I Kept Waiting for the Crowd

A Beautiful Moment—and a Pause

I kept waiting for the crowd.

The video was beautiful, really soulful and heartfelt.

Snow covered the ground in a fresh, quiet blanket. The streetlights reflected off it in the way they do only after a snowfall, when everything feels softer and brighter at the same time. A rabbi stood high up on the fire department’s lift, singing the blessing beside a menorah.

Proud. Visible. A moment of Jewish presence that felt sincere.

And still, I waited.

For faces. For movement. For some sense of the people this moment was meant to represent.

That pause, that waiting, is where my work began.

The Question Wasn’t Meaning.

I never questioned whether the moment was meaningful. It was.

The question I found myself sitting with was different: Is this a recap of what happened, or does it tell the deeper story of what it felt like to be there?

That distinction matters, especially in Jewish community life.

Because a moment can be deeply meaningful in real time and still not fully translate when it’s shared later.

Recap vs. Storytelling

A recap shows us what happened. A story helps us understand why the moment matters. 

Both have value. But they do different jobs.

When something functions primarily as a recap, it often relies on context the viewer doesn’t have, sound, temperature, emotion, and shared memory or experience. The people who were there can easily fill in the gaps.

Someone who wasn’t there can’t. And that’s where the difference shows.

What Was Missing for the Story: Storytelling in Marketing

As I watched the video, I realized what I was waiting for wasn’t more spectacle. It was proximity.

I was looking for signs of experience:

• people gathered together

• faces reacting

• shared participation

• even a quiet presence

In Jewish life, some of the most heartfelt moments aren’t everyone singing together. They’re the amen moments. The shared response that says, I’m here with you, even if I don’t know every word.

That’s often where meaning becomes communal.

In this video, that layer never appeared.

Why This Matters in Jewish Marketing

In real life, we feel more than we see. We feel the cold all the way down to our toes, yet we hear the singing and feel the camaraderie of the crowd, even if we’re standing at the edge.

Online, people only feel what we show.

When a post shows the moment but not the surrounding experience, the meaning can remain locked in the image rather than extend outward.

That doesn’t make the content wrong. It means it hasn’t become a complete story yet.

Trusting the Moment—And Doing the Translation

This part is essential. I wasn’t there.

If the people present tell me the moment was powerful, I trust their judgment. Lived experience deserves respect.

But part of my role is different. My responsibility as a marketer for Jewish organizations is to share the story, and my job is to ask: What will someone understand and feel if this is their only glimpse into our community?

It’s all about the translation. The outside viewer lacks the context to fill in the gaps, and our job as marketers is to share the whole story of the community's value and experience, not just recap their events.

A Contrast That Clarified the Lesson

Around the same time, another school shared a video of a menorah-lighting ceremony with me, which resonated deeply. You could see the children bundled around the menorah, yet their faces shone with joy as they sang the blessings together. 

The overlay we chose to use: “It may be cold outside—but the warmth here is real.”

The post didn’t just show a moment. It showed what it felt like to be there. It showed a place you could imagine yourself standing in.

What Community Stories Need to Do

Community stories don’t need to impress. They need to help people feel comfortable in the space, as this is a moment I wish I were part of. That’s the difference between documenting an experience and inviting someone into it.

The blessings the rabbi recited were beautiful. They mattered. In Jewish life, blessings are not meant to be said in a single voice; they are intended to be answered with a collective amen. 

The power of a moment like this isn’t only in hearing the blessing, it’s in hearing it together. In the shared response. In the voices that join in, even quietly, in the people standing nearby, bundled up, choosing to be present.

That’s where Jewish life lives.

When a story shows the community responding, it tells us something more profound than what happened. It tells us who we are.

It shows that this is not just a meaningful moment led by one person, but a lived experience held by many.

This is the part of the work I care most about.

Taking something meaningful and asking: Does this preserve the moment, or does it reveal the life around it?

And sometimes, serving the community well means waiting.

Waiting until the story shows not just what happened, but how it was answered.