Like the secular world, the organized Jewish community today has a bit of a crush on entrepreneurs. In a recent New York Times Magazine article, Nathaniel Richm quotes Paul Buchheit, a partner at Y Combinator, a Silicon Valley based incubator searching for the next founders of a billion-dollar company: “If there’s going to be another Sergey Brin and Larry Page, and anyone can be Sergey and Larry, then it’s only logical for investors to bet on as many founders as possible. You can’t win the game unless you ante up.” Y Combinator, and other Silicon Valley investors, are in the game to win; they want to find the people behind the next “big idea” and they want a piece of their big, hypothetical pie.

Today, Israel’s 65th Independence Day, it is appropriate that we stop and take pride in the many strengths of this young nation, and what its existence and growth has meant for Jewish people not only in Israel but around the world. 2013 offers much for LGBT people to take pride in compared with 1948.

Today marks the end of a three week period on the Jewish calendar that begins with Passover, in which we tell the Biblical story of our people’s exodus from bondage in Egypt, and ends with Yom Ha'atzmaut, on which this year we mark the 65th anniversary of the establishment of the modern state of Israel. We mark these two connected episodes of liberation, an ancient miracle and a modern one. The creation of the free and independent state of Israel is perhaps the most profound miracle of the 20th century, the reconnection of the Jewish people with our historical roots.

In a recent article in the Sunday Styles Section of The New York Times entitled “The Family Stories that Bind Us,” Bruce Feiler notes a surprising correlation between the resilience and health of children and their fluency in their family’s stories: “the single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative.” He quotes research that has identified that “the more children knew about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem.”

In order to genuinely learn about the needs and experiences of others, we must put aside our own assumptions, agendas, and even passions. In order to truly listen to the other, we must be willing to admit that perhaps we do not know the things about which we are so certain, so confident.

The Talmud, in tractate Megillah 7b states the following: “Rava said: A person is obligated to get drunk on Purim so that he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordecai.’” I’ve never understood this tradition to drink on Purim. Yes, Purim is our mardi-gras, the Jewish day of letting go. The Megillah is full of references to drinking and to excess. But to not be able to distinguish between Haman and Mordecai? It seems absurd! That’s like not knowing our left from our right, our good from our bad, ourselves from another. It’s impossible! And, even more wild, is how the story continues:

This article first appeared on Jewish Futures.

My father grew up in the “real Bronx” – a world very different from the “pseudo-Bronx” of Riverdale where he raised his children. He played stickball on the streets with the Italian kids, who called him Luigi The Jew, and came home regularly with torn pants, skinned knees, and the fear of facing his mother, who would inevitably say to him: “If you’d been the first child, you would’ve been the last!” Then he’d have to suffer shopping for new pants at Barney’s, where he was an “irregular husky,” a size that weighed on his identity. His family was a member at the Young Israel of Parkchester, an Orthodox community composed of the lower-middle class workers of the East Bronx, many of whom were immigrants and did not have any Jewish education or background. (Professor Jeffrey Gurock, who also grew up in that community, writes about this synagogue, and my grandfather, in the introduction to his book “Orthodox Jews in America”). The youth were the hope and the pulse of the congregation. And when children became Bar or Bat Mitzvah age, they became responsible for ensuring the continuity, relevance, and vibrancy of the community.