Living with Joy as the Baseline

Every year since I was ordained, I have set a new “spiritual mantra” for the year at Rosh Hashanah. In past years, these mantras have been things like “hope is a verb” and “don’t worry about getting everything right, just try to do everything better than before.” This year, inspired by an incredibly joyful two weeks at Ramah in the Rockies, I decided my 5785 goal would be to live with joy as the baseline. For me, this means that rather than trying to search for little moments of joy amidst a baseline of challenges, I wanted to try to live a year where I center joy, expecting to find it in (almost) everything I do.

It is, admittedly, an absurd goal. The news usually reads like a pileup of tragedies and frustrations, and it feels like we’re always walking around with heavy hearts or bracing ourselves for the next crisis. But, with several years of goal-setting behind me, I knew that the mere fact of having a mantra could transform how I see the world.

In Psalm 126, which we chant at the beginning of Birkat HaMazon on Shabbat and holidays, the psalmist imagines a dreamy world where we are returned to Zion, and joy overtakes our suffering: “Those who sow in tears will reap with joy; even if one walks along weeping while planting, they will come back with shouts of joy.” This psalmist does not imagine a world without tears; rather, he reminds us that eventually we will find ourselves living in joy, even if the path there is paved in tears. This prophetic vision is one where joy becomes the norm.

For the last few months, I’ve been trying to treat these verses not as an imaginary vision for the future but as a description of reality. This does not mean that my life is actually changing. It just shifts what I focus on…which, of course, completely changes my life.

Last weekend, we took the BJ 7th-grade class to Boston. With the students, we visited Harvard Square and the Tremont Street Shul, celebrated Shabbat and learned with Boston University students, and then capped our weekend with a visit to Mayyim Hayyim, a groundbreaking pluralistic mikvah. At Mayyim Hayyim, each student is given the opportunity to immerse in the mikvah, using the ritual to honor their journey into Jewish adulthood. Most of the students chose to immerse, many singing to themselves or reciting the Shema as they spend time in the ritual waters.

I, and I know many of you, have shed many tears over the last 14 months over how difficult it feels to be Jewish right now. Our students have shared frankly—on this trip and at BJ—about the ways they have experienced antisemitism. And they are always grappling with how to adapt our ancient tradition to fit their modern lives. Yet when we asked the students on this trip how many of them love being Jewish, every single student raised their hand. Even as they dedicate hours to studying for their B’nai Mitzvah, and even as they have to learn to defend their Jewish identity at school and with friends, they love being part of this community.

Rooting myself in joy feels easy when I spend time with these students. They are living the embodiment of the psalm; even though there may be some tears shed as they grow into Jewish adults, they are so joyful and full of love. Yes, there is a lot to cry about. But as I am finding this year, there is also much reason to rejoice.