The culture industry can mimic the language, the customs, even the clothing of religious Jews—but it often misses the soul: the joy of living with G-d.
Why is everyone so sad?
A few years back, the show Shtisel came to the U.S., and lots of people watched and loved it. I remember people coming up to me and quoting long monologues straight from Shtisel.
I once spoke with a couple—he told me, very excitedly, that he was a devoted fan of the show. His wife, however, said she didn’t watch it. When I asked her why, I was struck by her observation. She told me: “In the whole series, not a single person is happy. You see widowers, orphans, lonely singles, people searching for love or chasing dreams—but you never see joy.”
The creators of Shtisel really did an incredible job portraying the lifestyle of the religious community. They nailed the language, the expressions, the little details—“chasdei Hashem,” “nu, nu,” “mizinke”—all of it. But they missed the engine behind that life. They captured the surface with amazing accuracy, but they left out the soul. They missed the joy—the deep happiness a Jew feels in connection with G-d.
The same is true in the novels of Chaim Potok. In The Chosen, he tells the story of the son of a Rebbe, expected to become the next leader, but torn because he wants to pursue psychology instead. In My Name Is Asher Lev, he writes about a Hasidic boy with the soul of an artist, whose father, a devoted community activist, sees his art as a waste of time. The rebbe in his yeshiva discourages it too, and the entire book is filled with tension—an unhappy home, a depressed mother, constant disappointment.
Potok himself said he was trying to depict Chabad in those books. But anyone who’s spent even five minutes with Chabad knows the defining feature of a Chassid is joy. To describe Chabad without joy is to strip it of its soul.
Joy or Suffering?
The Rebbe points out a fascinating paradox that shows up in halachah. The Talmud says that when someone wants to convert to Judaism, we first warn him: “Do you realize that the Jewish people in our times are afflicted, pressed, and pursued?”
In other words, becoming Jewish comes with a condition—you need to know what you’re getting into. Until he converts, a non-Jew is not bound by this destiny. But if he chooses to join, he must accept that he is entering a people described as “afflicted and pressed.”
At the same time, Torah commands every Jew: “Serve G-d with joy.” If Torah is truth, then this isn’t just a demand—it means there’s a real reason to be joyful. So how do these two things fit together? On the one hand, we tell the potential convert: life as a Jew is full of suffering. On the other, the very first moment he becomes a Jew, he is obligated to live in joy!
The Rebbe explains: when a Jew is together with G-d, the fact that “Israel is afflicted and pressed” loses its hold. It’s like someone who is experiencing the greatest pleasure in the world—if at that moment a fly bites him, technically there’s a sting, but he doesn’t feel it at all. The joy overwhelms the discomfort.
That’s the reality of a Jew. On the outside, Judaism may look like a life of burdens and obligations. But from the inside, every mitzvah brings a burst of happiness and deep fulfillment. When a Jew does a mitzvah, he feels a real connection with G-d—a “click” deep in his soul that no camera can capture.
This is why, over the years, you’ll notice something interesting. Sometimes a little “gentle pressure” is applied—whether it’s encouraging someone to put on tefillin, to join a minyan, or to send his child to a Jewish school. Even if at the time he resists and goes along reluctantly, afterwards he never regrets it. No one ever says: “I wish I hadn’t done that mitzvah.” Why not? Because once the mitzvah is done, the soul feels that click—that inner joy that comes from connecting with G-d. And that joy is lasting and real.
The Joyful Side of Rosh Hashanah
As we stand at the beginning of a new year, many people think of Rosh Hashanah with a sense of fear. It’s called Yom HaDin, the Day of Judgment, and the prayers speak about who will live and who will die. But there’s another side to Rosh Hashanah that often goes overlooked—the side of joy.
To see it, let’s go back 2,500 years. When the Jews returned from Babylon to Jerusalem under Ezra the Scribe, they began rebuilding Jewish life. First, they erected an altar on the Temple Mount and brought sacrifices, and later began constructing the Second Temple. Years passed, and Nehemiah came from Babylon and rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem. On the 25th of Elul, the walls were completed, and when Rosh Hashanah arrived, the people gathered in Jerusalem.
Ezra stood on a high platform and read from the Torah, while the Levites translated and explained the words to the crowd. As the people listened and understood, they began to cry—they realized how far they had fallen short in keeping the Torah properly.
But Ezra stopped them and declared: “Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and send portions to those who have nothing prepared, for the day is holy to our G-d. Do not be sad, for the joy of G-d is your strength.” And so, the people went and celebrated, making Rosh Hashanah into a day of great joy (Nehemiah 8).
From nearly 2,500 years ago, Ezra’s message rings clear: Rosh Hashanah is not a day for sadness. On the contrary—it is meant to be a day of deep joy. “The joy of G-d is your strength.” Our happiness in serving Him is itself the key to being blessed with a good new year.
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