Every year, as I stand in the closing circle of the Eshel National Retreat, I hear the attendees defining what belonging to this community means to us: connection, friendship, joy, and peace.
This weekend is a kickstarter for building the community we need, forming bonds that last far beyond this weekend. What makes these gatherings extraordinary is not just the event itself, but the profound connections that emerge.
We create life-changing networks that help with some foundational human needs; people help one another find a new job, resources, friendship, and even love. Being in a community helps us meet some of our basic needs, but most importantly, it gives us a sense of belonging.
Having this strong social network is correlated with longevity. In Japan, for example, there is an Okinawan tradition to form a moai; a small, tight-knit group of people who support each other. The moai provides a safety net, lending financial and emotional support when needed to all of their members. Each individual knows there is always someone who has their back and will be there for them. Okinawans are also known for their longevity – and some attribute it to the moai.
Our Jewish tradition also has structures for taking care of each other. One example is daily minyan; people you see everyday and notice what is going on in your life. When you don’t show up, it either means you are sick or something has interrupted the rhythm of your life. If you need something, a meal, a visit, a favor, the Jewish community is there to support you.
For LGBTQ+ Orthodox people, however, these structures often fall away. We cannot always rely on our daily minyan, chesed committee, or bikkur cholim. The national retreat is our opportunity to build our own communities to notice and care for us.
I was recently struck by a conversation with a Syrian American man that illuminates the risks of community loss. He was recently divorced and beginning to explore his identity as a gay man. He sounded happy, but when I asked what I could do for him, he told me he was looking for a wife. I was surprised, given what he had told me. He shared with me, “Once I got divorced, I lost my community. As a single person, no one talks to me anymore. I’ve lost my standing and place in the community that used to surround me. If I show up with a man by my side, this will not help things either.”
Losing his community was more devastating to him than the spectre of living a double life. Our need for connection and belonging is an essential part of being human.
This past weekend, we explored the many ways to build a community. Community is hard. Community is messy. It requires intention and demands ongoing commitment. For this reason, community is also a source of tremendous joy and meaning.
Each year, the Eshel staff meticulously crafts this retreat, understanding that these moments of connection can transform lives. Like planning a wedding, months of careful preparation culminate in a magical experience that is over in just a few hours. Nevertheless, the memories and the life-changing impact last a lifetime.
Miryam Kabakov