Turn Up the Happiness
| February 24, 2021How does a former Hollywood actress end up in Jerusalem’s Old City, with a lively frum family of eight kids, running hilarious and highly popular laughter games workshops?
Hollywood may have been a detour from Debbie Hirsch’s true calling in Jerusalem. But detours, she has since come to learn, aren’t necessarily mistakes.
Her foray there was on the whim of her sister Lisa. It made perfect sense at the time, given her family’s background in the performing arts and her high school education at the School of Performing Arts in Manhattan. Her parents, Shimon and Ilana Gewirtz, also known as the Balladeers, were famous performers and played Jewish folk music the world over.
Debbie, fresh out of college with a degree in radio and television broadcasting (“I originally thought I wanted to be a newscaster”), and with no particular direction in mind, was more than eager to do something fun.
“In our circles back then,” says Debbie, “you went to college to get an easy degree and have fun. It was like, what now? We didn’t have that sense of purpose or direction that frum girls have.
“ ‘Come join me out here in L.A.,’ my sister said to me. ‘Try out for auditions in Hollywood and see what you get.’ And I thought, Why not? “But all I had was the total of $12 in my pocket, which meant no money for a plane ticket. ‘Go get a job,’ said Lisa, ‘and come when you’re ready.’ And I said, ‘‘Okay.’ ”
The first unexpected curve in Debbie’s trajectory came in the form of her friend Tracy, who at the time was trying to raise funds for the Children’s Wish Foundation. Was Debbie interested in joining her on a transcontinental bike trip toward this purpose? Her direction: New York to California. Debbie, still unfamiliar with terms like Hashgachah pratis, couldn’t believe her good fortune. It was exactly where she was headed. And it wouldn’t cost her a penny.
“My parents always encouraged me to try out new things, to take risks, get out of my comfort zone, which this certainly was. It was scary, it was fun, it was crazy, and it was adventurous,” says Debbie. Three-and-a-half months and some 3,600 miles later found her safely in L.A. with her sister Lisa.
Auditions, at first, were all the glitz and all the glamour that Hollywood is made out to be. She even got onto a few movie sets. Which, she says, was “thrilling, and also intimidating — in a good way.”
But her dissatisfaction wasn’t long in coming. “I still remember that moment,” recalls Debbie. “It was the end of a long ten-hour day. We’d just finished shooting for a scene, doing the same thing for the hundredth time in one day, and I thought, Is this it? Is this what I want to spend my life doing? The emptiness I felt then… There was nothing underneath, no altruism, no meaning. Who was I helping? I thought. Who was I inspiring? There has to be more to life than this. My parents had brought us up to do chesed, to help others, and I knew then that whatever I’d choose to do, I wanted to touch other people’s lives.”
The attention, the stardom, felt great, says Debbie. “But it was all so fleeting, so fake, so void of goodwill, of spirituality. You don’t understand — the number of rejections! We’d stand online with 200 other people at a time, practicing a combination for hours on end. Then they’d call you back and you were one among a hundred. Then they’d call you back and you were one among 50. They’d call you back again; now there were 20. And all they needed were two.
“They’d watch you do your moves again and again, you’d turn this way and that way, and you’d get all excited, and then you were told, Nope, not good enough.
“It was always not good enough. You’re not tall enough, you’re not short enough, you’re not skinny enough. Not enough, never enough. Who feels good that way? Who even needs it?
“In Hollywood, there are a few famous people,” she says, debunking much of the Hollywood myth about everyone emerging famous. “The rest are waiters.”
Debbie didn’t want to spend her life waiting tables at a restaurant while trying to make it in an impossible world. Her stint at Hollywood was over.
But that tekufah produced something else. One gift was her husband, who she got to know and date during her stay in California. Another gift was a precious realization, which first dawned at Hollywood itself, and then spread within her as she learned more and more that doing things for others was what made you feel much more accomplished than any fame and glory.
Finding a Path
And so Debbie found herself a job at the L.A. Free Clinic, an organization that helped disadvantaged youth, where she was part of a group that performed educational plays, shows with a message. Then they’d have a question-and-answer session with the audience; the idea was for them to be able to “meet the stars” and connect with them informally.
“I also did some children’s theater and we would teach messages and then talk to the kids, and I loved it. I loved the interaction, the ability to be real. In Hollywood, I was rejected way more than I was successful; here I could do what I really wanted: be me. Give to others. Interact. Connect.”
That’s when the seeds of her present-day workshops really sprouted. “I thought, Hey, I got this. I could use my dance, drama, and music talents to help people, to get a message across.”
Today, Debbie is often called to work her magic with some of the toughest audiences, religious and non-religious alike. Girls from complicated backgrounds, for example, and difficult histories. “I get there and they’re all over the place, feet up, dangling jewelry, the works. So I start talking about Hollywood. I name a few stars. They perk up. They think it’s cool. And then I tell them my story, which is disappointing to them in a sense, and suddenly they realize, Actually, you could be frum and normal and haaaappy.”
What of Debbie’s spiritual journey?
“I’m still on it,” she says. “I didn’t wake up one morning and suddenly see G-d; it wasn’t romantic like that at all.” Although Debbie had a loosely religious upbringing, she was raised as a proud Jew, with a love for Eretz Yisrael and its People. She’d spent her first college year in Israel and knew she’d be back. As a kid, she’d gone to Yeshivah of Central Queens (YCQ) and knew what being Jewish meant, but “just didn’t know so much about the details.”
There was one aha-moment, though.
“When my husband and I were dating,” recalls Debbie, “he said to me, ‘I have a question for you.’ My husband didn’t grow up religious either, but was always interested. He’d read the Chumash four times in a row, and by the time we were dating, he’d started taking classes. So he asked me, ‘Debbie, do you believe in G-d?’ and I said to him, ‘Of course, what kind of stupid question is that?’ He said, “Do you believe the Torah was given at Sinai?” I said, ‘Of course, I learned it in elementary school, even remember some songs about it, of course I believe it.’
“So he said, ‘If you believe it, then how come you’re not keeping all of the mitzvos?’
“I looked at him that moment and literally stopped in my tracks. I’d never given it a moment’s thought. I grew up with a lot of music and singing and dance, a lot of positivity; we had our Friday night dinners, my parents sang Jewish music, the holidays were always such a big deal, we had guests, and I had so many Jewish friends, that I guess I felt I was religious — because I didn’t feel like I was missing anything — but really I only did what was comfortable.”
Debbie and her husband got married and continued taking more and more classes.
“Nowadays,” says Debbie, “my kids look at my photo albums, and they see that when I first got married, I had short sleeves, then long sleeves, then skirts, then longer skirts, first a small head covering, and then I covered more hair, and I always joke with them that at 120 they’re not going to see me anymore because I keep covering up. But you could see the process and it’s beautiful.”
When Debbie and her husband first came to Eretz Yisrael as a couple, they wanted a Shabbos-traffic-free, frum neighborhood, surrounded by people they could look up to and learn from. After several tries in various shechunot, the Old City happened — a story unto itself. There Debbie’s husband discovered Bircas HaTorah, Aish HaTorah, then the Mir, and Debbie continued her own learning.
“I’m still learning,” says Debbie. “I have a chavrusa every week, we’re currently learning the Nesivos Shalom. We’re always on a journey, we’re all on that journey, there’s really no such thing as getting there.”
We Need to Have More Fun
Debbie and her husband were overjoyed when they found out that Debbie was expecting their long-awaited first child.
The pregnancy lasted a few months, and then it was over. “I was devastated. Yet it was the first time in my life that I realized the full impact of not being the one in control.” Which for many, is a frightening realization. For Debbie, it was a comfort. “I literally felt Hashem wrap His arms around me and say, ‘I’m here with you, it’s going to be okay.’ I had this internal sense of total submission, and it was a beautiful feeling. My parents had always told me, ‘Whatever you set your mind to do, you can do,’ which may sound good, but it gives you the illusion of running the show yourself.
“Even with all those rejections back in Hollywood, I always knew it was going to be okay, because I was good at a lot of other things, and saw success in many other areas I’d worked hard in. But this was different. I knew it was going to be okay, because I knew it wasn’t about my efforts at all.”
That “setback in my original plan” remains an important moment in Debbie’s mind, long after the birth of her first child a year later, and that of her subsequent children.
As a young mother, Debbie created and began facilitating “Mommy and Me” groups attended by young moms and their kids, and as she had back in L.A., she drew immense satisfaction from the ability she had to use her gifts to benefit others. The program ran for 15 years.
When Debbie’s oldest daughter turned bas mitzvah, she said to her mom, “Come to school with me, Ima, and do something fun for my class.” Ever the enthusiastic mother, and always on the lookout to bring joy to others, Debbie readily agreed. As Debbie did her thing with the class, the teacher looked on in fascination. She’d never seen anything like it; 40 twelve-year-olds participating, expressing themselves, having so much fun. Several weeks later, the teacher called her back to run an Adar program for the entire Bais Yaakov elementary school of 700 kids. More teachers heard about it, mothers heard about it, and a reputation was kindled. That’s when Debbie realized, People need to have more fun. There is too much seriousness in the world.
Debbie’s default is set to positivity, her natural tendency is to go with the flow, to turn setbacks into moments of growth. She credits her parents for that. “My mother had such a hard life,” Debbie relates. “When she was only three years old, her mother took her life and left my mother to care for her siblings all on her own, while her father, who was a doctor, tended to patients. Eventually, her father remarried, but in a chilling turn of events, his second wife took her life, too. His third wife was nice, but by then my mother was already 18. Yet with all her challenges, she made a decision: I never had a mother, so I’m going to be the best mother I can possibly be.” Today, Debbie’s mother is 84 and remains Debbie’s inspiration. “She’s forever young, playful, adventurous and creative, and only ever sees the glass half full.”
“Everybody has an idea of what their day will be like, or even their year, or possibly their whole life, and of course it never exactly turns out that way. How do we respond to that? Do we say, ‘Oof, that’s not what I wanted, that’s not what I planned,’ or do we say, ‘Hey, I can do that’? That’s essentially what it means to improvise, to go with the flow with whatever life hands you.”
If you can figure out how to take a stressful moment and inject more fun into it, Debbie believes, then you’ve found the secret to having positive energy. It doesn’t mean that you’ll come up with an answer to every situation, but by simply asking the question, How can I make this more fun? you’ve already found a way to deal with it.
No Script
Debbie’s workshop is a fun game experience where you learn to let go of things that prevent you from laughing at life and being the fun, confident you.
Debbie starts out her workshops by introducing herself in some fun way, and depending on the group, will share parts of her story. She’ll talk a little about the principles behind the games she has participants play, and how they demonstrate the virtues of taking risks, of making mistakes, of discovering that there is in fact no going wrong when you challenge yourself to let go of the illusion that you’re in control. Then she’ll begin her interactive games, inviting volunteers or selecting participants out of the audience, sometimes more eager ones, other times less so.
“Unlike in a play,” says Debbie, “where you learn your lines by heart and if you forget them it’s the worst thing, in the games I play, there is no script, so there is no messing up. And that’s what makes it fun. People want to see failure, challenge, pain, because that’s what they relate to; they don’t want to see perfection, everything smoothed over. So when people are nervous to come up because they’re afraid they might fail… I tell them, if they do fail, that’s the best and most exciting part, because it’s so real.
“You’d be amazed,” she says, “by how many people believe that Hashem runs the world, but they are too afraid to play a game in front of their friends where they have no control over where it will go or what will happen. Being willing to take risks, to leave your comfort zone, is in essence admitting that Hashem really runs the world.”
“I’ve never laughed so hard,” people tell her all the time, or, “I’m going through a tough time; thank you for making me laugh despite it.” One shy but brave seminary girl once wrote to her after a workshop, “Getting up there was the scariest but best experience of my life, thank you.” In those moments, Debbie knows she has found her calling.
“I wake up in the mornings,” says Debbie, “and I embrace whatever is about to come. I’ve come to expect the unexpected. Because when you have a mindset of spontaneity, flexibility, and in general the ability to inject fun into your daily grind, you can deal with anything.
“People often say to me, ‘You’re so fun. Your kids must love being around their mom.’ And I always say, ‘Get this: my house looks just like yours. There’s fighting, screaming, arguing over the same things — the same books, the same candy — again and again. The only difference between mine and yours, maybe, is that I’m always thinking to myself, How can I turn this nightmare into a comedy? And sometimes, like you, I’m tired and I don’t want to make anything into fun or comedy, and that’s completely fine too. I know that I can access it when I want to.’”
Which, perhaps, is Debbie’s message above all.
Somewhere within you, there is fun and laughter waiting to be unleashed. Somewhere within you is the ability to overcome. To turn darkness into light. Seriousness into laughter. You may not always feel it. But like Debbie, and like all the women whose lives she’s touched with her work, you just have to practice laughing at your funny mistakes, take risks, and let a life full of simchah unfold.
Bring the Fun Home
One game that Debbie likes to play a lot with her family — especially when her kids are complaining about something, which is… uh, often (her word, not mine) — is the “fortunately-unfortunately” game. Here’s how it works. One person begins by saying a neutral, simple statement: “One day I got a new puppy.” The next players will continue the thread with alternate “unfortunately” and “fortunately” statements, like, “Unfortunately she ran away.” “Fortunately, she came back with a hundred-dollar bill in her mouth.” “Unfortunately, it was a counterfeit bill and I couldn’t use it to buy the candy I wanted.”
“The deeper meaning, of course,” says Debbie, “is that sometimes you have to mention the bad to recognize the good.
Let’s say someone’s complaining about their homework. Make them say the statement again, preceded by the word “unfortunately.” “Unfortunately, I have so much homework.” Then have someone say a “fortunately” statement. “Fortunately, you will learn a thing or two and hopefully get a job one day. “Unfortunately, it’s so boring.” “Fortunately, you actually have school.”
And that’s it. You’ve taken the edge away from the complaint, and turned the cumbersome into fun.
Here’s another idea, especially helpful when your kids are begging you for yet another story-time session and it’s the last thing you have patience for. (“Guilty as charged,” says Debbie.) It’s called “shared story” and here’s how it works: One person begins a story by saying a random sentence. The next person will pick up the story from there and say his or her own sentence. And so on.
First of all, it takes the pressure off Mom. And the kids get to create their own story, which is always fun. They get to make up a title too. Then you ask your kids, “Is this how you thought the story would turn out?” and of course the answer is no because you’re creating it as it goes. “Isn’t it amazing,” you tell them, “how it’s the same in real life? Did we dream COVID would happen? But look at the amazing story we created. Instead of saying, ‘I don’t like the sentence you said,’ instead of complaining and saying, ‘I don’t want that,’ you took part in the process and made the very best of it.”
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 732)
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