making daf yomi reaction videos. And I was speaking like a millennial. Sometimes there was swearing. Sometimes, I highlighted the sexual innuendo that was present in the text all along. Who had given me permission to do such things? It was a scandal. Minds were blown; fainting couches were summoned. Some people were absolutely incandes- cent with rage. Some rather extreme communities sent out memos warning people against my nefarious influence. I was told I was destroying the Jewish people. By learn- ing Talmud, and then talking about it online. But what truly shocked me was not the hate I received. What amazed me were the incredible, enthusiastic mes- sages I received from thousands of Jews and non-Jews around the world. People who embraced what I was doing. People who felt disconnected. People who had been discouraged from asking questions.
know the acts of hatred against us have in fact descended to worse depths. My learning, I decided, would also be an act of defiance against those who hate us. This would be my seven-and-a-half-year fuck you to the antisemites. Every single day that I learn, that you learn, that we learn, that we continue, is a rebellion, is an act of resistance, an act of defiance. It gave me a sense of power, of continu- ity — of, yes, community. The pandemic forced all of us daf yomi newbies to figure out ways to learn online. Thank goodness for the existence of virtual resources like Sefaria. And so, after about two years of learning Talmud, which were also two years of living through the pandemic, and two years of lurk- ing on TikTok like so many in search of connection and laughter in apocalyptic times, I decided to do something very outside my comfort zone.
To help myself retain what I was learning, I started making short, reaction-style videos to what I was en- countering in the Talmud and posting them on TikTok. I called the series “Daf Reactions.” In it, I reimagined Talmud study for the social media age: accessi- ble, something that anyone with an in- ternet connection could discover and enjoy. I tried to bridge Jewish tradition and modern pop culture, weaving an- cient wisdom into the fabric of today’s conversations and current events, with my own blend of slightly snarky com- mentary and heartfelt emotion. Like a lot of folks who started ex- perimenting with new ways to embody Jewish culture, connection, learning, and spirituality during the pandemic, I didn’t expect that talking to my phone camera, alone in my room, about some-
BAMIDBAR RABBAH TEACHES US THAT THE TORAH HAS SEVENTY FACES — THAT THERE ARE COUNTLESS DOORWAYS INTO, LENSES ONTO, PATHS TO PERCEIVING, AND WAYS OF UNDERSTANDING, CONNECTING TO, AND INTERPRETING JEWISHNESS.
People who had never seen them- selves represented in Jewish learning. People who felt like the organized Jewish community didn’t welcome them for one reason or another. People who said that laughing and learning was helping to heal their religious trauma. People on a conversion journey who found learning with me helped them. People who wanted accessible Jew- ish content that didn’t make something as fascinating and beautiful as Judaism somehow as boring as watching paint dry, and, instead, presented it with as much fun and joy and personal authen- ticity as possible. And so, to my shock, a delightful, chaotic, nerdy community grew around the videos. (I assure you, not in a weird Shabbtai Tzvi sort of way. In a good way!)
A few months after folks discovered my videos, I had such a surreal experience: I, an outsider, a loner, discovered that some people from around the world had chosen to dress up as me for Purim. Now the mind that was blown was my own. My platform became a space where people actual- ly wanted to connect, learn, and be Jewish on their own terms. Where they felt they had the permission to do so. I can’t tell you how many people have said, “If my He- brew school teacher had talked like you, I might’ve actu- ally paid attention.” (Obviously, the lesson is that Hebrew school teachers should be swearing more. Do not worry, I’m just kidding. Or am I?) For all of these people, the vid- eos demonstrated that having personal reactions to a text is not only okay, but actually an integral part of forming real connections with that text. And for the folks who don’t have any experience with Jewish learning at all? For them, I’m delighted to be a gate- way drug. Part of what the Daf Reactions community—now thou- sands and thousands strong across Instagram, YouTube,
thing I loved and dearly desired to engage with would end up changing my life—never mind anyone else’s. I thought only five other people would ever see or enjoy or find value in these videos, in my specific approach to Jewish learning. But sometimes the world is weird and wonderful. To my astonishment, the videos I create have resonated with thousands of people around the world who, like me, are finding, forging, or rekindling their own unique connec- tions to Jewish community and identity. In many ways, my story is a microcosm of the seismic shifts happening across North American Jewish life. I was wrong, you see, about my audience being five peo- ple. Within a month, Daf Reactions — the study of ancient texts meeting an extremely modern format, through a fem- inist lens — had gone “Jewish viral.” People had strong re- actions to my reactions. Some of that was negative. The hook for a lot of the criti- cism that popped up in newspapers, blogs, and on Israeli TV news was: here I was, a non-religious, blonde woman with dramatically winged eyeliner and her collarbone exposed,
48 AUTUMN 2025
Made with FlippingBook Digital Proposal Creator