When I was becoming observant, I used to try to explain all my amazing revelations to the people I was closest to, but quickly saw how uncomfortable it made them, so I stopped. Well, let's just say I tried to stop, lessening the frequency with which I bombarded and beseeched them.

"Show me, don't tell me" was the advice I got many years ago from Gail, my best friend from college, after I sent her an impassioned letter about the truth of Torah. When I told her about the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple, she said that it was like I was speaking in French. When I suggested that she light Shabbat candles, that it was a sacred time for Jewish women to thank G‑d, she responded with her characteristic candor: "Thank G‑d for what? Another lousy week?" (I don't think "lousy" was actually her word choice, but you get the idea.)

Show me, dont tell me

I didn't know what to say to her then, and I wouldn’t know what to say now, to her or to anyone whose life hasn't lent itself to a relationship with G‑d. But I do know one thing: G‑d really needs better PR.

Why are calamities known as "acts of G‑d," while all the wonderful miracles that happen every day are known as "Mother Nature"?

No wonder people don't think they believe in G‑d; they've just stopped talking to Him. Who wants to believe in a G‑d who only wants to trip us up so that He can punish us?

Is it better to believe in nothingness or a not-so-intelligent designer? At least these kinds of thoughts let the true, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-everything G‑d off the hook for all the suffering in the world. And that's before we talk about the Jewish experience. Let's face it, we could look at our collective history and make an excellent case that G‑d may indeed love the Chosen People, but He sure has had an interesting way of showing it.

And yet, there is something that makes Jews still want to be Jewish, even in today's open society.

Such is the power of the Jewish soul that burns within.

Superficially, a mitzvah may seem like a restriction, but it shares the same root as the Hebrew word, tzavta, “connection.” The observance of mitzvahs connect us, in the most mundane aspects of our lives, with G‑d, helping to turn up the flame in our relationship with Him.

My early conversations with G‑d were not always so pleasant. After my initial religious enthusiasm wore off, I remember feeling like I was doing Him a favor much of the time. I didn't particularly like to cook, but I had to in order to keep kosher. Passover preparations felt like torture. And while I was inspired by the selflessness and kindness part of the mitzvah package, trying to attain these qualities proved harder than it looked.

But I kept on talking the talk and walking the walk. And G‑d and I became closer as I saw that He was right about everything. Especially when it came to His unlimitedness and how I could, and should, tap into that in order to be truly happy. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

One of the ways G‑d wants us to connect to Him is through bitachon, trust. It's straightforward to explain, though it is meant to be a service (read: hard to do). I only learned about it in detail a couple of years ago and was amazed that G‑d had embedded such a force in the world. It can only be a good thing to try to share it, even though you might not believe that it's true.

But here goes.

When a person, any person, attaches to G‑d from the depths of his or her heart, certain that G‑d is the source of everything and is all good, a suprarational bond with G‑d is forged. When one has that complete and sincere trust, that bitachon, then—regardless of that person's merit—G‑d bestows revealed good upon that person, in a way that is also beyond the natural order.

I kept on talking the talk and walking the walk

This is not to say that we simply "trust" and expect miracles. G‑d has set up the world so that He works through natural channels. The farmer has to plant in order for the crops to grow. But a farmer with bitachon understands that it is G‑d, not the sun or the rain or his farming talent that make the crops grow. G‑d wants us to work through nature, but ultimately, to trust in Him totally for the desired results.

In other words, it is a very un-Jewish thing to worry!

But let’s be honest. Historically speaking, people have had reasons to worry—especially Jewish people. Which is why it takes work to access this unlimited trust. Still, G‑d’s gift of bitachon belongs to all Jews eternally, and the whole world wins when we tap into it.