Rediscovering Judaism Through Play and Intuition

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When I first came to yeshiva full time, there was no “start here” button, no orientation manual. Just Torah, chavrusas, and an ocean of unfamiliar texts. At first, it felt like drowning. How could something so vast and sacred not offer a more structured entry point for baal teshuvas like myself?

But as of recent, I’m thinking that maybe that was the entry point. Play. Just start swimming. Judaism is not (solely) a structure. Judaism is infinite and unlimited. It’s not about restrictions, but rather a relationship with the Divine.

There’s a term in Hebrew which I’ve discovered used in Chassidus and Nigleh (the revealed dimension of the Torah) — שַׁעְשׁוּעַ —which means “plaything” or “delight.” A Sha’ashua is a toy to engage children in play. King David in Psalm 119:174 says, “Your Torah is my plaything (sha’ashua).” His son, King Solomon, in Proverbs 8:31, writes, the Torah is for Hashem “a plaything every day.”

The Torah is not a light, superficial kind of plaything. We learn that Hashem created the world as an act of delight, of divine play. And if Judaism is meant to mirror that divine relationship, then maybe the whole experience of Torah learning, mitzvos, and growth is less like climbing a rigid ladder and more like entering an infinite playground.

In a talk given on 24 Tishrei 5750, the Rebbe discussed three types of shields and their varying degrees of susceptibility to ritual impurity. The first is a shield with inverted sides, which is susceptible to tum’as midras, impurity transmitted by pressure or weight. The second is a shield used as a toy or in group entertainment, which can become impure through contact with a corpse. The third type is associated with celebrations held by Araviyim (Arabs) and remains completely pure and is never susceptible to impurity. The Rebbe explained that the way each shield is used determines its susceptibility to impurity. In Chassidus, ritual impurity is understood as a spiritual deficiency, a disruption in a person’s connection to G‑d.

The Rebbe goes on to elaborate on the shield used in the Arabs’ celebrations:

This is a very small shield that can only be used for jousts and war-games and is not fit for actual combat. Similarly, it is not used for any other purposes. Accordingly, it is not susceptible to ritual impurity at all.

These three shields symbolize three distinct approaches to avodah, the spiritual work, of refining and elevating the world. The third shield, used in the Arab celebrations, represents an approach in which "the shield,” the engagement with the world, holds no personal significance. The individual remains completely above worldly involvement. In this state, as the Rebbe teaches, “Israel and the Holy One, blessed be He, are one.” The Jew is bound to G‑d, the very source of life and purity, and therefore remains untouched by death and impurity.

At first glance, the last shield sounds almost out of place, but it’s essential. It’s not about being silly, but about sincerity. One with G-d. Like a child’s natural joy, trust, and spontaneity, this approach reflects a deep inner purity that serves as a kind of spiritual immunity. Such playfulness isn’t an escape from seriousness, but rather a different way of relating to it. A lighter, more whole way.

It’s become a question I now ask myself often: how can play show up in this area of my life? When I sit down to learn, am I rigid and striving, or curious and open? When I meditate, am I choosing to be curious and playful about what meditation I practice? When I daven (pray), is it a checklist or a date with the Divine? When I meet people, do I feel guarded or spacious? Play invites intuition to the table. It allows things to unfold rather than be forced.

One of the tools I’ve used for this is something called Kylego, from transformational comedian, Kyle Cease. You write about something you’re hoping for as if it already happened. You describe it vividly, emotionally, as though it’s already happened. It’s not about pretending. It’s about tuning into the frequency of what’s possible without attachment to the outcome. I’ve also practiced a daily daydream, journaling in the morning my day as if it already happened and writing down all the amazing events that took place. Believe it or not, many times the things I wrote did occur. I didn’t do it as a productivity hack, but as a doorway into presence. Other times, I simply open a blank page and journal on the questions: What would I love (to create) right now? What do I truly want - what’s would be ideal? These activities bring me out of my head and into my heart, the place with more curiosity and play.

Furthermore, play complements intuition. Together, they soften the edges of discipline. Discipline isn’t rigidity, it’s consistency with presence. It’s showing up again and again, but not squeezing the life out of the moment with expectations. When I release the need to control how something unfolds, I give it permission to become more than I imagined.

So now, nearly three years into yeshiva Hadar Hatorah, I see it differently. It’s not a system I’m trying to go through or master. It’s a playground I get to explore. There’s depth and seriousness, but underneath it all is a quiet invitation: come play. Be present. Be real. Don’t try to figure it all out. Just jump in and start swimming.

There’s no perfect place to start. That’s the beauty of it.

You’re already here.

Next time you're caught in outcome-driven thinking, ask yourself:

“What would this look like if I brought more play into it?”

Because play isn’t childish.

Play is freedom.

Play is divine.

And if you ever feel like you're drowning in the deep end of life or Yiddishkeit, remember: maybe you're not supposed to swim.

Maybe you're supposed to splash.