Mah Jongg: My Joyful Jewish Practice

Four years ago, inspired by At The Well and looking to build a learning community beyond traditional settings, I invited a few friends to form a Rosh Chodesh group. We gather monthly using the rituals in each Moon Manual, and today we are fifteen women strong.

By gathering at each new moon, year after year, I’ve come to cherish the fact that there is an entire month of the Hebrew calendar dedicated to joy. When the month of Adar arrives each spring, around February-March, my circle of women leans fully into our joy. We name what brings us happiness and we encourage one another to live it boldly. We find ways to bring more lightness and play into our daily routines.

For me, that also means extra dedication to my joyful Jewish American passion: Mah Jongg!

I first encountered Mah Jongg as a curious teenager after watching The Joy Luck Club. In one scene, Chinese women tease a daughter for believing the mahjong she learned at university was the same as theirs. “Jewish style,” they say, “very different.” Intrigued, I asked my mom if she played. She didn’t but she found someone who did, and soon I was sitting at a table with my mom and a group of Jewish “aunties,” learning the click and rhythm of the tiles.

Even as a 15-year-old, I loved that the game was intertwined with Jewish women and philanthropy. When mahjong arrived in America from China in the 1920s, it briefly became a fad. Then a group of Jewish women in New York formalized the American version, creating the National Mah Jongg League card with standardized hands and publishing rules, so anyone could play the same game. (The National Mah Jongg League will release its 89th annual card this year in April, a testament to the enduring power of tradition and adaptation.)

If you’re new to Mah Jongg, it’s a fast-paced tile game played with fourteen tiles. Each turn, you collect and discard, working toward a specific patterned hand from the official card. The first player to complete their hand wins, then the tiles are shuffled, and you begin again. Julia Roberts once described it as “making order out of chaos,” which resonates deeply for me.

Mah Jongg is full of life metaphors: making choices, staying the course, letting go of what no longer serves you, focusing on what’s in front of you.

It requires attention, flexibility, and resilience. It pulls us away from technology and into shared physical space. Over time, I’ve found, playing Mah Jongg becomes less about winning and more about ritual: a familiar rhythm of tiles, laughter, strategy, and connection.

Just as Rosh Chodesh groups vary in tone — some lively, some contemplative — Mah Jongg tables take on the personality of the people gathered around them. Some are competitive. Others are meditative. All are sacred in their own way. Each table becomes a circle of belonging.

Once I learned to play, I was hooked. Mah Jongg became my bridge to friendship through college, career moves, and multiple relocations. As someone naturally introverted, the game gave me structure for connection. I wanted to play so much that I became skilled at teaching others its complex rules and strategy.

In 2009, I launched Mahj Club in San Francisco as a passion project. In 2019, we relocated to Long Beach, CA, to be closer to family while raising our two children. After the isolation of the pandemic, I felt called to bring people back together in person. I began teaching at our local JCC, and soon private groups, country clubs, workshops, and retreats followed.

Over the past four years, the sound of tiles shuffling across tables has been the soundtrack of renewal. The resurgence of Mah Jongg across generations and communities has been extraordinary. Since Mahj Club was established in 2009, my team and I have introduced more than four thousand new players to the game, and we continue to grow.

What thirty years of clicking tiles has taught me is simple: joy does not arrive passively.

We must set the table. We must gather the people. We must choose, again and again, to make space for it.

Joy is not a destination. It is a practice.

May you, too, find your seat at many rewarding tables; whether it’s a Rosh Chodesh circle, a Mah Jongg game, or another ritual that calls to you. Jewish wisdom teaches that joy is sacred. It is worth tending, worth protecting, and worth building together.

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