Jason Leivenberg

When I came to Berkeley, I didn't come from a particularly strong Jewish communal background.

I grew up in Los Angeles, but I wasn't someone who had gone to Jewish camp.

I hadn't been part of a youth group.

I didn't have the language or experiences that a lot of the Jewish students I would eventually meet at Berkeley seemed to have.

So when an acquaintance from high school called me during Welcome Week and said, "Come to Shabbat dinner at Berkeley Hillel," my first reaction was basically:

What is that?

She was a year ahead of me and told me she'd meet me at the corner of Bancroft and Telegraph so we could walk over together.

That mattered.

I didn't really know what I was walking into.

I knew almost nobody at Berkeley.

It's an enormous university, and suddenly I was a freshman trying to figure out where I was going, literally and figuratively.

So we met on the corner.

And we walked up to Hillel together.

The thing I remember most is the welcome.

"Shabbat Shalom."

"Shabbat Shalom."

"Shabbat Shalom."

Warm handshakes.

People saying hello.

People realizing I was a freshman and asking how things were going.

There was this immediate warmth.

I was also a little uncertain.

Was there something I was supposed to know?

Were there rituals I was supposed to understand?

Did I have to wear a kippah?

Was everyone else going to know what to do while I stood there trying to figure it out?

But those worries didn't end up mattering very much.

I felt seen.

I felt held.

I was a brand-new freshman at Berkeley, and people were paying attention to me.

That first Shabbat became an entry point into a world I really hadn't known before.

I met staff members who became mentors.

At the time, Hillel had JCSC fellows, young staff members who were close enough in age that they felt accessible but experienced enough that they could help you navigate the community.

For me, they almost became concierges to Jewish life.

They helped me figure out what was available.

And there was a lot available.

I eventually became a campus engagement intern.

I became vice president of the Jewish Student Union.

I worked at the front desk for years.

"Hello, Berkeley Hillel, this is Jason. How can I help you?"

By senior year, I had a key and the code to the building.

I opened it.

I closed it.

I helped with the senior campaign.

I went on service-learning trips to New Orleans.

I went on Birthright, which was my first real connection to Israel.

I immersed myself in almost every possible expression of Jewish life.

What was remarkable was that it never felt like someone had decided there was one path I needed to follow.

Hillel felt almost personalized.

There was this enormous menu of possibilities.

You could try something.

You could take something else on.

You could decide something wasn't for you.

You could explore Jewish life at your own pace.

And the people around you kept checking in.

Not in a way that felt like recruitment.

Nobody made me feel like I was a number they needed to count.

It felt relational.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Let's walk together."

"Come to Shabbat dinner."

"Do you want to do this Friday night?"

Those invitations taught me something about Jewish community that I don't think I understood before Berkeley.

Being Jewish wasn't only about knowing the ritual.

It wasn't only about knowing the vocabulary.

It wasn't about having gone to camp or youth group.

It was also about the way people treated one another.

Checking in.

Making the invitation.

Walking together.

Creating warmth.

Some of the friends I met through Hillel did that naturally.

Even when we were home in Los Angeles during breaks, people like Sam Aberback and Oren Gabriel would say, "Come to Shabbat dinner," or "Let's do something together."

I had never really experienced that kind of warm invitation before.

And gradually, I started learning how to extend it myself.

Looking back almost twenty years later, that's part of what feels most significant.

I arrived at Berkeley without much connection to organized Jewish life.

I didn't know the language.

I didn't know the customs.

I didn't even know what Berkeley Hillel was when someone first invited me there.

But I was curious.

And people took me under their wing.

They showed me what this world could look like.

Hillel was both the foreground and the background for that transformation.

It was the place where I learned.

The place where I led.

The place where I found mentors.

The place where I found friends.

And eventually, it became the place that helped me understand not only what Jewish community could give me, but what it looked like to create that kind of community for someone else.

It all started with somebody saying:

Meet me at Bancroft and Telegraph.

We'll walk together.