By Rabbi Ze’ev Smason in St. Louis Jewish Light

“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?”

The line from Simon and Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson” became one of the most famous lyrics of the 1960s. Years later, Paul Simon shared something unexpected: Joe DiMaggio himself had written to him, genuinely puzzled by the song.

“What do you mean, ‘Where have I gone?’ ” DiMaggio wrote. “I haven’t gone anywhere! I’m still around — I’m selling Mr. Coffee.”

It was a lighthearted exchange but captured something deeply human. We assume disappearance when what’s changed is our ability to recognize what’s still there.

That habit shapes much of the conversation about the growing number of Jews who say “none” when asked about their religious affiliation.

According to the Pew Research Center, roughly 40% of young American Jews now identify as having no religious affiliation. It’s a striking figure, not only because of its size, but because young Jews shape the future of American Jewish life.

The most common assumption is that these young Jews — and older Jewish “nones” as well — are indifferent to meaning, tradition, or spirituality. But that doesn’t square with the research nor with young Jews I know. This generation is intensely engaged in questions of purpose, identity and belonging. They care deeply about justice, authenticity and living lives that matter.

What many have stepped away from is not the search for meaning, but religious forms that no longer speak to their inner lives.

For many Jews, Judaism was introduced primarily as something to do more than something to experience. They learned how to observe holidays and perform rituals. What they were not given was a compelling reason why Judaism exists — what it has to say about the human soul, about purpose, and about a relationship with God.

That absence matters. When spirituality isn’t mentioned, people assume it was never there.

By spirituality, I don’t mean mysticism, nor abstinence. I mean the thirst for meaning and direction — the inner longing that asks, “Why does my life matter?”  It is the part of us that seeks coherence, depth, and connection to something larger than ourselves.

And this is where Judaism has often been misunderstood.

Many find it surprising to hear this Jewish foundational principle: We were created for pleasure. Not selfish or hedonistic gratification, but deep pleasure that comes from living with purpose and connection. This is spirituality as fulfillment, not deprivation.

Consider the simple act of eating. Judaism sanctifies the physical world by asking us to pause, recognize that the food before us is a gift, and say a bracha. In that moment, we experience not one pleasure but three: the taste of the food itself, the gratitude that deepens our awareness of abundance and the connection to the source of that abundance. A piece of cheesecake becomes more than dessert; it becomes an entry point to transcendence.

Or consider the mitzvah to love — to love our neighbor, to love the convert, to love God. These are not sentimental suggestions; they are commandments that facilitate access to one of life’s deepest spiritual pleasures. Love, when cultivated with intention, becomes a spiritual discipline that connects us to something far greater than ourselves. It transforms relationships from transactions into sacred encounters.

And there is the pleasure from acts of goodness. Judaism recognizes what psychology now confirms: human beings are wired to find meaning in giving. This is why people choose to become teachers or firefighters rather than pursue more lucrative careers. When we give, we emulate the ultimate Giver, and in that imitation, we touch the Divine. Benevolence is not merely moral; it inspires our soul.

Judaism’s spirituality is also found in what it asks of us. In 2008, two teenage Americans wrote a bestselling book called “Do Hard Things,” subtitled: “A teenage rebellion against low expectations.” Access to authentic Jewish spirituality cannot be found by making Judaism easier. The commitment to thoughtfully observe the mitzvot is a portal to the spirituality that every Jewish soul longs for. Judaism’s disciplines are challenging not as obstacles, but as instructions for a richer life. The effort required is not a pointless burden; it is the pathway to spirituality.

The question facing Jewish Nones is not whether to commit to a nostalgic, “Fiddler on the Roof” version of Judaism centered on unexamined tradition. It is whether they will seek out a committed Jewish life to encounter soul-stirring spirituality — a Judaism that provides uplifting pathways and asks great things of us because it offers great things in return.

Joe DiMaggio hadn’t gone anywhere. He was still there, even though he no longer looked the way people expected a legendary Yankee to look. He wasn’t roaming center field; he was selling Mr. Coffee. But he was still Joe DiMaggio, the man who exemplified excellence. What had changed was not who he was, but how easily people could recognize him.

Judaism, for many Jewish Nones, is in a similar place. Its spiritual depth has not disappeared. It has simply become difficult to recognize because it was never clearly shown. The question is not whether Judaism is still there, but whether we are willing to look again — this time with curiosity and openness, discovering that what we thought was only an obligation might actually be an invitation. Not to a Judaism we have to do, but to a Judaism we get to do.

Cover Image: Hi Mom! I’m An Atheist! by Kordite, accessed via Flickr with.CC BY-NC 2.0 deed