5 Aspects of Judaism We Don’t Talk Enough About
In our post-October 7th world, we must diversify how the world sees the Jewish People and our homeland, Israel, so that the Jewish experience is not reduced to political headlines and stereotypes.
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Judaism is old. Very old.
And despite its long history, or perhaps because of it, there is a vast reservoir of interesting ideas, cultural quirks, and unexpected practices that do not get nearly as much airtime as, say, potato pancakes or Steven Spielberg movies.
In our post-October 7th world, with antisemitism wildly spreading and many Jews understandably confused about Zionism and/or their Jewish identity, we must diversify how the world sees the Jewish People and our homeland, Israel, so that the Jewish experience is not reduced to political headlines and stereotypes, but recognized in its full richness, diversity, and complexity.
By sharing our varied voices, we can illuminate the nuances of Jewish identity, the lesser-known aspects of Judaism, and the historical and cultural significance of Israel — all of which have shaped our story.
Here is a dive into five aspects of Judaism that often hide in the shadows, yearning to be appreciated.
1) The Jewish Relationship with Mysticism
Judaism is famously grounded in the practical: commandments (mitzvot), ethics, laws, and customs. But there is also a dazzlingly bizarre mystical tradition hiding behind it all, full of:
Numerology (such as gematria, a system of assigning numerical values to Hebrew characters, using various methods of summing these values to gain insight into things such as the Hebrew Bible)
Angelology (the different types of angels and their elaborate hierarchies)
Deeply psychedelic Kabbalistic texts that you cannot just casually skim
For centuries, mysticism was locked away like the family’s craziest heirloom, too weird or powerful for public consumption. Yet, Jewish mysticism became mainstream, especially in the 20th century with the rise of Hasidism and pop-Kabbalah. (Thanks, Madonna!)
And still, most of us Jews do not talk about it in depth. We can refer to the Torah or the Talmud, but what about the Zohar, which reads like a blend of ancient philosophy and science fiction.
The Zohar, often described as the crown jewel of Jewish mysticism, is a deeply esoteric and mysterious text that even many who study Kabbalah find challenging to decipher. While it is often mentioned in relation to Kabbalah, there is a lot that remains unknown or misunderstood about this ancient mystical work.
The Zohar is not written in classic Hebrew — but in a unique, archaic dialect of Aramaic. Some scholars even suggest it is a “mystical Aramaic,” created for poetic and spiritual effect. This unusual language choice adds an extra layer of mystery, making it even harder to understand, since the Zohar reads more like a dreamscape than a straightforward religious text.
Traditionally, the Zohar is attributed to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, a 2nd-century sage who, according to legend, spent 13 years hiding in a cave to escape Roman persecution, where he meditated on mystical secrets.
However, most scholars believe the Zohar was actually written by Rabbi Moses de León, a 13th-century Spanish Kabbalist who either created it himself or compiled earlier mystical texts and teachings. It was common in ancient Jewish literature to write in the name of a past sage to grant spiritual authority to the text.
Though the Zohar was likely written in the 13th century, it became popular in Europe during the Renaissance, where it influenced Christian mystics, alchemists, and philosophers. This cross-cultural exchange helped spark a wave of “Christian Kabbalah” among famous thinkers like Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, who saw the Zohar as a key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. The Zohar even influenced some of the early figures of modern science who were seeking a synthesis between mysticism and scientific inquiry.
The concept of “Tikkun Olam” (or “repairing the world” in Hebrew) is often associated with social justice in modern Jewish thought. But in Kabbalah, tikkun has a distinct mystical meaning tied directly to the Zohar. According to the Zohar, creation involved a “shattering” of divine vessels, and humanity’s purpose is to gather the scattered divine sparks to restore cosmic harmony. This idea of Tikkun permeates the Zohar, influencing the way many mystics see everyday acts as cosmic repairs.
The Zohar also dives deeply into numbers and shapes, tying them to spiritual dimensions. It discusses concepts like the Sefirot (10 divine attributes or emanations), which serve as the blueprint for all of creation. Each Sefirah corresponds to a number, divine quality, color, and even certain behaviors, creating a detailed map of how the divine manifests in the world. This focus on sacred geometry has intrigued scientists and mathematicians, and some even argue that it reflects an early understanding of quantum concepts.
One of the more radical features of the Zohar is its portrayal of a feminine side of God, known as Shekhinah. In traditional Jewish thought, the Shekhinah is often seen as the divine presence that dwells with the people of Israel, especially in times of exile or hardship.
The Zohar, however, elevates the Shekhinah to a central role within its cosmology, describing her as the “bride” or “partner” of the higher divine, essentially balancing masculine and feminine energies in the universe. This depiction was revolutionary in its time and continues to draw fascination today.
2) Shabbat is not just a day off. It is a weekly reset for the soul.
Everyone knows that Jews observe Shabbat, but what does it actually mean beyond going to synagogue, making kiddush (a special prayer), and not answering work emails?
Shabbat, when fully embraced, is like pressing a weekly reset button on existence. You disengage from creation, reflecting God’s rest on the seventh day, and instead of doing, you simply are.
There is an often-overlooked, radical element to this day of rest. Shabbat is not just a “day off.” It is a practice which claimed that, once a week, your value has nothing to do with your productivity or output. You are essentially refusing to engage in the material world’s hamster wheel.
Imagine if we took that to heart: no more guilt about spending the afternoon napping. A whole culture that values rest — like a soul’s spa day every week.
“If there ever was a moment when Shabbat was poised to become the new yoga practice,” wrote author and journalist Jennifer Miller, “it is now.”1
Yet how many Jews actually make time to internalize Shabbat’s deeper implications and share with them our non-Jewish family and friends? It is like we were given this gift every week, but most of us barely unwrap it.
Is it any surprise, then, that a recent survey of the happiest population among Jews in Israel happens to be the devoutly Shabbat-observing ultra-Orthodox Jews?2 And that Israel, the Jewish state where many Israelis do some version of Shabbat, ranks as the fifth-happiest country across the world?3
Like the famous Hebrew essayist, Ahad Ha’am, used to say: “More than the Jewish People have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.”
In or around the sixth century BCE, it is said that Jews introduced to the world what became the weekend as we know it. Having a fixed day of rest was most likely first practiced in Judaism, wrote Eviatar Zerubavel in his book, “The Seven Day Circle: The History and Meaning of the Week.”
But when the Syrian-Greeks ruled the Holy Land circa 142 BCE, they forbade Shabbat observance. Many Jews fled to live in the caves of the Judean hills so they could keep their day of rest. Some were found out and killed. Finally, the Jews revolted and fought to keep their heritage, their lifestyle. We celebrate their miraculous victory to this day with the festival of Chanukah.
After 70 CE, when the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in Jerusalem, the ancient rabbis worked intensively to adapt biblical traditions and teachings to the reality of Jewish religious life in the absence of a sacred center. In the process, they created the foundation of rabbinic Judaism, which serves as the basis of modern Jewish life.
3) The Complex Relationship with Humor and Tragedy
There is a Jewish joke for everything. Why? The humor is often a way to handle the suffering, contradictions, and ambiguities that come with Jewish history and identity. And while we all love a good Jewish joke, we do not always talk about how humor in Jewish culture is often a survival mechanism, an armor against despair and hardship.
Think about it: Why do Jewish comedians seem to thrive in absurdist humor? It is not just cleverness; it is a worldview where humor becomes a weapon against everything from persecution to cosmic uncertainty, or a subtle acknowledgment that life’s meaning might be both profound and ridiculous, something you can laugh about and cry over at the same time.
Hence why many Jews describe our holidays as such: “They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.” Even in the movie “Schindler’s List,” one of the final scenes includes a Soviet soldier liberating Jews in Brinnlitz. “You have been liberated!” the soldier shouts. “Where should we go?” someone asks the soldier. “Don’t go east. That’s for sure. They hate you there.”
There is also the well-known joke: “A high-ranking general approaches a policeman one day and tells him to round up all the Jews and all the bicyclists, to which the policeman replies: ‘Why the bicyclists?’”
According to Nicholas A. Kuiper of Europe’s Journal of Psychology, humor can have a facilitative role in extremely traumatic situations, and can be an adaptive trait for us to survive.
In addition, a study from the Stanford Psychophysiology Laboratory demonstrated that, in the face of a stressful situation, comedy is a more effective coping strategy than solemnity. These findings support the idea that humor employs psychological effects through a change of perspective. While positive humor gives real reappraisal, negative humor works by distancing the subject from the upsetting picture without creating a new mental scenario.
In the book, “A Club of Their Own: Jewish Humorists and the Contemporary World,” the authors argue that Jewish humor did not die in the Holocaust. In fact, Jews depended on humor to endure the period after liberation, both as a psychological weapon to grapple with what they had endured under the Nazi threat, and as a source of coping with the displacement of the postwar period.
After the war, humor was a poignant affirmation of mir zaynen do — Yiddish for “we are (still) here” — a declaration that the Jewish People had not disappeared and indeed could at times have the last laugh.
Israeli society is also notorious for its never-too-soon dark humor: cynical, condescending, forthright, and affectionate. It is a country, as famed Israeli satirist Ephraim Kishon put it, “sprawled on the shore of the Mediterranean in such a way that half an hour’s drive from any point in the country will take you either to the seashore or into captivity in the hands of the Arab Legion.”
The adage “comedy is tragedy plus time” is paramount in Israel, but Israeli humor is very different from traditional Jewish humor of the ghetto, or even American Jewish humor.
“Ghetto humor has to do with the Ukrainian or Polish police chief and how the Jew gets around him,” said Kishon. “It’s the self-defense mechanism of a persecuted minority, part of a fight for life and being. American Jewish humor is ‘Portnoy’s Complaint.’ Even on the Borscht Belt it has a self‐conscious, ethnic, nervous quality that completely escapes native Israelis. They laugh at its vulgarity and sex, but they don’t understand the humor.”4
“You have to remember that a whole generation has grown up in Israel that doesn’t know what it means to be Jewish in that sense,” added Kishon. “It was easy in the ‘good old Hitler days.’ You could hardly forget it and survive. But Sabras (people born in Israel) are Israelis, not Jews. That’s their identity. Sabra humor seems an impertinent, goyish sort of humor to older Jews because Sabras have no patience with old stories about persecution.”
“Eretz Nehederet” — Hebrew for “Wonderful Country,” the Israeli version of Saturday Night Live — took a break following the Hamas-led terror attacks on October 7th, 2023. But when the crew returned some three weeks later, they did not hold back, taking aim at the BBC and United Nations, “woke” American universities, Hamas’ billionaire leaders in Qatar, and even Israeli soldiers.
Some sketches have gone viral overseas, including a clip where two pink- and blue-haired Columbia University students, one in a Palestinian scarf, tells the camera: “We are live on YouTube with Columbia Antisemity News, where everyone is welcome: LGBTQH.”
“What’s the H?” the other asks. “Hamas.” The two then sing the chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” and one student asks the other: “Do you know why it’s true? Because it rhymes.”
4) The Rituals that Seem Mundane but Are Secretly Deeply Symbolic
Jewish rituals do not just revolve around holidays and celebrations. There are daily practices that seem minor yet hold layers of meaning.
For instance, take netilat yadayim, the ritual hand-washing done before meals with bread. It is not just about hygiene, but a moment to prepare for consuming food with gratitude and mindfulness, transforming an everyday necessity into a spiritual practice.
Or think about the mezuzah, that little box on the doorframe. Inside is a tiny scroll of parchment with the Shema, a declaration of God’s unity. Every time you walk past it, you are essentially “checking in” with that unity. It is as if Judaism said, “How can I make every doorway in life a reminder of our higher purpose?” And it worked! We just forget to talk about it because, you know, it is a piece of parchment in a box.
There is also modeh ani, the short prayer said upon waking. Before you even have your coffee or checked the weather, Judaism already has you reciting gratitude for being alive. No time to hit snooze — your first task is to express gratitude for making it through the night!
Or consider tzitzit, those fringes on the corners of a tallit (prayer shawl). To the untrained eye, they might look like loose threads, maybe even a little disheveled. But to someone wearing them, those fringes are physical reminders to stay mindful of the mitzvot (commandments). Imagine trying to go through the day without some reminder of ethical behavior tickling you on your sides! It is an ancient form of accountability, far gentler than a smartphone notification (but somehow just as persistent).
And let’s not forget the humble kiddush cup. Every Friday night, you fill it with wine or grape juice, bless it, and take a sip, marking the beginning of Shabbat. Sure, you could just have a drink, but the cup becomes more than a cup, the wine more than just wine. You are creating a moment in time — holy, set apart from the rest of the week. This is not just a drink; it is an act of ritual transformation that says, “Stop. Pay attention. This moment is sacred.” And after a week of chaos, bills, emails, and traffic, something as simple as sipping wine in a quiet, intentional way feels revolutionary.
What’s remarkable is how these small, easily overlooked practices layer together. Taken one at a time, they might seem quaint or even trivial. But lived out daily, they create a rhythm that tunes you to the spiritual frequency of ordinary life.
5) The Eternal Wrestling with God and Faith
Judaism has no official creed, no required statement of belief like “I believe in X, Y, and Z.” It is more like: “Well, here’s what the Talmud says, but feel free to wrestle with it.” Jews are free to question, argue, and, yes, even debate with God. In fact, it is expected. The Hebrew word “Israel” itself means “to wrestle with God.”
What’s fascinating is how normalized this grappling is within Judaism. Instead of viewing doubt as a weakness, it is treated as an essential part of the journey. You are encouraged to challenge God, ethics, and the mysteries of existence.
Yet this profound freedom in spirituality often gets overshadowed by simplistic ideas about faith. Judaism invites every Jew into the arena of questions, encouraging a relationship with divinity that is anything but one-sided. Not very many faiths tell you: “Not only are you permitted to question God, but God expects it.”
This notion is what makes Judaism feel so, well, alive. It is less of a top-down relationship and more of an ongoing conversation — a give-and-take that asks for thoughtfulness, honesty, and even a bit of chutzpah (Yiddish for “audacity”).
Imagine showing up to pray and instead of only thanking and praising, you are allowed, even encouraged, to say: “Listen, God, I am not sure I get what’s going on here. Care to explain?”
Take the story of Abraham, who, upon hearing about the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, famously negotiated with God, bargaining down from 50 innocent people to a mere ten. Or Moses, who, after the Israelites worship the golden calf, essentially talked God out of wiping them out. These are not meek, unquestioning followers; they are spiritual sparring partners, wrestling with the Divine over issues of justice, mercy, and morality.
And this grappling is not limited to the great prophets or patriarchs. It is woven into daily Jewish life.
The Talmud is a long conversation filled with endless debate, hypothetical scenarios, and occasional snark. Ancient rabbis argue over the minutiae of nearly everything — from how to perform mitzvot (commandments) to whether a pigeon with a broken wing counts as “property” on Shabbat.
And there is rarely a “final answer.” Disagreements are often recorded without resolution, as if to say: “The very act of struggling to understand is holy.”
“Selling Judaism, Religion Not Included.” Bloomberg.
“God-fearing, happy, non-dope-smokers — poll reveals the Israeli ethos.” Times of Israel.
“Israel drops one place to 5th in global happiness list; Finland retains top spot.” Times of Israel.
“Israeli Humor: It’s Jewish, It’s a Joke, but Not a Jewish Joke.” The New York Times.
What a great reminder of the beauty and quirks of Judaism beyond politics and polarity. The first point reminded me of my brief study of the Zohar with the wife of one of its translators (in Melbourne, Australia). Reading a few of the passages in Aramaic it became clear in that moment that these words are tools to invoke forces that took me on an inner journey beyond words. Our teacher looked like she was in bliss as she read out the passages, possessing secret knowledge we were yet to attain. Psychedelic indeed. It took hours to unpack a few sentences and I would leave each session trying to remember what we'd discussed on my drive home. As a family with a heritage of kabbalists and soferim, the Zohar awakened dormant knowledge and affected me like no other text I've ever encountered. I'm hopeful that all the current rhetoric about Jews, Zionism etc will get boring enough that people will be open to learn the more interesting, if not trippy aspects of its mystical roots.
As a geometry, trigonometry, and calculus teacher, I study “different types of angles in their intricate hierarchies.” I never knew this had anything to do with the Jewish faith! No wonder we are overrepresented among excellent mathematicians!