TORONTO — This past weekend, I was reminded about the true meaning of Judaism. 

But not from reading the Torah or the Talmud or from talking to a rabbi. 

Last weekend, 15 rowdy teenagers from across North America taught me everything I need to know about what it really means to be a Jew.

It’s not like this was my first opportunity to connect with my heritage. Growing up in Montreal, we were members of the still-in-its-infancy Reconstructionist synagogue. My parents chose to send their five kids to Jewish day school, and I even opted to continue on to a Jewish high school. I was active in BBYO, serving as chapter and regional president.

Despite this seemingly strong connection to the Jewish community, our home was decidedly secular. Shul-going was reserved mainly for three days a year. Keeping kosher? I can still smell the bacon sizzling on Sunday mornings and remember with fondness our annual tradition of cooking fresh lobster on Father’s Day. 

And like so many others, I strayed from anything Jewish during my post-high school years. Shul attendance became a distant memory, and Jewish holidays came and went with little notice or care (I clearly remember deciding that since beer didn’t look like bread, it was fine to drink during Passover). 

But the Jewish connection was still in there somewhere. I remember making a pact with my first roommate – a woman who had a similar secular upbringing – that we would not bring any bacon into our apartment. That was a huge, huge concession for both of us.

My path back to deeper observance began when I got married. My wife Beth grew-up attending a local Orthodox shul and they kept a fully kosher home (although she remembers going out for treif at the local deli – and, sadly, her only memory of eating clams consisted of a Howard Johnson’s in Vermont). Beth also happens to be the sister of my high school friend Dani. In Grade 7, Dani decided to become shomer Shabbat, and as a result, the rest of the family decided to partially follow suit. Those deli meals became a thing of the past. 

When we got married, Beth and I agreed to keep a fully kosher home. Since she had committed to kashrut outside the house, when we went out for meals, I started curbing my own choices out of respect. McDonald’s burgers? Still OK for me – just hold the cheese, please.

That all changed when we had our first son, Jonah. A consistent message was more important than my weekly Big Mac, so I took the plunge and joined Beth in keeping kosher inside and out.

Jewish education was an absolute, so we enrolled all three of our kids in the local Schechter school. We also opted to send them to Camp Ramah. (My own religious summer camp experience consisted of a French-speaking priest and the music camp he ran near Quebec City – don’t ask!). 

Dani and his wife made aliyah, so we also started making frequent trips to Israel to see the family – and to ensure our kids had a strong connection to the homeland.

That connection is likely what prompted Jonah to spend a high school semester in Jerusalem last winter on Tichon Ramah Yerushalayim – TRY for short. In our regular FaceTime calls, we got to know many of the 50-plus kids from across North America who quickly became his new family. Some had, like Jonah, attended Jewish day school since kindergarden. Others were public school kids who were Ramahniks or USYers – or just members of a local Conservative shul. Several spoke Hebrew fluently; many knew just a few words. Their observance ranged from shomer Shabbat to “remind-me-what-Shabbat-is-again?”

For almost five months, they lived together, studied together, davened together, travelled together, and likely drank together (although Jonah will never admit to that). 

But mostly, they bonded – with each other and with Judaism.

And that bond is what we witnessed first-hand last weekend when 15 TRY alumni reunited in Toronto over their winter holiday.

Yes, they did the typically Toronto touristy stuff: they visited the CN Tower, shopped in Kensington Market and went ice skating. 

But they also made a point of having coffee at a couple of the local Aroma cafes. They planned a group Shabbat dinner. And in advance of the dinner, they decided they wanted to do their own Kabbalat Shabbat service in our basement.

That was the magical moment. 

For 45 minutes, 15 teenagers put down their phones and – by their own choice – picked up one of our odd assortment of siddurim. Then, facing east and with Jonah at the front of the room, they started davening. Together. With passion and spirit and sheer joy. Singing Lecha Dodi at the top of their lungs. Chanting endless rounds of “yai dai dais.” Dancing. Welcoming Shabbat together, like they had done so many times in Israel.

It was nothing short of inspiring.

We know that not all these kids are particularly observant. We’re sure many of them don’t even believe in God.

But for a weekend, they epitomized what it means to be Jewish. 

They were here to part of a community – a community that had come together to celebrate, to sing, to dance, to just be with each other. To do stuff Jews have been doing for thousands of years. 

Fifteen young adults who had a transformative experience together in Israel, and are now seeking-out opportunities to be part of the Jewish community and purposefully uphold our traditions. 

And that, I was reminded this past weekend, is what being Jewish is really all about.

Walter Levitt is chief marketing officer for Comedy Central in New York.