A Different Spin on Shabbat

This past summer, New York-based Jewish screenwriter Yoni Weinberg attended Sababafest, a three-day music festival in New Jersey that was advertised as “the happiest Shabbos of the year.” That weekend delivered something Weinberg has been increasingly craving: a relaxed, safe, good time. At the same time, Genevieve Medow-Jenkins, the founder of Secular Sabbath, was hosting a breathwork, gong bath, and tea ceremony event at a local spa in West Hollywood, California. Meanwhile, that same weekend in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Shabbat Club was gathering at Moabet, a chic event space, over hummus and wine.

All over the U.S., Shabbat is being rebranded for the current times, moving beyond the family kitchen table and the synagogue. Instead, Shabbat now finds itself as the centerpiece of clubby parties, holistic wellness experiences, social singles outings and interfaith dinners. While the central characteristics of Shabbat—unplugging from devices and fostering human connection—have always been malleable and easy to harness for different audiences, this time around, the urgency feels palpable.

Since Oct. 7, Weinberg says, things have felt raw: “It has never felt more apparent that I’m a Jew and that there are people around me who aren’t and are hostile toward my identity,” he said. “A lot of the things that were places of joy and relaxation for me, like Washington Square Park or my favorite coffee shop, now have become places to get worked up and feel alienated.” Sababafest, he noted, was a “utopian experience” for him. The festival, which launched in 2017 and Weinberg had attended for the first time this summer, was “in line with what I and a lot of people are looking for this year, which is to experience the things that we enjoy, that it’s with a community that is not threatening to us.”

As the discourse around the Israel-Hamas war and the hostages continues to create frustration, turmoil, and division—including disagreements within the Jewish community—many American Jews share the desire to connect over something everyone can relate to. The numerous new projects offering Shabbat gatherings that have sprung up post-Oct. 7 are, if nothing else, an attempt at creating that.

Shabbat Surf Club, based in Los Angeles, is one interesting example. Founded by Israeli entrepreneur Omer Levy a month after the war started, it was an idea two years in the making, but the devastating events of Oct. 7 gave Levy the necessary jolt of energy. At the club, Levy organizes events that take place on Saturdays and combine surfing, food, and socializing, while partnering with American and Israeli pro surfers.

“It started more as an idea to create a Jewish surf community that would simply connect Jewish surfers from all over the globe,” Levy said. “However, since Oct. 7 and the explosion of antisemitic and anti-Israel media, protests, and public opinion, I felt the need to share other perspectives about Israel and Judaism.”

On social media, the surf club urges its followers to “escape politics, go surf!” and, according to Levy, everyone’s invited: “It’s just about good times with good people,” he said. “The goal is always to be fun and appealing for everyone, not just the Jewish community.” Shabbat, he pointed out, is “the perfect environment and vibe to have good and real conversations.” The main idea, Levy adds, is to connect on the basic human level, first and foremost—and if any political content happens to arise amid the waves, to approach it with an open mind.

In New York, 27-year-old Morgan Raum, a content creator, has put the emphasis on eating and partying with her new project, Shabbat Club, which she describes as an “exclusive culturally Jewish community where I host curated dinners and after-parties at primarily Jewish-owned restaurants and businesses around NYC.” Oct. 7, Raum said, birthed an immediate need for New York City’s Jews to connect, gather, and support one another. The crowds at Shabbat Club, which officially launched in November 2023, skew young and stylish—Raum previously worked for Lox Club, a lightly Jewish dating app positioning itself as an exclusive members club. The venues are equally hip, as are partnerships with the local podcast Hot Pastrami and the mushroom-infused chocolate brand Alice.

Raum describes each dinner party as a “blend of tradition and contemporary social life, making it more accessible and engaging for a younger crowd—especially since I am not religious and did not grow up celebrating Shabbat.” Rather, Raum said, Shabbat Club is about building a culturally Jewish community that feels both intimate and inclusive. “I strongly believe it’s one of the friendliest crowds,” she added.

If the alternative Shabbat events in question already existed before the war, they were amplified, or took on new roles. Take Elevate Shabbat, for example. New York producer and marketer Andrew Cohen started hosting Shabbat dinner series at his apartment years ago, later transitioning to bigger events at the Gospel club in Manhattan, hosting 60-75 people at a time. After Oct. 7, Cohen renamed the initiative “Elevate Shabbat” and doubled the attendance capacity. Community manager Jenny Assaf joined the operation in January, and the two have since hosted several events, including one in Los Angeles, and are planning to expand to additional cities, like Miami and Chicago, in the fall.

The format usually includes a welcome drink and mingling; a light Shabbat ceremony that includes Kiddush, breaking bread, and candle lighting; and guest speakers—with a dance party being the most anticipated portion of the events. “The experience we foster is spiritual and inspirational and not overly religious,” said Cohen. Here, too, non-Jews are welcome, as the goal, according to Cohen, is “to share our beautiful traditions with anyone who wants to come and participate and feel the magic of Shabbat.”

Occasionally, the subject of Israel—and the aftermath of Oct. 7—is part of the programming. Elevate Shabbat had hosted Nova festival survivors at one of its dinners, and Shabbat Surf Club invites LA-based Israeli entrepreneurs and incorporates Israeli music and food into its events. And while some of the initiatives are what progressive left rhetoric would define as openly Zionist—if posting from the coast of Tel Aviv or partnering with the nonprofit Israel Friends is an indication—the conversation they foster is predominantly, and decidedly, broader. To quote Assaf, “We do have a foundational shared ideology, but we don’t get into politics. We fight antisemitism by making things fun.”

Levy, too, said that his goal isn’t based “around promoting a pro-Israel narrative, it’s about showing how amazing Israel is through the truth of its people and culture.” Additionally, he says, inviting non-Jews to the table is important, in order to emphasize open-mindedness and human connection. “Since Oct. 7, the vast majority of amplified voices and influential figures have been primarily focused on expressing the political, historical, and geographical facts surrounding this ancient conflict,” he said. “My goal isn’t to convince people what to think or feel, more so to just get them to listen and think with an open mind. What they do with the information once they have it, well that’s up to them.” The laid-back atmosphere of surfing, according to Levy, is the perfect aid for this mission.

The traditional or religious elements of these events vary; in addition to a Kiddush, Elevate Shabbat might host a rabbi as a speaker, while Shabbat Club gatherings always include challah and a prayer over the candles. Some of the gatherings have focused on Jewish holidays, like Purim. At Sababafest, the food was glatt kosher and minyan prayers with a Torah were offered. In general, the leaning is more culturally Jewish than religious, with an emphasis on Jewish foods, light traditions, and community.

To make things even more inclusive, some event series distill Shabbat to its very core universal components: human connection and disconnecting from technology, prioritizing presence and engagement over devices, and putting conversation and intellectual exchange in the forefront, rather than featuring recognizable Jewish elements of any kind. The aptly named Secular Sabbath members club, founded in 2016 by Jewish Topanga Canyon, California, resident Genevieve Medow-Jenkins, is more about taking time to experience things deeply than anything else. Rest, reflection, and togetherness, she said, are at the base of the multiple events, from a large sleepover party held at Art Basel in 2022, to a psychedelic dinner in Los Angeles in September, to an upcoming retreat in Guatemala. Many members and attendees aren’t Jewish.

Having recently moved to a permanent space in LA, however, Medow-Jenkins does see an increasing need in conversations that touch upon the recent events in a gentle, nondivisive manner. “We do talk about how Nova could have been any other music festival—it’s violence that could’ve happened to any of us,” she said.

In a similar fashion, when Nate Adler, the co-owner of Brooklyn restaurants Gertrude’s and Gertie, decided to start hosting Shabbat Supper Club at the latter recently, he chose to highlight similarities rather than differences: The dinners, which are co-hosted by a variety of prominent figures, are promised to host cuisines and guests of all denominations and heritage.

“Judaism as a religion is so black and white,” he said. “We’d be super excited to host a Muslim chef and bring people together and talk about things they want to.” Sure, Jews among themselves are also conflicted, but, Adler said, “we could bring both sides to the table and we don’t even need to have a conversation about the conflict, but just about what we have in common? Food is a very beautiful vehicle for this.”

Musical, wellnessy, creative, communal, completely divorced of religious traditions, not even happening on an actual Friday—whatever it is, the reimagined Shabbat isn’t going anywhere—and there’s more to come. Just a few weeks ago, Weinberg himself rebranded from an attendee to an organizer, after bringing Shiur—a series of discussion-led, ancient texts-focused dinners his brother Micki had started in Berlin—to an art gallery in Manhattan. To him, the core of modern Shabbat is “a combination of connecting with other humans, while disconnecting from the noise of the outside world.” And, more importantly, “it’s what the doctor ordered for this time right now.”