The antidote to Jewish unhappiness is connection |
Over the past few days, several people have shared with me a fascinating dataset from a recent US General Social Survey, which tracks the percentage of Americans who say they are “very happy.” The results are striking.
Across the board, happiness has declined since COVID. But some groups saw sharper drops than others.
Jewish Americans were among them.
Before the pandemic, roughly one-third of Jewish respondents said they were “very happy.” In the most recent data, that number has fallen to roughly one in five — one of the steepest declines among the groups measured.
At first glance, the finding is surprising. Jewish communities in North America tend to be highly educated, economically successful, and socially connected — characteristics that usually correlate with higher levels of wellbeing.
But the last few years have been different.
For many Jews, particularly since October 7, the sense of security that underpinned everyday life has been shaken. Reports from around the world illustrate that many Jews feel less safe than they did just a few years ago. In Canada, antisemitic incidents have surged to record levels in recent years, with thousands of reported incidents annually. This past two weeks alone, three Toronto synagogues were shot at.
Nowhere is this reality felt more acutely than on university campuses.
For Jewish students today, campus life can be both inspiring and isolating. Many arrive excited to explore their identity and engage in the marketplace of ideas. Yet too often they encounter an environment where expressing that identity – particularly when it includes support for Israel – invites hostility or exclusion.
My Hillel colleagues across the globe see this tension every day.
A student who once felt comfortable wearing Jewish or Israeli symbols now thinks twice. A student who hoped to celebrate their Jewish and Zionist identities wonders if doing so publicly will cost them class-marks, social connections – or worse, their personal safety.
These experiences take a toll.
But they also reveal something important: the solution to isolation is not retreat. It is connection.
Interestingly, there is data over many years that suggests the strongest predictor of wellbeing today isn’t actually income or education – it’s social connection. People who regularly spend time with friends, participate in community life, and feel part of something larger than themselves report significantly higher levels of happiness.
That insight is something the Jewish community has understood for centuries.
Jewish life has always been built around connection – around shared meals, shared rituals, and shared responsibility for one another.
And that is precisely what we see unfolding on campuses today.
On a typical Friday night, hundreds of students across Ontario gather at Hillel for Shabbat dinners. Some come because they grew up observing Shabbat at home. Others come because they are curious. Many simply come because they are looking for community.
What they find is something deeper than a meal.
They find a table where they can let their shoulders down and be their proud, unapologetic Jewish self.
They find friendships that carry them through difficult moments on campus. They find mentors who help them navigate complex conversations about identity and Israel. They find a sense of belonging that many did not realize they were missing.
We see it in quieter moments too. In the student who walks into a Hillel building between classes just to sit somewhere they feel comfortable. In the conversations that unfold late at night after a program ends. In the student leaders who discover that building Jewish community is itself a form of leadership.
These moments rarely make headlines. But they are powerful.
Because in a time when the broader culture often pushes Jews to the margins, the simple act of gathering together becomes both an act of defiance and resilience – oftentimes leading to more public displays of Jewish pride.
The chart showing declining Jewish happiness should concern us. But it also highlights an enduring truth: difficult circumstances may impact our lives, but community shapes how we respond to them.
Jewish history offers a clear lesson. In moments when external pressures intensified, Jewish communities responded not by withdrawing but by strengthening the bonds that sustained them.
That lesson matters now more than ever.
If we want the next generation of Jews to flourish – not just survive – we must invest in the institutions and spaces that foster connection. On campuses, that means supporting Jewish student life, strengthening Hillels, and ensuring that students know they are not alone.
Because the antidote to isolation is not silence. It is belonging.
And in a world where happiness increasingly depends on connection, building Jewish community may be one of the most important things we can do.