Eitan Kantor, Hadgaba Band Member

Performing music with a band forces me to focus deeply on tempo, rhythm, intonation and dynamics. I do not have the mental agility to stay with the band and simultaneously reflect on environmental degradation or systemic racism. As I move the hairs of the bow across the strings, my mind escapes worry and guilt.

Unsurprisingly, skiing provides me with a mental escape as well. Concentrating on the task of avoiding trees and children on leashes is a mortal imperative, and time on the lift is spent attempting not to get frostbite, so my days on the mountain rarely allow for much introspection. For me, the pow-covered gnar-shredding slopes of Summit County represent blissful, pre-meditated disengagement.

As someone with a stronger-than-average sense of guilt, I appreciate the way that skiing and musical performance enable me to avoid self-reflection. I was, therefore, a bit miffed when Zack Sapinsley explained to me his vision for the first Hadgaba (our band) performance at the Backcountry Bayit (BCB). Zack explained that the performance should include songs about light, and that the band should lead a deep conversation about light and Hanukah that challenges attendees to look deep inside of their hearts.

Zack’s vision made me nervous. Firstly, leading a deep conversation seemed like a barrier to accessing my preferred self-reflection-free musical state. Secondly, I was afraid that the conversation would alienate my fellow escapist shredders in the room. Hadgaba works hard to make people dance, not to make them think. Wanting to be accommodating, however, Hadgaba acquiesced to Zack’s requests.

And the people leaned in!

The people in the room, many of whom I had never met before, sang and danced with devekut and reflected on how to be more of a light for others. Hadgaba played what was supposed to be the finale, but the group insisted on singing one more song together. Shalom Aleichem was a holy ruckus! And all of this before dinner.

The BCB could provide free Shabbos dinners without intentional conversation and still achieve the Jewish continuity goals of many of the programs aimed at post-college yidden like me. And yet, undeterred by the prevailing escapism of the mountain culture, the residents of the BCB insist on having meaningful dialogues about mindfulness, environmental sustainability and masorah.

The success of the BCB’s programs continues to surprise me. How often do I find myself on edge because I am nervous that Zack’s long pre-kiddush drash is testing the patience of famished millennials, only to find that my peers are engaged, patient and hungry for conversation, and that the person with the shortest attention span is me? Why do folks continue to attend and invest in BCB programs? Why do people choose, after mentally arduous work weeks, to engage and to be vulnerable?

I don’t know the answer. It could be that people are willing to feign interest in order to have a hot meal and a free place to stay in the mountains. I suspect that is not the answer, though, because plenty of folks have friends with timeshares with extra floor space. It is also possible that my perception of the BCB’s success is based on selection bias. Surely plenty of mountain Jews opt-out of BCB mindfulness conversations in favor of immersion in Tinder p’shat. I do not blame these people.

But maybe I have also underestimated my peers’ and my own desire to seek meaning beyond what meets the eye.

My wish for the BCB community is that we push ourselves to have more and more challenging and generative conversations.