Room Service

People often assume I’m good at walking into a room full of strangers. I speak in front of crowds, travel to events and spend a lot of time meeting people, so I understand why.

But public speaking and mingling are two very different things.

Give me a subject I care about and a room willing to listen and I’m fine. Small talk is another thing. I really, really don’t excel there. My wife teases me about it because she’s great at it.

Anyway, the whole speaking thing brings me to Chicago.

On Friday night, less than a day after landing, freshly showered but jet-lagged, I arrived by Uber at Chabad East Lakeview, where I’d been invited to participate and speak. It’s a charming brick building with an intimate courtyard. There was food, drink, humidity and around 200 mostly college-age American Jews mingling outside, all wearing an impressive amount of beige and white.

The delightful hosts were busy getting everything ready and making sure everyone was happy.

I didn’t know anyone.

A whiskey wouldn’t hurt.

Out of the blue, Katie introduced herself. Thank G-d for Katie!

She was lovely and made me feel comfy. We chit-chatted outside, people-watched, and she introduced me to a few people. She made things easier without making a big thing of it. Toda. Katie, if you’re reading this, you rock!

All that small talk became meaningful conversation pretty quickly, which is where I’m much more at home. People started telling me where they were from and why they were there. Brooklyn, Los Angeles, Chicago, Ukraine, Georgia, Israel. I heard their stories. I shared mine.

Ethan was studying finance, wearing a kippah and following me on social media. He seemed to know everyone there and was deeply passionate about his Jewish identity and Israel. A real fighter. Jaden, a paralegal, had visited Israel a few years ago and totally bonded with the country. We talked long enough for me to feel bad about all the food he was missing.

Katie told me that before October 7 she hadn’t been as visible as a Jew. Proud, but not super out there. Afterwards, with everything she was experiencing, she felt angry much of the time around people who just didn’t understand what Jews were going through. Then she began attending more Jewish events and Shabbats, often with her brother. They feel good when they go, so they keep going. I like the simplicity of that. They’re around people who understand some of what they’re carrying.

They feel less alone.

Somewhere between the dining room, the prayers, the whiskey and the very determined humidity, I realised that, bloody hell, I needed this too.

Talking to people. Seeing people happy. A living and breathing community.

Rabbi David was a huge part of that. What a mensch. He was unbelievably social, bouncing from one person to the next with a joy you could see all over his face. Earlier, he’d helped me put on tefillin, which I don’t do often, and later I prayed with around twenty other men before we went into the dining area.

When he spoke, he told stories and Jewish anecdotes about connecting with community and living a Jewish life. Around him were observant Jews, secular Jews, all kinds, talking, laughing, sharing food and simply being together.

I’m not religious, but I enjoyed listening to him. He was buoyant, for one. More importantly, everything he expressed came out of shared values. Call it spreading the word of God or spreading the word of good. To me, those things are one and the same.

After he spoke, a few others shared what Rosh Hashanah means to them. There were all kinds of Jews in that room, with all kinds of ways of being Jewish. Nobody needed to practise or express it exactly the same way.

Towards the end, Katie surprised me by asking me a few questions in front of everyone. Following Rabbi David wasn’t easy, and neither was competing with the dessert buffet, but people seemed engaged and eager to hear the perspective of an Israeli visiting Chicago.

As she asked her questions, I found myself speaking the same language as the rabbi, but in my way. Knowing who I am, where I come from and having the confidence to live that identity internally and externally.

I think it was Katie’s last question. Something like: What’s one relatively easy thing, and one larger challenge, that young American Jews can take with them to strengthen their Jewish identity?

My response was: “The best thing you can do now is invest in this. In each other. In the Jewish community.”

I remember pointing to the people in the room when I said it because I meant it literally. Invest in real people, real relationships, real community. Get to know the Jews around you better. Not only the ones you already know, and not only online. I think too many of us are part of a Jewish community without really knowing our Jewish community.

When you invest in your community, you start finding so much of what being Jewish means right there in front of you. You find people with shared values and different stories, people who practice differently and express their Jewishness differently. You find a sense of belonging that’s very hard to manufacture anywhere else.

At a time when so many Jews are feeling isolated, misunderstood or simply alone, knowing your people is a pretty bloody important thing.

By then, the room had spent the entire evening doing exactly that without calling it anything. I’d arrived alone and no longer felt anything of the sort.People had welcomed me, talked to me, prayed with me and pulled me in.

I’d come as the visiting Israeli, supposedly there to give the room something. I hope I did. But the community gave me something as well.

I’m so grateful for it.

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