The key to Judaism's survival is the emotional attachment to the

Hear, O children of memory and endurance, the words of Gil Marks, historian and chronicler of faith: “The key to Judaism's survival is the emotional attachment to the religion.” These words pierce to the heart of one of the oldest stories of humanity: the preservation of a people and their covenant across centuries of exile, trial, and suffering. Marks declares that the strength of Judaism is not found in swords or kingdoms, nor in wealth or power, but in the unbreakable bond of the heart—an emotional attachment that ties each Jew to their tradition, their God, and their community.

For laws can be memorized, rituals can be performed, and doctrines can be recited, but if the heart does not burn with love and belonging, these fade with time. It is affection, memory, and emotion that breathe life into ritual. A mother lighting the Sabbath candles does not only perform a duty; she passes on warmth and holiness to her children. A father chanting prayers does not merely speak words; he carves melodies into the soul of his household. This is the attachment Marks speaks of—the living flame that outlasts persecution and exile, for it resides not only in the mind, but in the heart.

History reveals the truth of his words. Consider the Jewish people in Babylonian exile, stripped of their temple, their land, and their sovereignty. By every worldly measure, their identity should have dissolved into the empires that conquered them. Yet they survived—not through power, but through memory and longing. They wept by the rivers of Babylon, singing psalms of Zion. They kept their rituals in secret, teaching their children the stories of Abraham, Moses, and David. Their emotional attachment to their God and their traditions sustained them when all else was lost.

So too in later centuries, during the horrors of the Holocaust, when millions of lives were destroyed and entire communities turned to ash. Yet even in the death camps, Jews whispered prayers, lit makeshift menorahs, and sang ancient songs. Why? Because these were not merely rituals of habit—they were threads of identity, of faith, of love for something greater than death itself. The power of emotional attachment gave courage when reason would have said all was lost.

Marks’ words also remind us that survival of any tradition depends not only on intellect but on passion. One may study the Torah or the Talmud endlessly, but if the faith does not stir the heart, it will not endure beyond the scholar’s desk. But when faith fills the soul with belonging, joy, and love, it passes from generation to generation like fire leaping from one torch to another. It is this emotional transmission, more than any single law or teaching, that has preserved Judaism for millennia.

The lesson is clear: to preserve what matters most, you must love it deeply. Whether it is faith, culture, or family, rules alone will not endure; the heart must be engaged. So nurture emotional attachment—sing the songs of your people, tell the stories of your ancestors, rejoice in the rituals that give life meaning. Let your children not only learn your faith, but feel its beauty and strength in their souls.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: remember the wisdom of Gil Marks. Survival is not only a matter of intellect or discipline, but of love. Hold fast to what is sacred with your mind, but also with your heart. Let faith and memory live not as dusty relics, but as living flames, warming your soul and lighting the path for generations to come. For in emotional attachment lies the key to endurance, and in endurance lies the victory of the human spirit.