As wedding season approaches and the “love” of summer is often expressed, I am curious about the true and deeper meaning of the word “love”.
Love is one of the most overused words in the English language. We use the same word to say we love pizza, a favorite movie, a football team, and our children. But in Hebrew, love is far deeper, richer, and exceedingly more demanding than mere emotion. The Hebrew language reveals that love is not simply something you feel. It is something you choose, build, protect, and live.
The primary Hebrew word for love is ahavah (אַהֲבָה). At first glance, it sounds soft and poetic, yet its roots carry astonishing weight. Hebrew scholars note that ahavah derives from the root hav, meaning “to give.” In the Hebrew worldview, love is not centered on what a person receives but on what they willingly give. Real love is sacrificial. It moves outward. It costs something. That understanding changes everything.
Our culture often defines love as chemistry, attraction, or emotional intensity. “I fell in love,” people say, as if love were an accident beyond their control. But Hebrew thought presents love not as a falling but as a building. Love is an act of the will. It is devotion in motion.
You see this clearly in the ancient command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The instruction is not to feel affection for everyone. It is to treat others with dignity, compassion, patience, and care. Hebrew love is behavioral before it is emotional. The feeling may come and go, but the commitment remains.
Perhaps nowhere is this more beautifully demonstrated than in the story of Ruth. After tragedy stripped her of security, family, and future, Ruth chose to remain loyal to her grieving mother-in-law, Naomi. She declared, “Where you go, I will go.” That was Hebrew love in action. Ruth’s love was not convenient. It was a covenant. She stayed when leaving would have been easier.
A more recent example was when a couple moved into our neighborhood. I knew it would be a welcome gesture if I took over a meal or baked some cookies. Life was so hectic and chaotic that I did not feel like cooking or baking. I had enough to do to get dinner on the table for my own family. But…I did it anyway; the feeling of joy and friendship followed.
This understanding exposes the weakness of modern relationships that are built entirely on feelings. Feelings are real, but they are unstable. They rise and fall with stress, disappointment, aging, hardship, and time. Hebrew love endures because it is rooted in faithfulness rather than emotional fluctuation.
Consider a husband sitting beside his wife during chemotherapy treatments. Her beauty has faded from age and illness. Their life has become exhausting and uncertain. Yet he holds her hand, wipes her tears, and whispers, “I’m not leaving.” That is ahavah. It is love strengthened by sacrifice. Parenting is often neither convenient nor fun, but when done well, it is sacrificial.
The Hebrew language also reveals that love is inseparable from responsibility. To love someone means you refuse to use them, discard them, or abandon them when circumstances change. Love becomes a sacred stewardship of another human soul.
In a world obsessed with self-fulfillment, Hebrew love calls people to a higher purpose. It reminds humanity that the deepest relationships are not built on passion alone but on loyalty, sacrifice, service, and enduring commitment.
Love, in Hebrew, is not merely a feeling of the heart. It is a courageous decision to give your heart away. joneen@narme.org