But they are so wrong. As Rabbi Sacks wrote in a d’var Torah called “A Nation of Storytellers”: “Throughout the book of Devarim, Moses warns the people—no less than fourteen times— not to forget . If they forget the past they will lose their identity and sense of direction and disaster will follow. Moreover, not only are the people commanded to remember, they are also commanded to hand that memory on to their children. This entire phenomenon represents a re- markable cluster of ideas: identity as a matter of collec- tive memory; about the ritual retelling of the nation’s story; above all about the fact that every one of us is a guardian of that story and memory. It is not the leader alone, or some elite, who are trained to recall the past, but every one of us.” This isn’t a blanket call to abandon all legacy institutions (well … maybe just a few), but it is a call to evolve. When in- stitutions respond to alienation with defensiveness instead of curiosity, they render themselves obsolete. And they will be left behind. The vibrant, emerging communities forming right now aren’t “Judaism lite.” They’re not “for the aesthetic,” or un- serious, although, yes, they’re often joyful. There are more than I can list here. Judaism Unbound and the UnYeshiva. SVARA. Ammud: The Jews of Color Torah Academy. Lab/ Shul. Maharat. IKAR. Beit Toratah. Reboot. The Kohenet movement. Temple of the Stranger. They are real, resonant, deeply rooted in Jewish learning, history, and spirit. These new modes of Jewish life have fuelled a revolu- tion in online cultural and religious engagement. It’s re- shaping how we learn, pray, connect, and lead; it is building communities that transcend geography and denomination, and that people genuinely want to be part of. These aren’t breakaway sects. They’re breakout models. Jewish tradition is rich with reinvention. The Talmud it- self is a remix of voices across generations. It’s a conversa- tion — messy, multi-vocal, sometimes contradictory — but always alive. The question before us now is simple: How do we keep the eternal flame burning without burning people out? The need for community hasn’t gone anywhere. So we build. We reinvent. We’re not walking away from Judaism—we’re walking toward it. Just on paths that better fit our lives, our values, and our stories. As Rabbi Benay Lappe of SVARA (tagline: “a traditional- ly radical yeshiva”) puts it: “If your house is burning down, do you rebuild the same house? Or do you build a new one that doesn’t catch fire so easily?” I think we know the answer. To add to the statement of the great sage Hillel: do not se- parate yourself from the community. Instead, create com- munity that will never separate from you. Because you belong to it, and it belongs to you.
TikTok, Bluesky, Threads, and other platforms —values is that I am not in any way a representative of any organized Jewish group or denomination. I’m not a rabbi. I am not af- filiated with any organization they feel they cannot trust, or worry may have ulterior motives. I’m just a massive nerd for Judaism, a fellow learner, inviting people to walk side by side with me on this journey, and trying to show them as many of those seventy faces, (old, new, renewed) as I possibly can. Yes, there are risks for emergent online expression, as anyone who has gone online in the past few years can tell you: insane levels of antisemitism, algorithms blocking Jewish content, platform volatility. When TikTok was brief- ly banned in January 2025, our joyous, eclectic crew of Jew- ish learners panicked—not because we’d lose a fun and silly app where any object could prove to be made of cake, but because we’d lose this place of connection. Social me- dia is where so many people who once felt left out of Jewish life have finally found a home, a new paradigm of commu- nity, despite all the deep, painful failings of these platforms. I made sure my community spans many platforms be- cause of this. This is also why I love to continue the engage- ment in person as a scholar-in-residence at synagogues and organizations across the country that truly, deeply under- stand why this all matters, that see the value of embracing these new ways to belong Jewishly. This past Shavuot, moments after reading with horror about the terrible antisemitic attack in Boulder, Colorado, I delivered a keynote speech at a Tikkun Leil Shavuot event in Manhattan. The room was filled with Jews of all kinds: Ortho- dox women with their hair covered, queer Jews with fabulous purple hair, men with long beards who looked like they study Torah in the beit midrash all day, elders, teens, beginners, ac- ademics. All of us learning together. All part of this beautiful constellation, beautiful kehillah , of Jewish life. And I felt more part of a community in that moment than I ever have before, united together, bonded forever in Am Yisrael. Daf Reactions, a project that began as something small and personal, has become something much more. It is my tikun : my repair, my healing, my Judaism. My deepest hope is that others might find their own meaningful connection to Jewishness in ways and forms that feel right to them — that speak to their lives and reso- nate deeply. Our texts are not relics. They are living, breath- ing inheritances. They are not the domain of the few, but the birthright of all Jews regardless of denomination, gen- der, observance, or economic status. Daf yomi itself, though it may feel like a longstanding tradition, is a relatively new practice in Judaism: only 100 years old. A nanosecond in our long history. There are religious gatekeepers that tell us the only Jews who can speak with learned authority on anything pertain- ing to Judaism, Jewish history, Jewish law, or Jewish learn- ing are going to be easily identifiable: just look for the beard and the hat! (Excellent branding, by the way. Hard to com- pete with that.) Nobody else can really be trusted to know what they are talking about, you see.
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