This past Shabbat, my extended family gathered at the Dead Sea for what we call “Bubbie Shabbat.”
Years ago, my grandmother created this annual family reunion. Though she passed away eleven years ago, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren still gather together annually because of something she intentionally planted.
As I looked around the table this year, at our big beautiful family, I was struck by how different everyone is.
Different personalities. Different life paths. Different ways of being in the world.
And yet, we all know where we come home.
I found myself thinking about Parshat Bamidbar, where the Torah carefully describes where each tribe camped. Every shevet had a specific place. A flag. A surrounding community.
No one wandered the desert without knowing where they belonged.
At first glance, these details can feel technical or repetitive. But perhaps the Torah is describing something deeply human.
People need belonging.
Not only a physical place, but an emotional and spiritual place: These are my people. This is my story. This is where I return.
In many ways, modern life has weakened this sense of rootedness.
Families are spread across continents. Communities feel more fragile. Children often inherit enormous amounts of information but very little family narrative.
Researchers have found that children who know family stories, traditions, and intergenerational history tend to show greater resilience and emotional security. Long before modern psychology articulated this, Torah already understood that identity is formed through connection and continuity.
Perhaps this is one of the quiet roles grandparents play.
Not to make grandchildren identical to us. The tribes themselves were distinct from one another.
But to help create a family culture where, despite difference, children still know: I belong here.
Sometimes this happens through large intentional traditions, like our yearly family gathering.
And sometimes through much smaller things: A recipe. A melody. A phrase. A certain way of welcoming people at the table. The feeling of being known.
Grandchildren do not only inherit beliefs. They inherit emotional worlds.
And maybe one of the greatest gifts we can give is helping them feel that no matter where life takes them, they know where they come home.
How can I make these moments?
1. Joyful. Create one small repeated moment of joy this week with family. A favorite snack, song, joke, or ritual. Belonging is often built through repetition more than grandeur.
2. Intentional. Share a family story this week with a child or grandchild. Tell them something about where they come from, who came before them, or what your family values most deeply.
3. Connection. Reach out to someone in your family simply to strengthen connection, without needing a reason or occasion. Relationships deepen through consistent presence.
Wishing you a Shabbat of joyful, intentional connection,
Rabbanit Sharona Hassan
Founder of Grand Plan
Enrollment is now open for the next round of Becoming the Grandparent You Want to Be. Participants describe it as 'life-changing.' Check it out here. If you have any questions, please reach out to me. I want you to be there.
You can also sponsor a weekly connection email or Connecting Jewish Grandparents podcast episode in honor or memory of someone you love.
A parent. A grandparent. A child.
It is a meaningful way to connect generations while supporting conversations around Jewish continuity, family connection, and legacy.
https://grandplan.kit.com/profile/sponsorship
Did you listen to the Connecting Jewish Grandparents: The Grand Plan Podcast this week?
Spotify: bit.ly/JewishPodcast
Apple: bit.ly/JewishGrandApple
P.S. In celebrating Yom Yerushalayim I am thinking aboout the week of enormous miracles we experienced a short 59 years ago. Living in Israel, walking around Jerusalem, sometimes I lose sight of how extraordinary it is that we live in a generation which witness the Six Day War, the Jewish return, rebuilding, and continuity with our own eyes. Sometimes the greatest miracles slowly become too familiar. Perhaps part of our work is learning to notice them again.
