Living Between Worlds
The Shabbat Dinner Meets Studio Exec Happy Hour
Growing up in Beverly Hills, I learned to navigate a curious sort of duality early on. One minute I’d be sitting at a star-studded charity gala, attempting not to drop my dinner roll on some overzealous publicist’s lap, and the next, I’d be home spelling “challah” with my cousins’ leftover challah crumbs at our Shabbat dinner table. My life has always been a three-way Venn diagram: one part Jewish tradition, one part Hollywood glitz, and one part trying-not-to-overthink-it chaos.
Living between worlds isn’t just about cultural dualities, though—although shouting, “Yes, I’d like some brisket,” over someone’s pitch about a gritty superhero reboot certainly made the list of my surreal moments. It’s about figuring out who you are when you’ve got a foot in two (or more) wildly different realms—and, to make things even trickier, realizing that straddling those worlds extends far beyond family dinners or writing rooms.
It seeps into everything, including dating and relationships. Trust me, navigating the early stages of romance while toggling between “I grew up praying over candles” and “I once accidentally took a selfie with an A-list actor at a Whole Foods” can be... well, let’s just say complex.
Jewish Guilt vs. Hollywood Politeness
Picture this: You’re on a date with someone you met at a friend’s birthday party in Silver Lake (where else?). They’re cool, effortlessly nonchalant—the kind of person who listens to jazz on vinyl and owns exactly one sweater they keep re-wearing in all their Instagram posts. Somewhere between your first sip of overpriced kombucha and the moment they tell you their enneagram type, they casually bring up a recent weekend in San Diego.
The problem? It was Saturday.
A wave of guilt rushes over me like a plot twist in a bad rom-com: “Saturday… no Shabbat? How would Nana feel?” Meanwhile, the other part of me—the one raised amidst a 24/7, boundary-less entertainment industry—thinks, “Am I making this weird? Do they think I have, like, a complex?” Add a third voice chiming in from deep within my psyche (the therapist echo, if you will), and suddenly, the dialogue in my own head sounds like an off-off Broadway play.
This isn’t just limited to Shabbat, of course. Trying to explain cultural traditions—or even making space for them—can feel like a delicate dance. “I need you to come to my cousin’s wedding” somehow sounds a lot heavier when your cousin’s wedding is a seven-hour of hora-ing in a ballroom filled with your entire extended family and a klezmer-band-led conga line. And don’t even get me started on introducing the concept of shiva to someone whose idea of grief involves a Vegas trip.
Switching the Script IRL
Here’s the thing: living between worlds isn’t about being stuck in limbo. It’s about learning to lean into all the parts of your life without worrying that one will overshadow the others. It’s realizing that you can FaceTime your mom for first-date outfit advice while successfully balancing your career, culture, and relationships—and do it all with your sense of humor (and sanity, mostly) intact.
Here are a few ways I’ve learned to thrive while living between worlds—and maybe even love it, too:
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Embrace Context Clues, Not Context Crises
The first time I dated someone who didn’t know what latkes were, I had an existential crisis. What else didn’t they know? Mezuzahs? Fiddler on the Roof?! I’ve since learned not to jump to DEFCON 1 every time I have to explain something quintessentially “me.” Lean into the teaching moments but keep it light—your culture isn’t a quiz, and your date isn’t a contestant on Jeopardy! -
Find Humor in the Awkwardness
Humor is the ultimate bridge between worlds. Case study: My last boyfriend shouted “Mazel tov!” inappropriately at a soccer match, and I fell in love a little. Sure, being misunderstood can sting, but it’s a lot easier when you can laugh with the person instead of at them. -
Set Boundaries Without Apology
If going to Friday-night dinner with your family is non-negotiable, own it! The scariest part about articulating your commitments isn’t the other person’s reaction—it’s convincing yourself you’re allowed to want what you want. Maybe a 9 PM happy hour doesn’t work, but brunch tomorrow might. The best relationships have room for both schnitzel and spontaneity. -
Own Your (Extra)ness
People love to label multi-layered people as “complicated.” In my book, we’re just interesting. Whether you’re balancing environmental activism with a secret skincare obsession, or you’re a writer who journals in Yiddish before binging season three of Love Is Blind, let the quirks breathe—they’re why someone will adore you.
What Hollywood Taught Me About Balance
If there’s one thing you learn after spending too much time in Los Angeles, it’s this: You don’t owe anyone the polished version of yourself—not the overly curated dating app bio, not the most “relatable” childhood anecdote, not the shiny highlight reel you think they want to see.
True connection happens in the messy in-between. It’s not always about proving who you are or where you’ve been but about being curious enough to ask where the other person is coming from, too.
My next boyfriend might not know who Nora Ephron is, but he might not flinch when I invite him to my parents’ Shabbat table. And hey, if he wants to turn his phone off during Havdalah and have a serious side conversation with my mom about The Godfather sequels, bonus points.
Blurring the Worlds—And Loving It
There’s a quiet power in living between opposing spaces. On some days, you feel like an unstoppable cultural hybrid, effortlessly switching between Sarah Silverman quips and wide-eyed seriousness. (Other days, you feel like the human equivalent of that awkward blank space where two puzzle pieces don’t quite fit.)
But navigating these worlds while building relationships teaches you resilience. It challenges you to show up, even when things feel uncomfortable. So go ahead—flirt with someone who has no clue whether matzah is a cracker or a bread stand-in. Leave room for misunderstandings, clarifications, and those moments where your mom casually asks if they’ll bring kugel to book club.
Because at the end of the day, living between worlds isn’t just about compromise; it’s about creating something new in the overlap. And honestly? That’s where the magic happens.
