May 23 this year was an ordinary Sunday, or so I thought. My wife and I had arranged to meet some dear friends at the Peacefood Café on Amsterdam Avenue at 5:30 PM. As we drove from Riverdale, I didn’t give much thought to what we would have to eat or how long we would stay; my mind was occupied with wondering if we’d be seated.
We arrived a few minutes before our friends, and I kept a watchful eye for them as well as scanning the streets. I hadn’t been on the west side of Manhattan in what seemed like ages. News reports had made it seem that only unsavory, predatory types were out and about. Well, maybe on some sidewalks but no one hassled us that afternoon. We were ushered quickly into the restaurant and given a table in the back corner near the kitchen, ideal for conversation.
Three hours later when we got up to leave, I realized that we had participated in an experience that was not imaginable just months earlier. Indeed, it’s why I’m writing about that afternoon; by going out with friends to a restaurant for the first time in a long time, I had a sense of energy and bliss that people feel when they come together in a group around a shared activity. It was magical!
With Covid lockdowns, all of us have had our social lives obliterated. Working from home, I, like so many others, have been trapped in domestic isolation. To be sure, I did find delight watching shows on Netflix. But TV bingeing, even with my spouse, was just sharing individual pastimes. Even when we FaceTimed or zoomed with our children and grandchildren, it was fine, but it wasn’t the same as a collective and interactive activity.
What we were sorely missing during Covid is what is called collective effervescence. It is shared happiness, the joy we felt around that modest restaurant table. Peacefood Café is not particularly known for haute cuisine. But it seemed to us that we never had such an exquisitely tasting meal, although menu items are all vegetarian and hardly the type of food to swoon over. That afternoon, the penne un-chicken parmesan, the sautéed beech mushroom bowl, even the sushi rolls were rapturous. We laughed easily, we talked and even hugged each other. The conversation was scintillating. Joy abounded everywhere!
Luckily, the restaurant management didn’t care that we were using the space for twice the normal allotted time. Perhaps they had some background in social science and knew that emotions are contagious: maybe they were using us to spread joie de vivre and collective effervescence throughout the establishment.
The concept of collective effervescence was coined in the early 20th century by the pioneering Jewish sociologist Émile Durkheim. Although he never wrote directly on a Jewish topic,Durkheim came from a long line of rabbinical ancestors and initially prepared himself for the rabbinate. As such, he must have experienced many times what has been taught since biblical times: namely, that when Jews come together and engage in sacred rituals of Sabbath or holidays, there is a buildup of energy and emotion. Because of so many occasions of collective celebration, the late Rabbi Sacks has even called Judaism “an ode to joy.” Praying, chanting and meditating are experienced quite differently when performed in a group; there’s a kind of ‘social heat’ in the air. Durkheim believed this ‘social heat’ sparks feelings of excitement within the individual and unifies the group.
Last fall, I wrote an article about how “joy” or “simcha” as it appears in the bible epitomizes the society Jews were to make in the Promised Land. Simcha, moreover, is not a private emotion. It means happiness shared. It is a social state, a predicate of “we,” not “I.” There is no such thing as feeling simcha alone. It is, as such, “collective effervescence,” the joy we have only because we share.
To be sure, collective effervescence happens not only during religious ceremonies; it happens anytime joie de vivre spreads through a group. Before Covid, research showed that more than three-quarters of people found collective effervescence at least once a week and almost a third experienced it at least once a day. They felt it when they sang or danced or jogged together, and they felt it in quieter moments of connection at coffee shops and in yoga classes. It is an exalted state of collective consciousness or group flow or fizz. I have also written about having such exhilarating feelings when my family went to escape rooms. we forged such feelings in the deep fun of solving problems together.
But as lockdowns and social distancing became the norm, there were fewer and fewer of these moments. Instead, many of us found ourselves drawn into a dark cloud. Nearly everyone lost some semblance of normal life. The number of adults with symptoms of depression or anxiety spiked from one in 10 Americans to about four in 10.
While it would seem that everyone would miss and long for collective effervescence, there are some people who report that they fear plunging back into socializing. They are avoiding throngs of people and dreading, or even putting off, the return to workplaces. This phenomenon is common enough that it is called “cave syndrome“ on social media and in some psychiatry circles. Studies suggest people will need time to adjust to newly reopen society. Many have gotten used to living in their bubbles and are reluctant to give up some of the positive aspects of spending more time cozying up with family at home. Just being around others again is anxiety-provoking because you’ve been conditioned to stay away from people.
During the pandemic, it’s generally been introverts, not extroverts, who have reported more depression, anxiety, stress and loneliness. Extroverts may seek more connection, but introverts need it as well — they are also energized by social interaction. In isolation, many introverts may have been surprised to feel forlorn. They were missing collective effervescence, too.
As some countries start to reopen, collective effervescence will happen naturally — and it already is. There will be fewer “Zoombies” on the internet in their pajama bottoms, attending listlessly through their computer screens. I hope that each of my readers has already started feeling the thrill of collective effervescence either at work, at a live social event, or at the rush of a real vacation.
Unfortunately, there is a caveat about collective effervescence that we have sadly seen this year. As great as collective effervescence makes us feel, it sometimes leads not to moral advance but moral regression. The energy formed by a gathering of people as might be experienced at a sporting event, a rave, or a rally can cause people to act differently than in their everyday life. Especially if they are aroused by a charismatic speaker, law-abiding citizens may end up rioting, destroying property or trying to physically harm others
Truth be told, unbridled joy and effervescence can lead to barbarism, bedlam, and even bloodshed. History is replete with examples of Jews being victims of violence erupting after a demagogue or dictator rallied a crowd into collective antisemitic frenzy and fury.
We have also seen instances of Jews and other religious people causing harm to themselves and others, ironically, while seeking more simcha in their lives. It is one thing to want to celebrate the rituals of marriage, of funerals, of holidays in time-honored ways; it was totally reckless and dangerous to do it in defiance of health and safety regulations and social distancing standards.
The drive to experience collective effervescence also led to the worst civilian disaster in Israel’s modern history. In late April, over 100,000 people gathered at Mount Meron for a festival celebrated at the foot of the mountain each year. According to the Times of Israel, internal police and government reports warned of the potential for disaster. A national traffic police report said the holy site could not safely accommodate the crowds that come each year and a state comptroller warned "systemic failure" could endanger worshipers. One of the attendees who came to rejoice was an all-around wonderful 18-year-old boy, Donny Morris, from New Jersey. His family is originally from Rochester, and I personally know his grandparents and several of his uncles. Sadly, Donny was among those crushed as thousands rushed down a narrow passage leaving the site; unable to stop their forward momentum, people began to fall over each other on a staircase at the base of the passage, and dozens were tragically trampled.
As we return to normalcy, or something like it, we can learn from such tragedies and rethink our understanding of authentic happiness. This transition period has been an ideal time to reconsider what really matters to us most deeply.
Simcha lives in the kinds of moments that we celebrate when people find solidarity in prudent, joyous but not turbulent activities, such as when I was watching my grandkids or having a simple Peacefood café dining experience with friends.
I credit Adam Grant, a profound and prolific Wharton professor, for sparking my interest in effervescent experiences post-Covid. The Declaration of Independence, says Grant, promised Americans unalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. If we want that pursuit to bring us bliss, it may be time to create what Grant terms a Declaration of Interdependence. You can feel depressed and anxious alone, but it’s rare to laugh alone or love alone. Joy connects us to others and gives us the strength to endure.
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