Ish B’Aretz: The Esteem & Endurance of the Hebrew Man

In a world increasingly shaped by relativism and emotional equity, the Hebrew man must return to the eternal structure given by Hashem. As written in the Torah, “It is not good for man to be alone” (Bereishit/Genesis 2:18), yet this aloneness—this singular weight of duty—is precisely what fashions him into an instrument of divine order.

The Hebrew man must come to understand that the world is not shaped to his advantage. It was never promised to be. The Torah does not guarantee fairness, but a covenant. And within that covenant lies both purpose and trial. When a man views the world as a system that should treat him fairly, or as it treats his female counterpart, he creates for himself a dangerous illusion. Such a mindset breeds mental and emotional frailty. As Kohelet (Ecclesiastes 9:11) warns, “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong… but time and chance happen to them all.”

Fairness is not a Torah concept. Responsibility is.

When a man expects equality in outcomes, especially in a society that no longer upholds the traditional masculine order, he will find himself unable to gather the resources necessary to lead a dignified life. And when a society obstructs men from gaining access to such resources—economic, spiritual, familial—it becomes a breeding ground for unrest. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 98b) states plainly: “There is no suffering like poverty.” A man without provision, vision, or place in the world becomes a controllable risk. Hopelessness produces extremism. Jihadist culture, street violence, and even nihilistic rebellion among youth are rooted in this condition—a man cut off from purpose and structure.

The only unconditional love a man may ever receive—if at all—is from his mother. The love of a wife, children, and even his community is conditional, as it should be. The Torah structures all relationships around brit (covenant), not sentimentalism. As stated in Devarim (Deuteronomy 27:26), “Cursed is the one who does not uphold the words of this Torah.” Hebrew men are not built to be comforted; they are built to carry. And in that carrying lies their dignity.

Hashem embedded endurance (savlanut) into the DNA of the Hebrew man. It is not optional—it is a matter of spiritual survival. The patriarchs—Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov—were all tested to the edge of their souls. Avraham’s trial at Mount Moriah (Bereishit 22:1) is not just a historical event—it is a template for the inner life of every Hebrew man. The Rambam (Maimonides) teaches in Moreh Nevuchim (Guide for the Perplexed, 3:24) that divine tests serve not to inform God, but to refine humanity.

A Hebrew man who cannot endure adversity is not ready to serve his family, his tribe, or his nation. He is unfit to bear the name Yisrael, meaning “one who wrestles with God and prevails.” The Hebrew male is a vessel of divine economy, quantized to build, engineered to withstand.

But what of the Hebrew woman? She is not designed for the same burdens. As ezer k’negdo, “a help opposite” (Genesis 2:18), her virtue is not in raw endurance, but in refinement and multiplication. As the Midrash says (Bereishit Rabbah 17:7), “Man brings the wheat, but woman makes the bread.” She embodies grace, nurture, and the Torah of kindness (Mishlei 31). Her function is to amplify. Her strength is compassion. And her feminine power lies not in shouldering physical hardship but in restoring balance and sanctity through her divine softness.

When a Hebrew man accepts that the world will not love him unconditionally, he ceases to demand fairness and begins to seek wisdom. As Chazal states in Pirkei Avot 2:6: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” That is, take up your mantle even when the world denies your place.

He stops seeing the woman as privileged and starts recognizing her divine function. She is not his rival—she is his mirror, his counterbalance, his multiplier. And in that realization, he begins to build genuine esteem, not from ego, but from alignment with Hashem.

Like Yosef in Egypt, he learns to manipulate the world—not deceitfully, but righteously—to extract resources and provide for others. He becomes a master of both spiritual and material domains. His mind clears. His strength returns. His compassion is no longer weakness—it is wisdom.

Only then does he walk in the footsteps of Avraham. Only then does he carry the burden of Moshe. Only then does he rise like David—from shepherd to king.

Only then is he ready to endure.

Only then is he truly a man.