Joy Is the Radical, Obvious Thing

A friend in the U.S. asked me this week what the atmosphere in Israel feels like right now. I paused, and then said something that’s lingered with me since: This is a joyless government in a dark time.

We are living through a period of immense loss. There is no wedding, no toast, no shared moment of sweetness that can feel truly whole unless it acknowledges the brokenness around us—the hostages still in captivity, the lives lost, the injured and displaced. Joy without memory is not joy at all. It’s denial. And we owe our fellow citizens more than that.

But our government, even in wartime, chooses mockery over unity. It doesn’t laugh with us—it laughs at us. It shuns vulnerability and belittles difference. In place of humility or accountability, it blames, ridicules, and deflects.

Politics is a messy and serious business. And yet the greatest political figures—Churchill, Lincoln, and others like them—carried the weight of their times while still making room for humor, humanity, and a grounded sense of hope. They were what I’ve heard called “happy warriors”—people who told the truth, admitted faults, and helped their people see the light even in the middle of a storm.

That phrase, “happy warrior,” makes me think of someone very different from a politician—Rabbi Dr. Pesach Schindler, of blessed memory. He wasn’t elected. He didn’t hold office. But he was a builder of lives, of communities, of joy. A survivor of Nazi Germany who became a beloved teacher, musician, and scholar, he helped shape the very foundations of our campus at the Fuchsberg Jerusalem Center and the spirit of our learning.

He often ended classes with a song. He told good stories. He brought a spark into every room and honored his students not just with knowledge, but with warmth.

Next week, we’ll celebrate three students who have served as Schindler Scholars this year. They’ve carried our teacher’s legacy forward in the heart of Jerusalem, choosing depth over despair, study over cynicism, and connection over contempt. In a year that has been unrelentingly hard, their joy in learning has been quietly, stubbornly revolutionary.

A mentor once told me: sometimes, doing the obvious thing is the most countercultural act of all. So in this time of division and grief, we’re choosing something radical: joy. We’re choosing kindness. We’re choosing study. And we’re choosing to remember that leadership is not just about power—it’s about light.