At Jewish Senior Life, the meaning of a good life is revealed not in extraordinary moments, but in ordinary ones: showing up for one another, sharing meals, listening deeply, being present in times of sorrow, and finding reasons to laugh even when the world feels heavy.
And these days, the world feels unbearably heavy. Jews are being killed simply for being who they are… and during celebrations meant for light, on campuses meant for learning, and in places that should feel safe. The rise of antisemitism is not abstract; it’s personal, frightening, and exhausting. The grief accumulates. Fear lingers. Even within the steady rhythms of daily life, the weight of these moments are impossible to ignore.
In times like these, we’re left with an essential question: How do we live well when life is so hard? Dr. Robert Waldinger and Dr. Marc Schulz explore this in The Good Life, drawing on more than 80 years of research from the Harvard Study of Adult Development. Their conclusion is clear: “A Good Life is built on relationships, not success. Not comfort. Not even happiness, as we often define it.”
At Jewish Senior Life, this truth is lived every day. Many residents have experienced war, displacement, antisemitism, personal loss, and collective trauma. They know the world can be harsh. And yet, they continue to choose connection. They form friendships, trust caregivers, and show up for one another. The Good Life, they remind us, is not the absence of suffering, it’s the presence of others within it.
The research emphasizes that it’s not the number of relationships that matters, but their quality. We see this in countless ways: a devoted friend who connects to make plans, a staff member who notices a change in mood, a grandchild who calls every Friday. These relationships aren’t peripheral to well-being; they are their foundation.
When the world feels frightening or cruel, belonging becomes a form of resilience. In The Good Life, “Strong relationships don’t erase pain, but they make it survivable.” They give us places to bring our fear, grief, and questions…and people willing to stay, listen, and bear them with us.
This is why Jewish communal spaces matter so deeply, especially now. Antisemitism does more than threaten physical safety; it seeks to fracture identity and belonging. At JSL, the response is not withdrawal but gathering. We attend activities and lectures, sit together and talk, remember and light candles. We mourn what has been lost and affirm what still matters. This isn’t denial. It’s strength.
Aging offers its own wisdom. It teaches that happiness, as a constant emotional state, is unrealistic, particularly in uncertain times. Meaning, however, remains available. It’s found in showing up for one another, in telling stories that need to be told, and in mentoring those who come after us. Jewish life has never been built on certainty, but on covenant. At JSL, meaning lives in the everyday practices: shared meals, scheduled check-ins, volunteer opportunities, classes, out trips, movement, prayer, and rituals repeated until they become anchors. These aren’t small gestures. They are what allow residents to move through time without losing their humanity.
The Good Life reminds us that living well is not a destination, but a practice and a series of choices made over time. To reach out instead of retreat. To listen instead of harden. To remain connected even when the news breaks our hearts. In moments that feel fractured, communal life stands as a quiet rebuttal to despair. Here, the good life is not theoretical. It’s lived imperfectly, tenderly, together.
This Shabbat, as we kindle the sixth light of Chanukah, we hold one another more tightly. It’s how we continue to bring light into the world.
Chag Chanukah Sameach.
Shabbat Shalom