What's the difference between happiness and joy—and does Judaism care? In this episode of Weird Being Jewish, Rabbis Matt Reimer, and Jeffrey Weill and Josh Rose discuss whether Jewish practice actually generates joy or just names it. Along the way, they question the American, individualist chase for "happiness" and weigh it against a communal, ethical frame.

You'll hear a sukkah open-house story, a meteor-shower moment that turns into a lesson about craving, and a spirited back-and-forth over aligning with "the Ultimate" versus focusing on doing the mitzvot right now—inviting guests, visiting the sick, making time for people. No neat answers, but sharp debate and practical takeaways: joy tends to show up where there's community, rhythm, and responsibility. If you've ever wondered whether the calendar can make you happier—or just more human—this one's for you.

Just before this past the High Holidays, Rabbis Matt, Jeff Weill, and Josh Rose wrestled with a blunt dilemma: when the world feels bleak, what belongs on the bimah—unvarnished realism, performative uplift, or a hard-won mix of both? They talk about shielding kids from despair, writing sermons that don't lie, and whether prayers for captives can honestly say "speedily" years in. Along the way they parse the difference between timeless petitions (peace, redemption) and policy-laden hopes, and ask what prayer means if God isn't a vending machine.

From machzor-as-cycle to Judaism-as-forward-motion, from teshuva as "return" to hope as an act of agency, they argue that perspective is one of the few things we truly control. Even in bad times, people still make music, love each other, and build meaning. The episode lands on a clear thesis: if you believe there's hope, you'll act like it—and that behavior is the point. Plus: Ned Flanders, Devo, and why ending in honesty might be the most Jewish move of all.

Rabbi Josh Rose and Rabbi Jeffrey Weill open with quick banter about The Clash—correcting a claim that Allen Ginsberg wrote broadly for Combat Rock (it was a spoken-word feature on "Ghetto Defendant")—then pivot to their real topic: Jewish peoplehood. They trade personal moments that made peoplehood feel tangible: a wild wedding hora, a teenage son's ecstatic trip to Israel, and the fantasy of a synchronized, worldwide Shema. Both admit strong, visceral bonds to other Jews, yet note how personality, humor, music, and shared culture can sometimes trump tribal ties in day-to-day affinity.

They then interrogate whether "peoplehood" exists or is better treated as an aspirational story worth preserving despite deep political and theological fractures. Weill recalls an Israeli guide who felt more kinship with an Arab Israeli bus driver than with U.S. Jews, raising questions about nationhood vs. Jewishness. He references Eric Alterman's We Are Not One to underscore disunity, while Rose argues the dream still has value even if the facts don't add up neatly. They close by distinguishing love for the Jewish collective from friction with particular Jews, debating "myth" vs. "dream," invoking (and nitpicking) Herzl's "If you will it…" line, and, fittingly, ending where they began—on music.