Wearing Many Hats
I grew up in Deerfield, Illinois, in a Reform Jewish household with strong Jewish values. Every Friday night, we gathered as a family to celebrate Shabbos. That rhythm gave me a sense of belonging early on. Being athletic and physically fit was also important. My sister, who’s five years older than me, was a strong soccer player and runner. My brother, about twenty months ahead of me, was into wrestling and martial arts. I wrestled, did gymnastics, and even got into equestrian sports.
My parents were incredibly supportive and gave us the freedom to explore. Once, when I was maybe four or five years old, I was doing cartwheels on the soccer field. My parents were like, "Okay, he probably belongs in a gymnastics gym and not on a soccer turf.” Sports for us, I think, was a mechanism to learn work ethic and life skills.
High school was definitely cliquey. You had the band kids, the jocks, the artists, and the theater crowd. I took pride in wearing many hats. There wasn't a ton of outside pressure from my parents to become a successful athlete. That came internally. I loved summer camp and went to well-known Jewish overnight camps that prioritized sports, the performing arts, and even a culinary program.
My interest in food and cooking eventually led me to take earth science and environmental studies at the University of Vermont. I was a collegiate gymnast and played viola in the symphony orchestra every semester. The summer before my junior year of college, I had a really cool experience on Birthright. I went with my girlfriend at the time and a high school orchestra friend. It was a really special group. I still keep in touch with a few of the Israelis from my trip. Aviad, one of the soldiers in our group, is still a good friend of mine. He just got married this past March, so it's been an eleven-year friendship for us.
Coaching in the Caymans
After college, I knew I wanted to live abroad. I had three options on the table: a Peace Corps position in South America, an internship in Israel, and—through a college gymnastics teammate—a chance to coach in the Cayman Islands. I ended up swapping jobs with my friend in the Caymans. It was a simple geographic flip that changed everything.
Most of the athletes I coached were kids, and I quickly got to know many of their families, especially the Jewish ones. That helped me get introduced to the community. When I walked into the Chabad House for the first time, I remember being shocked that it was the rabbi’s home. Rabbi Berel and Rikal Pewzner took me in right away. Rabbi Berel was around my age, which made it easier to connect.
The Jewish community in Cayman is small. There are about 500 to 600 Jewish residents out of a population of about 90,000. It’s tightknit and colorful in the best way. I moved there in July 2016, right before the High Holidays. They flew in an Israeli cantor and an a cappella group for services at the Ritz-Carlton. Even though it was a bougie holiday experience and elevated on a hospitality level, which I really appreciated, the chanting of scripture and hearing Israeli voices in the Cayman Islands was so unique that it pulled me deeper into my own spirituality and desire to connect with Hashem. I’ve noticed that my connection to Judaism deepens in places that feel like islands, whether literal or metaphorical.
I coached the national gymnastics team for two of my four years on the island. Towards the end of my coaching career, I had the opportunity to bring a handful of Jewish athletes to Israel for the Maccabi Games. Most of the athletes I was bringing down were youth track athletes. I was 23 years old, and I was training to compete as well. My last competition as an athlete was the Maccabi Games in Israel. I competed against a handful of teams, the most prominent ones being Israel and the USA. I placed bronze all around. It was a really cool experience and the perfect time to go out on that high.
After retiring from gymnastics, I transitioned into hospitality and entrepreneurship. But when COVID hit, tourism completely shut down. The Cayman government wasn’t going to allow travel for a while, so I moved back to Chicago. I enrolled at Loyola, where I got a master’s in environmental sustainability and business development.
From there, I dove into consulting, helping CBD and cannabis startups, food and beverage ventures, and restaurant operations. Then I transitioned into fine dining, landing at a three-Michelin-star restaurant. I spent about a year and a half there as a front-of-house manager, training staff and helping maintain that incredibly high standard of service. But when my role shifted to disciplining staff, I realized it wasn’t the kind of hospitality I wanted to be part of anymore. It stopped bringing me joy, and I knew it was time to pivot.
Hospitality for the Rich & Famous With and Unexpected Jewish Twist
I went on a life-changing trip with my brother and dad to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. The trip reconnected me to the land, to my family, and to the idea that suffering and discomfort can be sacred. I realized how much I missed the mountains and the outdoors. Chicago is an incredible city, but I started feeling like a flatlander.
"The trip reconnected me to the land, to my family, and to the idea that suffering and discomfort can be sacred."
A colleague I knew from wine tasting groups and sommelier studies mentioned an opportunity at the Yellowstone Club in Montana. Within four weeks of applying, I packed up my life and moved out West to plan parties for the rich and famous.
Before the move, I visited Cayman for a short reset and met up with Rabbi Berel. When I told him I was heading to Big Sky, his eyes lit up—his wife Rikal’s oldest sister, Chavie, is the Rebbetzin in Montana! We took a selfie and sent it to Rabbi Chaim. I already felt like I was walking into family.
When I landed in Montana, I was welcomed with open arms by Rabbi Chaim and Chavie and the beautiful community they’ve spent eighteen years building.
I joined a book club started by Mick Lifson, a generous supporter of Chabad. He gathered a group of young Jewish men to create a space for mentorship and connection. We meet every 6–8 weeks, reading everything from "How to Win Friends and Influence People" to "Toward a Meaningful Life", along with other books suggested by Chavie, who’s incredibly well-read.
The atmosphere and energy at holiday parties is electric. One of my favorite memories is lighting the menorah with Rabbi Chaim at the Montage in Big Sky.
Working in luxury hospitality—first at Yellowstone Club, now as Director of Events at Moonlight Basin—I’ve found another layer of meaning in Jewish visibility. These clubs attract high-net-worth individuals who can celebrate anywhere in the world. But often, there’s little Jewish representation. I’ve taken it upon myself to change that.
The level of rawness and genuine spirituality I’ve experienced with Chabad is something I never felt growing up. I love attending Shabbos morning services and participating in the minyan. I’ll sometimes fall into a meditative state listening to the rabbi chant the Torah.
Also, Rabbi Chaim and Chavie take hospitality to a whole new level. Their attention to detail, their genuine care for every person who walks through the door—you don’t wonder if you belong. You just know that you do. The meaningful conversation and intimate setting at Friday night Shabbos dinners are a highlight.
My name, Doran, means gift—doron in Hebrew. I was named after my grandmother Donna, whom I never got to meet. My parsha is "Terumah", where the Jewish people bring gifts to build the Mishkan, the tabernacle. My parents believed I was a gift in their lives. I hope I can bring my gifts to help build and support the Jewish community wherever I go.
A Jewish Home for my Kids
Chaim and Chavie have such close, personal relationships with my children. Chaim will just call Max and say, "Hey, come to this," or he’ll show up at my daughter’s house to put up a mezuzah because I asked him to. Zoe was one of the first students when Chavie started the Hebrew school. I remember when Zoe and her classmates sang the Four Questions at the Seder! They were the youngest in the congregation to learn. Later that night I found Rabbi Chaim’s mom on the couch reading to my young son Max. That was a highlight.
The Bruk’s also created a last minute Bar Mitzvah for my son. Max’s birthday is the day after Yom Kippur, and we only had twenty-four hours to prepare. There was no year-long study and no big production. Yet, over fifty people showed up at the last minute, and Chavie made all this beautiful food.
Max is also part of the regular Bozeman Minyan. He doesn’t wrap tefillin every day, but he shows up to shul, and the men greet him warmly every time he walks in. He is part of this group of men who have embraced him. He doesn’t get that anywhere else in his life.
Doran at a Chabad Chanukah party in 2024.
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