One of the most moving spiritual moments of my life happened at my nephew Ezra’s bar mitzvah. A little background: My parents were blessed with 11 grandchildren. Five were born and grew up in Israel, and Ezra is the oldest of the American six. So it was the first family celebration of this kind in the U.S., and that made it special.. On top of that, of all the grandchildren—on either side of the Atlantic—Ezra is the one who has always loved going to synagogue the most, even as a kid.
So after Ezra finished his aliyah to the Torah, Anshe Sholom B’nai Israel Congregation in Chicago burst into singing and dancing. As I remember it, the dancing circle felt like it extended around the entire perimeter of the sanctuary. It was a moment. This was a few years before my Dad passed away, and he was already moving more slowly, so I stayed with him at his seat. Taking in the scene—his grandson being paraded around the shul, the whole place erupting in this joyous moment—he was overcome. And then he turned to me, tears in his eyes, and said, “I bless you that you should experience the kind of joy that I’m feeling right now.” It was a really precious moment for both of us.
This is the fourth episode in our miniseries on responding more mindfully to antisemitism. And while we’ve spent the first three episodes talking about disrupting triggers and trauma responses, I want to shift in a different direction now. Trauma, triggers, pain, they’re all real. But we can also have a different response to antisemitism, something just as real and just as important: telling a different story. A story about the joys of being Jewish. Being Jewish is not primarily a story about being a victim. As the story from my nephew’s bar mitzvah reminds me, there is so much that is joyful, amazing, and inspiring about being Jewish. And it’s so important that we spend time on all that goodness too, and remind ourselves of what we love about this inheritance of ours. So that’s our focus today.
For some people, thinking about what you love about being Jewish may feel kind of strange. A few years ago the Pew Research Institute reported that 76% of Jewish Americans said that remembering the Holocaust was an important part of Jewish life–higher than celebrating Shabbat or Passover or eating Jewish foods. Think about that for a second: If you ask American Jews what’s important about being Jewish, the #1 answer is, Remember the Holocaust.
Now I’m not saying remembering the Holocaust isn’t important. It is. Antisemitism and Jew hatred are real—that’s why we’re doing this miniseries! But what happens when the central tent pole of Jewish identity becomes remembering the suffering of our people, and not the things that bring us joy, inspiration, wisdom, and vitality? One thing that can happen is that we start to tell ourselves that, more than anything, being Jewish means being a victim—or avoiding being a victim again. It can lead to a sense of hypervigilance. And it can lead to a really heavy and sad version of Jewishness that seems more focused on remembering the suffering of the past than in mindfully meeting the reality of the present.
The Hasidic masters had this figured out. One of the great teachings of Hasidism is that all of our mitzvot are opportunities for connecting—with ourselves, with other people, with the world, with the divine presence. And as the Maggid of Mezritch, one of the early Hasidic masters of the 1700s put it, when we do a mitzvah with real awareness, real intention, real presence—then we experience joy. Not a surface-level joy, but a deep sensation of simcha, the joy that comes from being fully present in this moment. As Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav put it, mitzvah gedolah lihyot b’simcha, to be joyful is essential to being Jewish. Or as my Dad reminded me that day in shul, there’s a lot of joy to be had in this tradition of ours.
Here’s a practice to help do that. First, I want to invite you to find some time to journal. Give yourself even just five minutes, and set a timer. On paper, with a pen. And just start listing things you love about being Jewish, things that bring you joy. It could be rituals like lighting Shabbat candles or the Passover seder; it could be eating special foods; it could be the way we do lifecycle moments, or Jewish humor or studying Torah. It could be prayer melodies or modern Hebrew songs, or maybe it’s doing havdallah by the lake at Jewish summer camp. Who knows? But in those five minutes, see what things come up. Just let your mind wander and free associate.
At the end of five minutes, you may be finished—or you may want to give yourself another five minutes to keep going. It’s up to you. Eventually, when you’re finished, put the pen down and take a look at the list you’ve created. Take a moment to read each item out loud, slowly, to yourself. See if you notice any bodily sensations or memories that come up. And notice how you feel overall: Perhaps a sense of warmth in the heart, a sense of fullness.
What you may be feeling is joy. Simcha. The joy of being Jewish.
This is an amazing thing we’re a part of, this Jewish people. And when we get overwhelmed by the anxieties and fears of antisemitism, I find it’s helpful to tap into this deep well of joy that’s here. I find it steadies me, helps me to calm down. And from that calmer, more connected place, I can disrupt the triggers and the trauma cycle—and I can show up with a little more wisdom, and a lot more joy. I hope that’s true for you too.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.