Big Jewish Feelings

Navigating spiritual and political belonging during the high holidays

Last year around this time, I decided to leave a Hindu community I had been a student of for nearly 10 years.

Like many mystically oriented Jews in the US, I have held on to my Jewish cultural identity, while finding my spiritual home in Eastern traditions like Buddhism and Hinduism. (Shoutout to my fellow Jewbus and Hindjews).

Since childhood, I’ve longed to root myself in Judaism spiritually, but never quite found my footing. Judaism is rich with meditative and mystical practices, but you’d be hard-pressed to find them in a typical American synagogue.

There are complex historical and geopolitical reasons for this—more suited for a dissertation than a Substack post. But, in short, many Jews came to the U.S. as refugees, and in a Christian-centered, antisemitic environment, it felt safer to blend in as “normal white people” than to let our spiritual freak flags fly.

I had plenty of reasons for leaving my Hindu community leading up to October 7, none of which were tied to Jewish identity. But in the immediate aftermath of the Hamas attacks and the beginning of Israel’s subsequent unhinged, genocidal response, I just needed to be with my own people.

Though my Jewish upbringing and community never quite satisfied my spiritual cravings, I always felt something profoundly magical in Jewish music—the minor keys, the harmonies, the ruach.

So when I left, I sought solace in a Jewish devotional song circle, hoping to find a spiritual home base.

In progressive non-Jewish spaces, whether spiritual or political, I often encounter a denial of antisemitism. Yet here I was, in a Jewish space, excited to reconnect, only to find a denial of Palestinian genocide.

I don’t mean to generalize. Of course, in both spaces there are those who can hold all the complexities.

Still, one group failed to pause and offer space for Jewish grief and fear, while the other had an explicit “we don’t talk about it” policy to avoid divisive infighting.

Between these circles and the polarized social media landscape, I felt politically and spiritually homeless.

That’s when I decided to join Jewish Voice for Peace—to channel my political energy more productively, without any expectation that it would answer any spiritual longings.

Then, an invitation appeared in the JVP community chat...

“(TLDR: scroll to the bottom to submit your High Holy Days invitations and check what’s available! )

No matter your relationship to Jewish institutional or communal life, or your relationship to religion and spirituality, this is a potent time to invite the deeper community and connection that is truly the foundation of our ability to organize.

The High Holy Days are also a time-tested Jewish ritual technology that we can still use for inward looking, identifying where we’ve missed the mark, compassionately addressing harm, making repair, and renewing commitments.

AND— many Jews in JVP and beyond are unable to access the depths of community and spirituality we need, when we are offered Jewish spaces that are Zionist, or are otherwise not fully turning and facing Palestine.”

That last line—many Jews are…unable to access the depths of community and spirituality we need when we are offered Jewish spaces that are…not fully turning and facing Palestine— was it. That was how I felt.

Reading that small sentence was a balm to my soul. I suddenly felt so much less alone.

Two weeks later, thanks to that post, I found myself at a fiercely inclusive Rosh Hashanah service and potluck, hosted by queer and disabled ritual leaders, sheltered under a canopy of trees and tarps amidst the pouring rain, in the woods of the Columbia River Gorge.

On the front of the service program was a beautiful illustration I soon learned was a picture of the cover of a spiral-bound planner.

This planner, created by local Jewish artists and mystics, merges the Hebrew, Gregorian, and Moon calendars, and is filled with art, poetry, astrological phases, journal prompts, and anti-colonial reflections.

I was smitten with intersectional glee. Obviously I bought a copy and so can you at dreamingtheworldtocome.com.

Then, when I opened to the first page of the program, I was welcomed with the most heartfelt and thorough introduction...

The Big Welcome
Adapted from the Art of Hosting & Seattle/Portland Jewish Voice for Peace Orientation

Let’s take a moment right now to allow ourselves to fully arrive. Allow the dust to settle in your mind. Bring your attention to your body, your breath, this present moment. We have arrived! Welcome.

We welcome you in your feelings of despair, hopelessness, frustration, anger, or grief, anti-zionism, or zionism.

We welcome you in your not knowing how to be Jewish right now, or feeling alienated from your Jewish community.

We welcome you in your ignorance. We welcome you in your privilege. We welcome you in your grief. We welcome you in your guilt and shame.

Your love is welcome here. How you love, who you love, and your understanding of what love is are all welcome. We welcome you in all of the ways your sexuality has and is unfolding. We welcome you in all of the ways your gender has and is unfolding.

We welcome the parts of yourself that you’re still figuring out. We welcome you at whatever level of mental and physical wellness you are currently functioning. We welcome your introversion and extroversion. We welcome all of the experiences that led you to this moment.

Welcome if you are a Jewish person of color, a Black, Indigenous, Sephardi, or Mizrahi Jewish person. Welcome if you are Palestinian, Arab, or Muslim. Welcome if you are a non-Jewish and non-Palestinian ally.

Welcome to your ancestors, blood and chosen family, who are responsible for all of us being here today. You are in the right place. We are glad you are here. Thank you for surviving!

Let our roots sink into this nutrient dense soil, intertwining with the roots of everyone else here, and connecting to the root systems of all of the other living things around here as we collectively tap into our own sense of meaning, belonging, and contribution.

As I read, a big YES washed over me.

The service was filled with song and conversation. The potluck was sweet and laughter-filled. We shared apples and honey. There were three different kinds of challah—homemade sourdough, vegan, and gluten free. Not to brag, but people fawned over my deviled eggs, which I brought in my crystal deviled egg platter, passed down from my Southern mother.

I made new friends. I hugged strangers.

I got into my car and thought, I get to live here. In a place surrounded by breathtaking nature and radical Jewish mystics. I am home.

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Chag sameach,
Rebecca

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