By Susan Goldberg Schwartz

Since retiring just over a year ago, my days have been full of purpose, joy, and new discoveries. I read, walk, bake challah, sing, volunteer, care for grandchildren, spend time with friends and family—and I’ve even found a new Jewish passion: Mahjong! Once I learned the rules and grew familiar with the tiles, I realized that Mahjong was more than a game. It became another way for me to practice Mussar.

I have been studying, practicing, and facilitating Mussar since 2013, when I had the privilege of learning with Alan Morinis, founder of The Mussar Institute. In his book Everyday Holiness, Alan writes that “Mussar refers to a spiritual perspective and also to a discipline of transformative practices.” Mussar offers tools for living by teaching us to notice how our inner traits (middot) shape our choices and relationships.

At the Mahjong table, these middot show up in surprising ways. Trust (bitachon) when I wonder if I made the right decision. Flexibility (gemishut) as I keep more than one option open, ready to change course midway. Courage (ometz lev) when I try a closed hand instead of my usual hands. Carefulness (zehirut) when I pause to consider whether or not to discard a tile.  And Joy (simcha) when laughter and friendship matter more than winning.                                                                                                                                          
And in the midst of the game, three traits in particular have become my steady teachers.

Patience, or savlanut, is tested every time I sit down to play. Mahjong is a blend of skill, luck, and timing. When the tile I need never seems to appear, I remind myself to take a breath and wait for my next turn. When another player lingers over a decision, I practice not rushing them. In life, we are often asked to sit with uncertainty and endure waiting. As Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe wrote, “The patient person is exactly like someone carrying a heavy package. Even though it weighs upon him, he continues to go on his way.”

Humility, or anavah, also appears at the table. When I first began learning the game, I was anxious and eager to win, sometimes frustrated when I did not. Over time, I learned to lose with grace and to congratulate the winner sincerely. Mahjong reminded me that the purpose of gathering is not just to win, but to share friendship and fun. In Mussar, humility teaches us to recognize our gifts without arrogance and our limitations without embarrassment, making space for others to shine. Alan Morinis writes, “Occupy a rightful space, neither too much nor too little. Focus neither on your own virtues nor on the faults of others.” This wisdom rings true both in life and in the rhythm of the game.

Finally, gratitude, hakarat ha-tov, has deepened my experience at the Mahjong table and beyond. I find myself grateful for the click of the tiles, the camaraderie around the table, the laughter, and the simple joy of play. In my life, gratitude reminds me to notice what might otherwise be overlooked: the importance of friends, the gift of leisure, the blessing of community. Mussar teaches that gratitude keeps the heart open. By recognizing the good, even in small and ordinary moments, we cultivate a spirit of joy and abundance that sustains us far beyond the game.

Mahjong is more than a pastime — it is my spiritual classroom.

 
Susan Goldberg Schwartz is a lifelong Jewish educator, cantorial soloist at Beth Isaiah in Guelph, Ontario and Mussar facilitator. She is currently co-facilitating, with Evie Weinstein, a Mussar course for professionals working in the Buffalo Jewish community.