On the Warner Bros. lot outside where Friends was taped

Over Memorial Day Weekend, fans of the TV show Friends received a long-awaited reunion of the six main cast members, who played Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe and Joey for 10 seasons over 11 years on NBC. The show broke ratings and popularity records during its time on the air, and was resurrected to entertain a new generation, first on Netflix and then as one of the Warner properties to anchor HBO Max. Reviews of the reunion, which is now streaming on HBO Max, have been understandably mixed; how could a reunion satisfy millions of rabid fans around the world 17 years after the series concluded? But many tuned in for the nostalgia factor, an opportunity to say “Remember when…??” along with the actors who gave the memorable scenes their life and longevity.

Friends wasn’t identified as problematic when it aired, the decade from 1994-2004, an era before any of us had heard the term “wokeness.” But we knew that the world of Friends was pretty monochromatic and non-diverse, with more than a few storylines and jokes that crossed into homophobia or fat-shaming. And the Jewish moments–especially a Holiday Armadillo taking Santa’s place in the life of a two-faith family–were few, farfetched and fraught. 

But Friends captured a moment for a generation–those of us who transitioned from college to real life around the same time as these Friends of ours. Although Chandler the character was fictional, he worked in the Manhattan high-rise three buildings down from where I non-fictionally worked at Hadassah. On one Hadassah lunch hour, I saw the non-fictional actor Matthew Perry in Central Park, followed him around a bit, introduced myself (why?) and hyperventilated back at the office. 

When new episodes premiered, a group of us got together to watch; when we were able to consume the show in reruns, the tribe expanded, then again when we had access to YouTube clips, GIFs and Etsy stores of unlicensed merch. But beyond the relationships, the catchphrases, the actors and writers, were the life lessons that could be gleaned from the sitcom, if you looked for deeper meaning within.

  • Insider language makes some people feel included, except for everyone who feels excluded. Some of us watched so often that it altered our pronunciation of certain words and phrases: “we were on a break,” or “how you doin’?” or even a single word like “lobster” or “London!” Some of us may feel the need to correct people claiming their name is “Josh” to “JoshuAH,” a hazard in Jewish professional circles because of the extremely high Josh density. But it’s a reminder to know your audience and define unfamiliar terms–whether it’s what it means to “pull a Monica” or explaining the story of Hanukkah–to ensure accessibility to those who have different experiences than your own.
  • It’s important to read the whole thing before you express your agreement. Rachel gave Ross a letter to read–”18 pages, front and back”–to see if he was sorry for how he behaved when they were ON A BREAK; he famously fell asleep before finishing it, which led to trouble later on. First of all, 18 pages? I see you, Jewish number. Secondly, imagine if people really behaved this way, circulating articles they hadn’t read, or hadn’t read through! What a world THAT would be.
  • Even if you’re an expert in something, you can always learn something. A Danish-Israeli friend insisted one Friends episode had mentioned that Ross and Chandler had stayed in Kiryat Moriah, a neighborhood in Jerusalem, while visiting Israel. I knew Friends! She had to be wrong. But she wasn’t. (The clip is available on YouTube.) And it left me wondering about Ross and Chandler’s Israel trip: why they went and on what program, where else they visited, if they went to the Dead Sea or Yad Vashem, or partied awkwardly in Tel Aviv. You know, the usual questions. 
  • If something scares you, put it in the freezer. While the Friends freezer already contains copies of The Shining and Little Women, I believe there’s room in there for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict; I think I can squeeze it in there, between anti-Semitism and post-COVID dating…
  • Babies do sometimes have the strangest taste in music. Rachel and Ross discovered that the only song that could get baby Emma to stop crying was “Baby Got Back.” As a baby, my brother used to hum songs from the Chassidic Song Festival. I used to sing “Sweet Child O’ Mine” to my friend’s baby. Spotify, which reports to me on my friends’ listening habits, identified a friend as a repeat listener to the theme from Schindler’s List; she later explained it was the only thing that lulled her infant to sleep. Kids are fascinating.
  • The honest truth is so rare that when we see it, we want more. Phoebe’s “inappropriate” children’s songs–covering topics like grandparent mortality, bisexuality and where meat comes from–peeled back the curtain to reveal the truth that the kids always suspected was there, but hidden by their fearful or well-meaning parents. What truths would we want Phoebe to share with us, as a Jewish community or as a society, with her songs for 2021?

There are many other miscellaneous lessons: Ross’s leather pants taught us that lotion + powder = paste. Monica taught us that aunts should always have gum. Rachel taught us that if your cookbook pages are stuck together, your classic trifle will have layers of ladyfingers, jam and beef sauteed with peas and onions. Chandler reminded us that in every group of friends, there’s at least one whose job is a mystery; he may be handling the WENUS, but that doesn’t make him a transponster because that’s not even a word. Phoebe is unapologetically odd, quirky and unique, and Joey–like Rabbi Hillel does in the Passover seder–reminds us of the value of sandwiches.

If you’ve read this far, you’re probably one of us, a person who has shared the memorable moments with their own friends and created community around a TV show or another cultural text as source material. So you understand: when you’re in close community with people who know you well, even small or nonsensical moments –whether it’s throwing a ball around for hours; watching TV with your bestie, a chick and a duck; or talking Jewish community issues and politics–can be an enthrallingly good time. And it’s because you’re protected by the covenant of your friendship: they’ll be there for you, and you’re there for them too.