Drawing on Jewish Wisdom for the Winter Solstice

Every year, the clocks fall back, and the daylight narrows, inviting in the coziness of winter, and for millions globally, an experience of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). For those who experience SAD, the reduced daylight time can feel like an emotional weight, a day that is over before work or school ends, and a bleakness that mirrors barren trees and frosted grass. It is precisely at this time of year that we encounter many holidays of light and warmth, yet particularly for women, these holidays can come with expectations of caregiving, productivity, balancing it all, and emotional labor. Such expectations—even if they are backed by love for one’s family and community—can sharpen the sense that we are supposed to keep everyone warm while shivering ourselves.

Jewish tradition offers us a lens through which to reconsider the relationship we have with ourselves, our families, and the darkness of winter. 

Darkness within Judaism has long been presented as an opportunity and a beginning, from Genesis 1:5, in which evening precedes morning in the inception of the world, to Shabbat, in which we welcome the Bride of Shabbat with the hymn Lecha Dodi. From this lens of reorientation, we can ground ourselves in traditions and ideas that put forward new ways to honor ourselves in a season of cold and nighttime.

Shabbat as a Way to Honor the Darkness 

The Jewish ritual of Shabbat treats darkness as a companion to welcome each week. For women in the household, Shabbat can be a laborious—albeit meaningful—day to prepare for. But Shabbat can also be a meaningful opportunity to informally connect with others and broaden our communities. 

Last winter, I hosted Shabbat twice a month through the darkest months, gathering friends and friends-of-friends around a challah and a day’s worth of cooking. This was rewarding in forming new connections, but also exhausting, and I soon found myself nearing a feeling of burnout. To keep the community going, I realized I needed a new twist: potluck style. I asked guests to pick what they would contribute to the meal in advance, and on the day of, I enjoyed not only the camaraderie of my community but the recipes from a range of backgrounds, creating a harmony around my own recipes. 

These potluck experiences softened some of the intensity of the winter months. Like many women, I cherish my independence, but I realized that admitting I needed support from others to make Shabbat happen was not a mark of shame–instead, it was the beginning of a new era. While routine can always comfort us in times of darkness (both literal and metaphorical), much can be gained from branching out of our usual circles to engage with new perspectives and members of our communities. With the new recipes I welcomed into my home came new guests, many of whom I did not initially know but came invited by friends or a friend-of-a-friend to build community for an evening. As people come and go in our lives, the warmth of connecting with others from new and different walks of life is one that I’ve found to illuminate even the darkest winters. 

The Need for Quiet and Reflection 

Even with the joy of sisterhood and community spaces, there always remains a need for rest, recuperation, and reflection. A sister from the Torah, Hagar, was only able to meet God after resting. Another, Miriam, led the Israelites in a joyous dance before taking the time and space to recover from her illness. Both of these women demonstrated quiet power in restful and reflective spaces. 

Whether we realize it or not, we often carry with us expectations, stresses, and emotional weights that cling to us as we go through everyday life. While a pop-culture self-care session might claim to wash these away with a bubble bath, taking a weekend, evening, or Shabbat to ask yourself, “What is it I am carrying? What is it I am afraid to look at?” offers a deeper and more intimate way to know yourself. Taking the space to know and greet ourselves is a radical act, and one that is not readily encouraged by the torrents of advertisements we see every day. Connection with our values, reflection on our lives, and a pause to honor the space that we occupy within the world all go against the bustle of pushing through winter seasons and allow us to unload some of what makes the darkness so dizzying at this time of year. 

Self-Care as Mutual Responsibility

Wellness industries often position self-care as something we buy at the store and apply later in the evening. But even as far back as the Torah, self-care has been a communal affair, where areivut calls on us to practice a mutual responsibility for one another. How does this look in practice? Perhaps most immediately, it means telling people close to you how much they mean to you, or checking in on them in case they struggle at this time of year. But beyond the scope of your immediate circle, it means giving back to strangers, whether that be through donations or volunteering. This may seem like a tall order for a time of year when many of us feel limited in our capacities. And this may not be the right first step for everyone. But research does demonstrate a link between giving back—engaging in the community—and experiencing mental wellness benefits of your own. This mutuality highlights our interconnectedness: the ways in which we as people can grow isolated and yet have so much in common with others. Outreach is the critical first step to engaging. 

Returning to Our Roots

The concept of teshuvah in Judaism is most often associated with the repentance of Yom Kippur. Yet, the literal translation of this word focuses on returning. Returning in the winter months can mean many things: coming home to a warm dwelling with a loved one, reconnecting with families or communities, or rediscovering the joy of holiday traditions. But winter can also be an opportunity for a spiritual return to what matters most to us. Perhaps there’s a hobby that sits untouched in summer months when the sun beckons us to rejoice outside. Perhaps there’s a family history that has not yet been learned, an internal conflict unexplored. By applying teshuvah to the winter, we can return to what matters, and emerge from the season as an individual even more deeply engaged with the well-being of ourselves and others around us. 

A Jewish Feminist Conclusion About Winter

No matter how you choose to mark the shortened days and decreased temperatures, take time this winter to consider the choices you make. As winter slows down, Jewish tradition reminds us that healing is communal, slow, and sacred. The winter is long, but we must take it one candle at a time, knowing that none of us was meant to brighten the season by ourselves.