Henry Winkler Mused With God in His Garden on Yom Kippur This Year

I had no idea it was possible to pack so much Jewish joy into one hour and 38 minutes.

That, however, is exactly what Henry Winkler and Ike Barinholtz managed to do on a recent episode of Barinholtz’s podcast, “Funny You Ask.” Part trivia show, part interview, the episode is a master class in a particular kind of Jewish joy: hakarat hatov, a Jewish value usually translated as gratitude. Literally, though, it means “recognizing the good” — the active practice of seeking out what is worth appreciating in the world around us, no matter our circumstances.

Even for a Henry Winkler stan like me, this interview went above and beyond the level of charm I usually expect from the octogenarian. There are so many outstanding moments,  I don’t even know where to begin.

He shares that he skipped going to synagogue on Yom Kippur and instead went into his garden “like Emily Dickinson,” where he listened to Johnny Mathis’ rendition of Kol Nidre and “mused with God.” He brings up his obsession with Brandi Carlile (“I hugged her twice!” he shares, with a tone of awe in his voice). When discussing his love of fly fishing, he explains that he always catches and releases the trout because they are too majestic to eat. His appreciation of them is so profound, he never eats trout. He never lies about the size of his catches, he swears, though jokingly quips, “but I do lie about the size of my penis.”

Beneath the jokes is a genuine appreciation for the people and experiences that make his life so rich. Discussing the thrill of catching a fish, he says, “I’m feeling [joy] from my head to my toes. I am so happy. I do not assume I’m going to catch one, I am just so grateful that I did.”

Winkler seems to practice hakarat hatov everywhere, from his unembarrassed admiration for fellow performers to his appreciation for a career he describes as “the most incredible journey.” For someone who has been famous for decades, he is remarkably willing to be starstruck. His delight in Brandi Carlile is particularly adorable: here is a Hollywood veteran who could probably name-drop with the best of them, and instead he sounds like a fan who still can’t believe he got to hug his favorite musician. Twice!

The Jewishness of this conversation runs deep. Barinholtz eventually calls it “the Jewish hour,” and Winkler shares stories about his German-Jewish upbringing that are both funny and heartbreaking. When Barinholtz wryly asks why Winkler’s parents left Germany in 1938, Winkler quips about a “short guy with a mustache” who couldn’t comb his hair. The humor is classic Winkler, but the history behind it is devastating. His immediate family made it out, but his extended family did not. They were killed in the concentration camps.

“I never had real aunts and uncles,” he tells Barinholtz, “I never had a grandparent.”

Throughout their conversation, Winkler has the endearing habit of turning the spotlight off of himself and kvelling over others, and this tragic chapter of his family history is no exception.

Instead of focusing on the loss, Winkler speaks about the life that his parents built for their young family among New York City’s German-Jewish immigrants, describing the shul they helped found. They exposed him to nature and culture, such as the travelling Russian dance group that would inspire the moves that he so famously used to dance to Hava Nagila on “Happy Days.” He makes it clear that this wasn’t always an easy journey, but one that was important to his parents. The community they forged out of tragedy became Winkler’s found family, which allowed him to thrive. 

The admiration, appreciation and plain old joy is apparent in every story he shares.

There is no single Jewish approach to joy, of course. But Winkler offers a lovely example of hakarat hatov in action: the willingness to notice what is worth celebrating, appreciate the people who enrich our lives and let ourselves be delighted by them. Whether he’s catching a trout or hugging Brandi Carlile, he reminds us that recognizing the good is a practice — and a joyful one at that.

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