This article was produced as part of JTA’s Teen Journalism Fellowship, a program that works with Jewish teens around the world to report on issues that affect their lives.
“I don’t know if I believe in God, but I think I like this Jewish thing.”
I was in elementary school when I said this to my mother, a rabbi. She responded with something that would forever stick with me: “You don’t have to believe in God to be Jewish. For some people, Judaism is community.”
My sense of self has always been intertwined with Jewish community. As the son of a rabbi, who also attended a Jewish elementary school, my childhood was intrinsically connected with Judaism. However, after 6th grade, I left my insular Jewish community and moved to another city. Since then, I’ve been searching for my own Jewish community, one similar to that that I had left behind.
I had been blessed enough to attend a private Jewish day school. They provided an intimate space, with fewer than a dozen students per grade. Along with the incredible amount of one-on-one learning, student’s lives were centered around our Jewish identity. The bonds formed among our families added to this childhood spent engrossed in the Jewish way of life. My father still plays soccer with my elementary school classmates’ dads.
When I made the switch to a secular, private middle school, I lost most of those connections with other young Jews. My new city had a much smaller Jewish population, as did my mom’s new temple. All of these contributed to my religious drift during my middle school years.
As the new rabbi’s son, I found it hard to make friends. There are added pressures, both from the rabbi and the temple’s congregation. It can be isolating: You are the privileged kid with behind-the-scenes access, and you’re alone in that. There’s also the religious burnout one gets from being a quasi-assistant rabbi. Getting to the synagogue hours before a service, staying hours after, and still having to be that token temple child all take a toll. You’re left feeling both worn out and dolled up, like an overworked show pony.
A two-week summer camp in Southern California briefly gave me a sense of community between games of Mafia and gaga ball, but most of my new friends lived in different cities, and by Rosh Hashanah, the Whatsapp groups had gone dead silent. This small taste of having a group of Jewish friends left me wanting more.
Halfway through 8th grade, there was a chance to rekindle old friendships with my former elementary school class on a two week-trip to Israel. Besides reconnecting with old friends, the trip also made me fall in love with Judaism again.
Members of the Union for Reform Judaism’s 2024 Collab participate in a nighttime candlelight activity, at URJ Camp Colemanin Cleveland, Georgia, Oct. 21, 2024. (Courtesy URJ)
Like many of my friends, I bought a silver and black Star of David necklace on the last day of the trip. After the atrocities of Oct. 7, that necklace came to represent the importance of community. My necklace reminded me of that peace and safety I had felt while with my old classmates. I began to crave a shared group space. One that could help both decompress and comfort me during those incredibly difficult times.
During this time of intense mourning and grief, I transferred to a public charter high school where I thrived. As a freshman, I was named the captain of the varsity basketball team, started a creative writing club and joined a youth circus. The Montessori environment welcomed and encouraged me to cultivate a positive community where I was a leader, a respected peer and a happier human being.
While the school didn’t have much of a Jewish community, I did learn that a few of my close friends had Jewish ancestors. I invited them to one of my mom’s Shabbats, eager to cultivate friends engaged in Judaism, in any sense. Whether they stayed culturally Jewish, or attended a few big holidays — anything was a step in the right direction.
They didn’t react with the enthusiasm and vigor that I had hoped for, but they didn’t reject Judaism either. I always figured that the Jewish community I longed for would see Judaism as a key piece of their identity. I thought I needed us all to be wholly and unequivocally Jewish teens. But it turns out I was wrong. My secular Jewish friends were engaged conversationalists and ponderers. Judaism might not be as integral to their sense of self as it is with me, but I had found a group of peers who would fast with me on Yom Kippur and gather together for Hanukkah. I had created a new community. One fully unique, and accepting of the people within it. A community which judged not how you practiced Judaism, but how you showed up for your friends.
After freshman year, my mom took a senior rabbi position at yet another temple in yet another city. And while I adore the new community, there aren’t many kids my age. The fact that I live 70-plus miles away doesn’t help either. This is where my individual search for a community that exists both outside of and within a temple has become so important.
In an attempt to continue to grow my own Jewish community, I have now participated in two fellowship programs with the Union for Reform Judaism. While I didn’t make new lifelong friends, I have strengthened my relationships with some of my secular-Jewish friends from my high school, who came along with me.
Along with that, my vigor for carving my own space in the Jewish world has only increased as I’ve attended more and more events and programs. The Anne Frank Youth Network, and Anne Frank LA — programs for young activists seeking to do good in the spirit of Anne Frank — are just two more examples of these groups that have helped me to create this sacred, communal space.
I never thought my individual Jewish community would be where it is now: made up of non-practicing Jews, groups which highlight both Jewish and non-Jewish teens, and my many middle-aged friends at my mom’s temple. What I have learned is that there is no defined path, and there is no guide map. I don’t know what my Jewish community will look like in a year, or five, but I do know, that it will only grow as I do.
