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A few days ago, our family was invited to a Purim party, and we immediately said yes. We don’t know that many people where we live yet, so we jumped at the invite. I noticed myself almost asking the question, “Who else is coming?” Then I stopped. I’ve learned over the years not to ask that question.

When we were first starting the Jewish Grad Organization (JGO), after inviting someone to an event people would ask me that all the time: “Who else is coming?” And I understood why they were asking. But the problem is we didn't really have anyone. We didn’t have momentum. We had a vision and a lot of uncertainty, but we didn't have people yet. I needed every person I invited.

Those early programs were hard. I would set up chairs and quietly hope they wouldn’t stay empty. I would watch the door and pray people believed in the first ever community just for Jewish grad students. I would count the people as they walked in and every person who showed up felt like a small victory.

There’s a Jewish idea that says, “kol hatchalot kashot” - all beginnings are difficult. I’ve seen how true that is as often when we start something meaningful it starts out messy and uncomfortable before it ever looks successful.

This past Monday, I was invited to an event run by a brand-new Jewish organization. It was their first time doing programming and I was happy for them. I didn’t ask who else was coming, I just dropped everything and went.

When I got there, I was the first person to show up and the founder was standing outside, clearly nervous. He was trying to look calm, but you could see he was worried. He had put his heart into this, and he had no idea if anyone would care enough to show up.

When he saw me, his whole face changed. He smiled and I could see his face relax a little. And as a few more people arrived, you could feel the tension leave him.

I’ve been in that exact spot so many times. Standing there, hoping people walk through the door. Wondering if what you’re building matters and if you’re wasting your time.

It brought me right back.

Starting something is incredibly vulnerable. You’re putting yourself out there without knowing how it will be received. You’re risking disappointment. You’re risking embarrassment. And you’re doing it anyway because you believe it’s important.

Over the years, I’ve learned that showing up is one of the greatest forms of support there is.

Not just sending a nice text or liking a post, but actually coming.

If you want Jewish life to grow and organizations to survive and thrive, you can’t only show up once they’re successful. You have to be there when they’re small and unsure and still finding their footing. I am so happy and thankful JGO found our footing and we are now teeming with students at all 800 events we had in the last year around North America.

Sometimes, being one extra person in the room gives someone the strength to keep going.

I’ve seen it, felt it, I’ll never forget it.

All beginnings are difficult, but they’re a lot less difficult when someone decides they’re worth showing up for.

Warmly,
Dave