emerges when someone cherished, a family member, a dear friend, or a close companion, chooses to convert to Judaism: to fully embrace Jewish life, identity, and community, and in doing so, to draw close to the God you yourself claim to love and follow, walking alongside the rest of the Jewish people in devotion to Hashem.
In that sacred moment, the response of the heart speaks volumes: Is it one of blessing, continued closeness, and quiet joy, even amid differences, that this person now stands in fuller belonging with the Jewish people, worshiping Hashem in the same intimate covenantal spaces? Or does it bring unexpected distance?
Scripture itself offers timeless guidance here. Consider the story of Ruth, the Moabite widow who, in a profound act of loyalty and faith, declared to her Israelite mother-in-law Naomi:
“Do not urge me to leave you or to turn back from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried.” (Ruth 1:16–17, ESV)
Ruth’s words are celebrated as the classic model of conversion to Judaism: a wholehearted choice to join the people of Israel and devote oneself to their God. The Jewish sages view her as the exemplar of the righteous convert, embracing the covenant not out of convenience but out of deep love and commitment. Her story reminds us that joining the Jewish people in devotion to Hashem is a beautiful, prophetic fulfillment, not a departure, but a drawing near.
The prophet Isaiah echoes this vision of inclusion even more expansively:
“And the foreigners who join themselves to the LORD, to minister to him, to love the name of the LORD, and to be his servants, everyone who keeps the Sabbath and does not profane it, and holds fast my covenant, these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer; their burnt offerings and their sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” (Isaiah 56:6–7, ESV)
Here, Hashem declares that those who bind themselves to Him in love and obedience, including foreigners who choose this path, will find joy in the innermost spaces of worship, fully welcomed into the covenant community.
And woven throughout Torah is the foundational command: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). In its original context, this speaks to relationships within the covenant people, yet it calls for a love that mirrors Hashem’s own: selfless, respectful, and enduring. It invites us to treat others as we would wish to be treated, honoring their wholeness and their journey with the Divine.
These passages invite gentle self-reflection: If our love for the Jewish people is truly ahavah, deep, unconditional, and honoring, does it celebrate when someone we care about steps fully into that community, drawing closer to Hashem alongside them? Or does it falter when the path diverges, even slightly?
And if, in that moment, we choose to withhold acceptance or closeness from the convert, deciding that our love extends only to certain Jewish people, or only to those who remain in the place we expected, then perhaps our love, however sincere in other ways, has not yet reached its fullest expression. True ahavah does not draw lines based on where someone stands today; it embraces the whole person, rejoicing in their devotion to Hashem, even across differences.
The test is not one of condemnation, but of gentle self-examination. It is an invitation to grow in the fullness of love, to rejoice in the beauty of a soul yearning for complete belonging with the Jewish people and their God, just as Ruth did, and as Isaiah envisioned.
If distance has come between you and a cherished companion who has made this choice, perhaps today is a moment to reach out. To reconnect with quiet blessing. To affirm the shared love for Hashem, even across differences. To say, in effect: “Your journey matters to me. Your devotion inspires me. And our bond endures.”
For in the end, the God of Israel gathers not only the scattered of Jacob, but “still others besides those already gathered” (Isaiah 56:8). May our love reflect that generous, inclusive heart.
