In his classic work, “The Lonely Man of Faith,” Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes of two aspirations of human beings: dignity and redemption.

Dignity results whenever we triumph over nature, e.g., when we make scientific and technological advances, when we control our environment, when we achieve social or economic success. In these instances, we see ourselves as masters, not as victims. This is dignity.

Redemption, though, is something quite different. It stems not from our feeling of being in control but from our feeling of being entirely dependent upon God. We are vulnerable. We are afraid. We recognize deeply and without reservation that our lives are in God’s hands, not our own. No matter how successful we may appear to be, only God has full control.

The Talmud (Taanit 4a) cites the opinion of Rav Ashi that any rabbinic scholar who is not hard as iron is no rabbinic scholar! A Talmid Hakham must hold strong convictions and must not bend under pressure. Yet, a few lines later, the Talmud reports the opinion of Ravina: “even so, a person must teach himself the quality of gentleness.” Yes, commitment to principles is very important; but so is maintaining a compassionate and loving attitude.

The ideal religious personality strives to harmonize both of these qualities. One must be courageous in upholding Torah and mitzvoth, must be hard as iron to resist improper compromises. At the same time, one needs to maintain a gentle, non-confrontational attitude; one must not be overly rigid and inflexible.

My wife and I recently went out with friends to a new kasher restaurant in New York City. Although the food we ate was not memorable, the noise level in the restaurant still has my ears ringing! Aside from the ongoing talking of the many customers, the restaurant featured loud music blasting in the background. It was difficult for us to carry on a conversation at our table, since we could hardly hear each other in the midst of the din.

When we looked around, though, it was evident that the other customers—mostly on the young side—were having a great time! The louder the background music played, the louder the people raised their voices. No problem. Noise is good, noise is fun. Right?

Some years ago, the Jerusalem Post published results of a poll of Israelis dealing with attitudes toward Orthodox Jews. Respondents generally identified Orthodox Jews with religious coercion, distinctive clothing, political infighting, and with Hareidim who do not serve in the Israeli military and do not carry their weight in the Israeli economy. Only 19% of respondents identified Orthodox Jews as people committed to Torah and mitzvoth!

One of the burning issues in contemporary Israeli political/religious life relates to widespread exemptions from military service granted to Hareidim (“ultra” Orthodox Jews). The Hareidi leadership insists that all men who study Torah in their yeshivot are thereby serving the nation, and must not be asked to do anything more. While other young Israeli men and women are required to serve in the military or national social services, Hareidi young men and women have generally been allowed to be exempted by dint of their religious commitments.

What did the Israelites do during their forty years of wandering in the wilderness?

They didn’t need to work for their food, clothing or shelter. They didn’t have businesses to run. They didn’t have homes to repair or gardens to tend. They didn’t have theaters for entertainment or arenas for sporting events. They didn’t have televisions or internet connections or facebook. They didn’t have a formal school system for their children, or summer camps, or vacation homes.

We may assume that the Israelites—men, women and children—spent part of their days studying Torah. But what else did they have to do? How did they deal with what must have been overwhelming boredom? What did the Almighty have in mind when He imposed forty years of wandering on them?

Although we popularly refer to the upcoming fast day as Yom Kippur, the Torah calls it Yom haKippurim—the day of atonements (in the plural). The plural form reminds us that there are many roads to atonement. Each person is different and is on a unique spiritual level; each comes with different insights, experiences, memories. The roads to atonement are plural, because no two of us have identical needs.

This season of Teshuvah and Kapparah—repentance and atonement—provides us with a special challenge and opportunity. We are granted a yearly period of time for intense evaluation of our lives. This period should serve as a springboard to deeper understanding and personal growth.

In this week’s parasha, the Torah describes the rainbow as a sign of God’s covenant with His earthly creations. It is a testimony that He will never again cause a flood to destroy humanity. It is significant that God chose the rainbow as a sign of His permanent covenant with humans.

A rainbow, after all, is intangible, unreachable and ephemeral. God rested His covenant not in something solid and unshakable, but in a bodiless, colorful bow of vapor refracted in the sunlight. By choosing the rainbow, God conveyed to humanity that His power can be seen not only in great mountains and mighty oceans—but also in something as insubstantial and transient as a rainbow.