Sophia Gluck

My very first visit to Berkeley Hillel was actually before I was a student.

I grew up in the Bay Area, so when I was considering Cal, I came over for Cal Day. I went to the different events happening around campus, and I made a point of visiting Hillel.

Someone welcomed me and gave me a tour of the building.

That was my introduction.

But when I think about the first Berkeley Hillel memory that really mattered—the one that became part of the story of my life—I think about the freshman retreat.

I had officially arrived at Cal by then.

College was starting, everything was new, and I went on the Hillel freshman retreat without knowing that some of the people I met there would still be among the most important people in my life years later.

Two of my best friends from college came out of that retreat.

One of those friendships started in the least dramatic way imaginable.

We happened to sit next to each other on the bus.

That was it.

We were two freshmen sitting beside one another on the way to a Hillel retreat.

We started talking.

We became friends.

And years later, we're still friends.

In fact, the three of us now live within about three blocks of one another in New York.

I love thinking about that because there was no way to know what that bus ride would become.

At the time, it was simply the beginning of college.

You meet dozens of people in those first few weeks. You introduce yourself over and over. You answer the same questions: Where are you from? What are you studying? Where are you living?

Most of those interactions pass quickly.

And then every once in a while, you happen to sit next to someone on a bus and find a person who will still be part of your life years later.

That's what Berkeley Hillel gave me almost immediately.

It created the conditions for relationships to happen.

As the years went on, those friendships grew far beyond the retreat.

We went to barbecues.

We celebrated Shabbat.

We went on trips.

We took classes.

We walked together from wherever we were living to Hillel.

We celebrated holidays.

We spent ordinary time together.

By senior year, some of those same friends were sitting together every week in Rabbi Adam's Jewish learning course, talking about texts and hearing one another's perspectives.

That's one of the things I loved about Hillel.

The social community and the Jewish community weren't really separate.

You could become friends with someone at a retreat, eat barbecue with them, travel with them, celebrate with them, and then sit down together and have a serious conversation about a Jewish text.

The relationship deepened in all of those different settings.

And eventually college ended.

We graduated.

People moved.

Life changed.

But those friendships didn't disappear.

Now I'm in New York, and many of the people from different parts of my life—friends I grew up with and friends I met at Berkeley—are nearby.

We still gather for Jewish moments.

My partner and I love hosting Shabbat in our home.

We host Seders and Rosh Hashanah dinners.

Friends come over.

Food ends up on the table.

People gather.

In some ways, it feels very similar to what I loved about Jewish life at Berkeley Hillel.

The location changed.

The community grew up.

But the instinct remained the same.

Bring people together.

Make room.

Celebrate.

Eat.

Talk.

Build a life around the people you care about.

When I think back to that freshman retreat, what strikes me is how early Hillel began shaping my college experience.

I hadn't even figured out who my people were yet.

Then I sat down next to someone on a bus.