Hebrew Word Study: God’s Promises — A Reflection
I don't really know how you feels whenever you come across a words promise, something inside of me use to slows down.I feel the air becomes heavy. It makes me to feel a bit strange of comfort and longing for it. And now for a few days I have been sitting with feelings or maybe because more than anything else that feelings of promise the life has its own season to tell. Maybe because I’ve felt a little worn thin recently, and the Scriptures feel like a warm blanket and a mirror at the same time.
So I wanted to write something… imperfect, a little messy, maybe too long, maybe too emotional. But real. A study of the Hebrew and Greek words behind promise—but also, more than that, a journey through how those words actually touch everyday living.
This is not a theological paper. It’s a heart piece.
A slow walk.
A cup-of-tea kind of thing.
Let’s dive in.
The Hebrew Roots of “Promise” — More Than Just Words
Do you notice the when we open the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament), something it happen to be slightly surprising right:
There isn’t one neat Hebrew word that just means “promise” the way we say it in English. Instead, Hebrew uses actions, covenants, declarations—things spoken with weight.
And that alone tells us something.
A word promise isn’t just spoken, according to the Hebrew mindset, it is bound and tied, enacted.
Let’s look at some of the deep insideof the Hebrew words that carry out the weight of God’s promises.
Hebrew Word: “Dabar” (דָּבָר) — Word, Matter, Thing
This one hits me deeply every time.
Dabar means “word,” but also “thing,” “matter,” “event.”
It blends speech and reality.
A word isn’t just sound; it becomes substance.
If you say something—
it takes shape.
When God speaks, it is.
There’s something almost frightening about that, and comforting at the same time.
Hebrew meaning layers of dabar
Greek translation comparison
In the Septuagint (the ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures), dabar is usually translated as:
Logos (λόγος) – word, reason, message
and sometimes
Rhema (ῥῆμα) – spoken word, utterance
Logos feels stable, eternal, reasoning.
Rhema feels alive, immediate.
But in Hebrew, dabar holds both at once.
It’s like the word has legs and walks into your life.
Hebrew Word: “Oath” – Shevuah (שְׁבוּעָה)
This one, wow… it goes beyond a simple promise.
It’s more like a sworn declaration with consequences.
It comes from the root sheba—the number seven, which in Hebrew thinking carries completion, fullness, sacredness.
To “swear an oath” is literally to seven oneself.
To bind yourself in fullness.
When God makes an oath, it’s not because He needs to prove Himself—
it’s because we need the assurance.
Greek comparison
In Greek, this word is usually translated as:
Horkos (ὅρκος) – oath, binding promise
It's stronger than just “I promise.”
It carries the seriousness of legal covenant.
But in Hebrew, shevuah feels more intimate, more relational, more sacred.
Hebrew Word: “Covenant” – Berith (בְּרִית)
We can’t talk about promises without this monster of a word.
It smells like fire and sacrifice and stone tablets.
It sounds ancient, like footsteps in the desert.
Berith means covenant, agreement, binding relationship.
A promise can be broken.
But a covenant?
In the Hebrew mind, that’s sealed in blood, history, and identity.
Greek comparison
In Greek translation:
Diathēkē (διαθήκη) – covenant, testament
I always found it interesting that diathēkē also connects to the idea of a will or testament—something permanent, legally binding, and passed on.
Hebrew Word: “Faithfulness” – Emunah (אֱמוּנָה)
You can’t study God’s promises without looking at how God fulfills them.
Emunah is about faithfulness, steadiness, firmness, reliability.
It comes from the root aman—to support, to make firm.
It’s also the root of the word we say almost daily: Amen.
“Let it be firm. Let it be so.”
Greek comparison
Usually translated as:
Pistis (πίστις) – faith, trust, fidelity
People often translate pistis as “belief,” but it actually means relational trust.
Like the trust you place in someone because you’ve watched them show up again and again and again.
God’s Promises Are Not Just Words—They Are Identity
The more I dig into the Hebrew language, the more I realize this:
God doesn’t make promises; He is the promise.
In human life, promises feel fragile.
People break them, forget them, distort them, and sometimes we break our own.
But in Scripture, a promise from God is tied to:
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His character
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His covenant
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His faithfulness
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His nature
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His name
It’s not a promise He made,
it’s a promise He is.
And that changes everything.
A Little Personal Story (Because This Is a Blog Post, After All)
I remember a season—maybe you’ve had one like this—where everything felt shattered.
I’m not going to dramatize it; it was just one of those periods where every day felt strangely gray, even on sunny days.
It felt like God was silent.
And one night, while reading Scripture, my eyes landed on the Hebrew phrase:
“Dabar Yahweh” — “The word of the LORD.”
And I don’t know why, but it hit me:
God’s word is a thing.
A substance.
A presence.
Not a wish, not an empty hallway echo, not a maybe.
And something in me breathed again.
You know that kind of breath that’s half-crying, half-relief? That.
That moment made me want to study these words.
To hold something solid.
Maybe you’re reading this because you need something solid too.
Hebrew Word: “Remember” – Zakar (זָכַר)
Here’s something you might not expect in a word study about promises, but it’s crucial.
In the Bible, for God to “remember” doesn’t mean He forgot and then suddenly recalled something.
It means:
He is about to act according to what He promised.
Zakar = to call into action
Greek: Mnemoneuō (μνημονεύω) – to remember, call to mind
When God “remembers” someone, things move.
Stories shift.
Lives change.
Hebrew Word: “Hope” – Tikvah (תִּקְוָה)
Here’s one of the most beautiful Hebrew words connected to the idea of promise.
Tikvah literally means:
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hope,
-
expectation,
-
and even cord or rope.
Hope is a line you hold onto.
Like Rahab’s scarlet cord, maybe.
Like a lifeline in storm water.
Like something you grip so tight your knuckles turn white.
Greek equivalent:
Elpis (ἐλπίς) – hope, expectation, anticipation
But Hebrew’s tikvah carries that tactile feeling—
that rope-burn type hope.
Hebrew Word: “Rest” – Nuach (נוּחַ)
Many promises of God speak of rest, and the Hebrew word nuach is more than relaxing—it means:
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to settle down
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to be at peace
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to be quiet in the soul
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to be allowed to stay
Greek: Anapauō (ἀναπαύω) – to refresh, give rest
Why include this in promises?
Because when God fulfills His word, it brings that deep exhale your spirit has been holding for years.
Hebrew Word: “Peace” – Shalom (שָׁלוֹם)
Shalom is more than peace. It’s:
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wholeness
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completeness
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nothing missing
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nothing broken
Greek equivalent: Eirēnē (εἰρήνη) – peace
But Greek peace is mostly quietness.
Hebrew peace is wholeness.
Shalom is the environment where God’s promises live.
Why God’s Promises Feel Slow (At Least to Us)
I’ve always struggled when promises didn’t come quickly.
Sometimes I still do. Let me be honest: waiting can feel like a slow soul-bruise.
But the Hebrew worldview helps me understand something:
In Scripture, a promise has three timelines:
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God speaks it (dabar)
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We hold it (tikvah)
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God manifests it (emunah)
And those spaces in between are where faith grows legs.
Greek thinkers divided time sharply.
Hebrew thinkers walked time like a path with hills and valleys.
Maybe that’s why a Hebrew promise feels alive—
it grows, it breathes, it unfolds.
How Hebrew Words Paint a Picture of God’s Promises
Let me try to paint this in simple imagery:
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Dabar — God builds the promise with His own breath
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Shevuah — He seals it with sacred oath
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Berith — He binds Himself to the relationship
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Emunah — He fulfills it with His steady faithfulness
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Zakar — He remembers and moves
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Tikvah — We cling to the rope of hope
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Shalom — The promise lands in wholeness
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Nuach — And the soul rests
It’s like a whole ecosystem.
A living rhythm.
And maybe you’ve been sitting somewhere in that process.
Somewhere between dabar and nuach.
A Few Smaller Hebrew Words That Whisper Promises
Let me just drop a few more, because Hebrew is full of gems.
“Natan” (נָתַן) – to give
Promises are gifts, not wages.
“Qavah” (קָוָה) – to wait, to bind together
Waiting is not passive.
It’s a weaving.
“Chesed” (חֶסֶד) – steadfast love
This is the glue of God’s promises.
Unshakeable, loyal love.
Greek equivalents?
But Hebrew carries more relational weight, more story in each syllable.
An Honest Moment Before We Continue
Sometimes I think the hardest thing about promises is simply believing they’re for me.
Not for the “better Christians,” not for the always-put-together people, not for the ones who seem to pray prettier.
Just… me.
But that’s the beauty of these ancient Hebrew words.
They weren’t written for perfect people.
They were written for wandering people, stubborn people, broken-hearted people, hopeful people, tired people, starting-over people.
People like me.
People like you.
The Texture of God’s Promises
One thing I love about Hebrew as a language is that it’s earthy.
It smells like sand.
It feels like rough wood.
It sounds like a shepherd calling sheep across a canyon.
Greek is philosophical and structured.
Hebrew is visceral, sensory, embodied.
God’s promises feel less like courtroom contracts
and more like a father lifting a child onto his shoulders.
Maybe that’s why the Hebrew Scriptures have so much poetry.
A promise isn’t just told—
it’s sung.
When Promises Hurt Before They Heal
Nobody likes this part, but it’s true:
Promises are often painful before they’re fulfilled.
Because promise implies waiting.
Longing.
Stretching.
Abraham waited decades.
Moses waited in deserts.
David waited in caves.
Hannah waited in tears.
And all the while, Hebrew words were unfolding behind the scenes:
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dabar was already spoken
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emunah was already steady
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berith was already unbroken
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zakar was already stirring
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tikvah was already holding them together
If you are in a waiting season, maybe you’re not failing.
Maybe the promise is fermenting.
What These Words Teach Us Today
After swimming in these Hebrew and Greek comparisons for so long, here’s what keeps echoing in my chest:
God’s promises are not fragile.
My feelings might be.
My circumstances definitely are.
But His words have substance.
His covenant has weight.
His faithfulness has rhythm.
Whether you feel it or not,
His promises stand like mountains.
And mountains don’t move because you had a bad week.
A Slow, Whispered Encouragement to End With
If life feels loud right now, let these ancient words be the quiet whisper between the noise:
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His dabar still speaks.
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His berith still holds.
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His shevuah still stands.
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His emunah still steadies you.
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His zakar still sees you.
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His tikvah still anchors you.
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His shalom still waits for you.
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His nuach still invites you.
And none of these depend on your perfection.
Just your willingness to hold on to the rope of hope.
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