In this moment of rising fear and fractured connection, Jewish joy isn’t a luxury — it’s a lifeline. That’s why Sam Aboudara’s recent call in eJewishPhilanthropy to treat Jewish joy as a “communal imperative” resonates so deeply. He argues that joy is not ancillary to Jewish life but foundational. Immersive experiences like summer camp, he writes, “don’t just work — they transform.”

He’s right. Camp works. The data proves it. Camp creates lasting Jewish identity through joy, learning and community. It’s our most impactful model across denominations and geography.

But if we believe Jewish joy is essential and transformational, then we must ask: Where does that transformational power go when childhood ends? Where is the mechanism to reignite or sustain that same sense of belonging, meaning and transformation throughout the Jewish lifecycle? Where can children watch parents and grandparents model Jewish joy as a lifelong pursuit?

One answer lies in an underutilized yet rapidly growing model: Jewish retreating.

Jewish retreating is emerging as a powerful tool to extend Jewish joy beyond childhood and into adulthood: into parenthood, empty-nesting, caregiving and spiritual seeking. Like camp, it offers immersive environments rich in song, nature, ritual, community and culture. But unlike camp, it is tailored for adults and multigenerational audiences and designed to reach those adults at transitional or transformational life stages.

In the same way that youth summer camps “leave a deep emotional and spiritual imprint,” as Aboudara says, Jewish retreats can offer adults and families intentional time away to reconnect with joy, tradition and each other. They’re not replacements for camps but continuations — new avenues for lifelong Jewish meaning and belonging.

The closest our community has come to large-scale Jewish retreating for adults and families was the golden era of the Borscht Belt. As Sara Fredman Aeder recently wrote in JTA, the Catskills once provided an immersive cultural space for Jewish leisure and connection.

As nostalgic as that era may be, it’s not the model we need now.

First, the Borscht Belt was built for a specific moment and group: a mostly homogenous Jewish population concentrated in the Northeast. Today, the American Jewish community is far more diverse in identity, geography and both spiritual and cultural expression. And in an age of remote work and virtual connectivity, our potential for retreating is no longer bound by zip code or season.

Second, while the Borscht Belt captured fun and entertainment, it lacked the deeper educational and communal layers that give summer camp, and Jewish retreats, their long-term power. Jewish joy is not just about escape; it’s about connection to purpose, people and tradition.

A modern Jewish retreating movement — call it Borscht Belt 2.0 — must build on what worked and go further: offering intentional, holistic spaces where Jewish joy, literacy, connection and fun are woven together.

Meeting the post-Oct. 7 moment

The case for retreating isn’t just philosophical — it’s strategic.

According to the last year’s report by the Jewish Federations of North America, we’re in the midst of a post-Oct. 7 “surge” of Jewish curiosity, especially among adults who aren’t traditionally affiliated but are now seeking meaning and connection. These individuals fall into two key groups: “The Surge,” those newly interested in Jewish life; and “The Core,” those already engaged but hungry for deeper, more relational experiences. 

Both groups are seeking what the report calls “low-barrier, high-quality, deeply relational” Jewish engagement. Jewish retreats deliver exactly that. They’re not one-off events, nor do they require long-term commitments. But they do offer meaningful immersion — time and space to learn, connect and recharge.

Retreats are a rare format that bridges casual interest and lasting impact. They offer a soft landing for the newly curious and a spiritual recharge for the deeply committed. For funders, this dual value, reaching both the disaffected and the devoted, is an uncommon opportunity.

Importantly, Jewish retreating isn’t a critique of our current institutions. It’s a complement — and in many cases, a catalyst.

As Elie Kaunfer wrote in Sapir Journal, smart Jewish innovation doesn’t aim to dismantle legacy structures. It seeks to upgrade them. “The goal,” he writes, “is not to tear something to the ground, but rather to make improvements to a system that tends toward stagnation or erosion when left unchallenged.”

Jewish retreats embody this principle. They partner with or are run by synagogues, JCCs, federations, community nonprofits and camps. They can offer clergy and educators a space for professional renewal, bring lapsed participants back into the fold and help spark new lay leadership. They often operate on summer camp campuses, transforming underutilized infrastructure into year-round Jewish vitality.

One compelling example is LimmudFest, a learning festival held over Labor Day weekend through a partnership between the Kaplan Mitchell Retreat Center at Ramah Darom (where I serve as director) and Limmud North America. The partnership between Ramah Darom and Limmud North America is unique, where each organization brings the strength of its expertise to the table to complement the other and provide a robust framework for learning that is both structured and flexible. The gathering blends structured and open-ended Jewish learning, children’s programming and a community of seekers from all Jewish backgrounds. LimmudFest isn’t just an event, it’s an ecosystem. And it’s built entirely around the retreat model, thriving through innovation within existing systems.

From imperative to infrastructure

If joy is a Jewish imperative, retreating is the infrastructure we need to deliver it consistently, accessibly and across the lifespan.

Retreats bring together everything we say we value: immersive learning, deep relationships, multigenerational community and joy that is rooted in meaning. They offer a vital, scalable format for engaging the hearts and souls of a diverse Jewish population — many of whom are eager to connect but unsure where to begin.

We often say we want more Jewish joy. Retreating is where we can build it.

It’s time to move from admiring the model to investing in it.

Eliana Leader is the director of the Kaplan Mitchell Retreat Center at Ramah Darom, located in the North Georgia mountains.