When we open the Bible, we often do not realise that we are entering a world that thinks in a very different way from our own. It is not merely a matter of language or ancient customs, but something deeper: a distinct way of seeing reality, the human being, and G-d Himself. Throughout the Scriptures, two great civilisations meet and, at times, come into tension. On one side stands the Greco-Roman heritage, so familiar to Western thought. On the other, the Hebrew worldview, which shapes the very language of the Bible.

The Greco-Roman tradition tends to look at the world through contemplation of form, beauty, harmony, and abstract qualities. The Greek ideal seeks to understand reality through categories, concepts, and attributes. Hebrew thought, by contrast, does not begin with ideas, but with life. It observes the world as something lived, experienced, and shaped by action. For the Hebrew mind, truth is not merely something to be defined, but something to be practised.

This difference also appears in the way each culture approaches study. For the Greeks, studying meant accumulating knowledge, organising ideas, and achieving intellectual understanding. For the Hebrews, studying was an act of reverence — a way of learning how to live before G-d. Knowledge did not have contemplation as its ultimate goal, but obedience. One learns in order to live rightly.

It is within this environment that the writers of the New Testament emerge. Although they wrote predominantly in Greek, they thought like Jews. Their mental categories were Hebrew. Their references were the Tanakh. They were not creating a new story disconnected from the previous one, but continuing the same narrative, now in the light of the revelation of the Messiah. Ignoring this is like trying to understand a musical piece by observing only its final notes, without knowing the theme that has sustained it from the beginning.

This tension between perspectives continues to influence us today, especially in the way we speak about G-d. We are often taught to describe Him through attributes. We say that G-d is omnipotent, omniscient, eternal, immutable. We also say that He is love, justice, mercy, holiness. These descriptions are not false. The problem arises when we imagine that they exhaust the way G-d reveals Himself.

Systematic theology organises these attributes with great precision, but it begins with a human question: how can we define G-d? The Bible, however, seems to begin with a different question: how does G-d act in history and in the lives of people? The difference is subtle, but decisive.

Greek thought prefers adjectives. Hebrew thought prefers verbs. The Greek asks what something is like. The Hebrew asks what something does. Imagine a sunny day. The Greek would describe it as beautiful, bright, pleasant. The Hebrew would describe it as that which warms the skin, lights the path, and makes the land produce. One looks at the quality of the sun. The other looks at the effect of the sun.

When we observe how G-d speaks about Himself in the Scriptures, this pattern becomes evident. He rarely presents Himself through abstract definitions. He presents Himself through what He has done and continues to do. “I am the Lord your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt.” This is not a philosophical definition, but a historical act. “I kill and I make alive.” “I wound and I heal.” “I made the sea and the dry land.” “I am the Lord who sanctifies you.” “I stir up the sea.” “I speak.” “I protect the foreigner and sustain the orphan and the widow.”

G-d does not merely say who He is. He shows who He is through actions. Even when attributes appear, they are never detached from practice. His justice is manifested in doing justice. His mercy in caring. His holiness in separating, ordering, and restoring.

This leads us to an inevitable question: how do we relate to a G-d like this? If G-d were merely a collection of perfect attributes, our relationship with Him would be limited to distant admiration. We cannot imitate omnipotence. We cannot reproduce eternity. But if G-d reveals Himself through actions, then He invites us to imitate Him within the limits of our human condition.

This is where many people stumble over the word holiness. When they read “be holy”, they automatically understand absolute perfection — something unattainable, something that distances rather than draws near. Yet in biblical Hebrew, holiness does not begin as an adjective, but as a verb. Qadash means to separate for a purpose. Holiness is not first about what someone is, but about what someone does with their life.

Suddenly, the call changes tone. G-d is not demanding that we be flawless. He is inviting us to align our lives with His purpose — to separate ourselves from moral chaos in order to participate in the order He establishes in the world.

It is true that we cannot repeat G-d’s great cosmic acts. We cannot free an entire people from slavery, nor divide seas. But we can act as He acts within the reach of our own hands. We can do justice to the orphan and the widow. We can love the foreigner. We can give bread to the hungry and dignity to those who have been forgotten. We can live honestly, speak the truth, be faithful, reject violence, cultivate humility, and guard our tongues from evil.

This is precisely what Scripture affirms when it summarises G-d’s will in a way that is both simple and profound: to act justly, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your G-d. What G-d does, He calls us to reflect. What He practises, He invites us to practise.

James introduces nothing new when he says that pure religion consists in caring for orphans and widows. He is merely echoing the ancient voice of the Torah. Biblical faith has never been an escape from the world, but a commitment to its restoration.

Our greatest challenge, therefore, is not learning new concepts, but unlearning certain lenses. We must resist the temptation to impose upon the Bible a worldview it does not assume. When we allow the text to speak from within its own logic, we discover that G-d does not call us to abstract perfection, but to concrete faithfulness. And when that faithfulness becomes practice, G-d ceases to be merely an object of belief and becomes recognised as a living presence acting through our actions.

Adivalter Sfalsin