Commencement 2026

ariella eisenstadt '26

Picture this, I’m in third grade and just got an iPod touch. I’m cruising past Mt Vernon St on the bus with one Katniss Everdeen-style braid down my back, and headphones in as I played Subway Surfer and listened to Happy, We Are The World, and Count On Me on repeat (because those were the only songs downloaded). As I’ve gotten older, Count On Me has come to mean more than just lyrics, so when I read this week's parsha, Beha’alotcha, Bruno Mars’s words played in my head as I thought about how the Torah teaches us to count on each other.

Throughout the Parsha, the people of Israel travel through the desert, following a cloud that hovers over the Mishkan; when the cloud moves, the Israelites move. But in this journey, one person stays behind. A man named Chovav decides to part ways with the Israelites and returns to his own people, the Midianites. Moshe urges him to stay, but Chovav ultimately leaves.

My first thought after reading these pesukim was: Who is Chovav? After looking more closely, I realized that Chovav is another name for Moshe's father-in-law, Yitro. Still, I found it interesting that the name changes in this moment. So I took a trip down memory lane to my 9th-grade Beit Midrash course and turned to Jastrow for some translating assistance. There I learned that Yitro comes from יתר, meaning to add (which is usually connected to the fact that he added to the Israelites' society with the idea of a judge system). On the other hand, Chovav comes from the root חֲבַב, which means to love, honor, or embrace. I believe changing Yitro’s name to Chovav in this moment of departure emphasizes that sometimes loving someone and leading means knowing when it is time to let them go, and counting on them to hold and cherish the values that one has taught them. In fact, Jewish Mysticism teaches the idea of Tzimtzum, where one holds back their need to be the center of attention to leave room for others to grow. Throughout our time at Barrack, we have been given space to grow as discussion leaders in classrooms and clubs. Now, with even more room to develop, we can rely on our past experiences to become strong leaders ourselves, while also creating space for others to grow as we have.

While Chovav is one of Moshe's first advisors, God does not leave Moshe stranded when Chovav leaves. For context, the Israelites are doing what they do best: complain (which is something I think we might have inherited from our ancestors because we did do our fair share of complaining at Barrack). Now, the Israelites are missing Egypt because there they had vegetables, fish, and meat, and in the desert they only had manna. Moshe, fed up, goes to God, saying, “Have I not found favor in Your regard, that You place the burden of this entire people upon me?” So God tells him to gather 70 elders in a tent. There God places some of Moshe’s burens of leadership on the 70 elders. God does not expect Moshe to be a leader alone. 

This reminds me of a moment earlier this year when 300 international BBYO kids were visiting our school, and the JLIers were tasked with making twice the amount of challah bites for our very elaborate Shabbat shmooze, so when we went downstairs that Friday, anxious to complete the task, we were delighted to be met with at least six or seven of our classmates ready to help. In JLI, the responsibility of leadership was never alone; if we were going to share a quirky holiday parody or attempt to start a Horah circle, we did it together. 

As we venture out to college campuses and workplaces, I am confident that the class of 2026 will remember that leadership means leaving space for others to grow and remembering that it is okay to share responsibility. Or as Bruno Mars reminds us in Count On Me, and like Beha’alotecha teaches through Chovav, the elders, and Moshe, real leadership is knowing to count on each other. 

Sadie menkowitz '26
 

עֶרֶב טוֹב לְכוּלָּם.

עָשִׂינוּ זֹאת!!!

וְלֹא הָיִינוּ יְכוֹלִים לַעֲשׂוֹת זֹאת לְלֹא הַתְּמִיכָה שֶׁל הַהוֹרִים, הַמּוֹרִים, הַמִּשְׁפָּחוֹת וְהַחֲבֵרִים שֶׁלָּנוּ. תּוֹדֶה שֶׁעֲזַרְתֶּם לָנוּ לְהַגִּיעַ לָרֶגַע הַזֶּה.

אִם הָיִיתִי צְרִיכָה לִבְחוֹר מִילָּה אַחַת כְּדֵי לְתָאֵר אֶת הַכִּיתָּה שֶׁלָּנוּ, זוֹ הָיְיתָה הַמִּילָּה "מְחוּבָּרִים".

לָמַדְנוּ שֶׁחִיבּוּר הוּא לֹא רַק לִהְיוֹת קְרוֹבִים פִיזִית, אֶלָּא לִהְיוֹת שָׂם אַחֵד בִּשְׁבִיל הַשֵּׁנִי. חִיבּוּר הוּא לִבְחוֹר לְעַמּוּד זֶה לְצַד זֶה, לְהַקְשִׁיב, לְעוֹדֵד וְלִדְאוֹג. וּבְמַהֲלָךְ אַרְבַּע הַשָּׁנִים הָאֵלָה, הַבְּחִירוֹת הָאֵלָה הָפְכוּ קְבוּצָה שֶׁל תַּלְמִידִים לַקְּהִילָּה שֶׁיּוֹדַעַת לְהָרִים אַחֵד אֶת הַשֵּׁנִי.

אֲנִי רוֹצֶה לְסַפֵּר לָכֶם עַל מַשֶּׁהוּ שֶׁאֲנִי אוֹהֶבֶת בִּמְיוּחָד בַּכִּיתָּה שֶׁלָּנוּ.

כְּמוֹ שֶׁחֶלְ-קְכֶם יוֹדְעִים, יֵשׁ לוּחַ בַּחֶדֶר שֶׁל ה-Seniors שֶׁהָפַךְ לַמַּשֶּׁהוּ מְאוֹד חָשׁוּב בִּשְׁבִילֵנוּ. עַד הַשָּׁנָה הוּא הָיָה סְתָם לוּחַ קִשְׁקוּשִׁים וְהוֹדָעוֹת. הַדָּבָר הָרִאשׁוֹן שֶׁעָשִׂינוּ כְּשֶׁקִּיבַּלְנוּ אֶת הַחֶדֶר הָיָה לִכְתּוֹב עָלָיו בָּעֲנָק:

"אֲנַחְנוּ אוֹהֲבִים אַחֵד אֶת הַשֵּׁנִי". זֶה הָיָה המוטו שֶׁלָּנוּ. וְזֶה מָה שֶׁרָאִינוּ כָּל יוֹם.

בַּשָּׁנָה הָאַחֲרוֹנָה הוֹסַפְנוּ לַלּוּחַ גַּם אֵת הַמָּקוֹם הַבָּא שֶׁל כָּל אַחַד מֵאִיתָּנוּ, כְּדֵי לְשַׁתֵּף וְלַחֲגוֹג לְאָן כָּל אֶחָד מֵאִיתָּנוּ הוֹלֵךְ בְּשָׁנָה הֲבָאָה. אָכַפְתָּ לָנוּ לְאָן כָּל אֶחָד מֵאִיתָּנוּ הוֹלֵךְ. לַמְרוֹת שֶׁבְּשָׁנָה הֲבָאָה נִהְיָה בִּמְקוֹמוֹת שׁוֹנִים, בַּאֲזוֹרֵי זְמַן שׁוֹנִים וַאֲפִילּוּ מַעֲבָר לְיָם, תָּמִיד נֵדַע אֵיךְ לִמְצוֹא אַחֵד אֶת הַשֵּׁנִי.

הַחִיבּוּר שֶׁלָּנוּ הִתְחִיל כְּבָר בַּמַּחֲנֶה גרין לְיַיִן, מִמְּסִיבּוֹת glow, מִלֵּילוֹת מְאוּחָרִים עִם פִּיצָה ורמיקוב בַּחֲדַר הָאוֹכֶל, וְעַד לפיינטבול ו-Senior Assassin. תָּמִיד יָדַעְנוּ לֵיהָנוֹת בְּיַחַד. יֵשׁ אֲנָשִׁים שֶׁלָּקְחוּ פְּעִילוּיוֹת מְסוּיָּמוֹת קְצָת יוֹתֵר בָּרְצִינוּת מֵאֲחֵרִים. הַמֵּבִין יָבִין.

אוּלַי חֵלֶק מֵהַסִּיבָּה שֶׁאֲנַחְנוּ כָּל כָּךְ מְחוּבָּרִים הִיא שֶׁכָּל אֶחָד מֵאִיתָּנוּ נֶאֱלָץ lepateachלַפֶּתַח חוֹסֵן שֶׁלֹּא בְּדֶרֶךְ כְּלָל מְצַפִּים מִתַּלְמִידַי תִּיכוֹן. חָיִינוּ עִם חוֹסֶר וַדָּאוּת כְּבָר מִתְּחִילַּת הַשָּׁנִים שֶׁלָּנוּ בבארק. מֵאָז הקורונה בַּחֲטִיבַת הַבֵּינַיִים לָמַדְנוּ לְהַמְשִׁיךְ גַּם כְּשֶׁהַדְּבָרִים לֹא בְּרוּרִים. וְעַכְשׁיֹו כּוּלָּנוּ עוֹמְדִים לְהִתְפַּתֵּחַ מִתּוֹךְ הַקְּהִילָּה הַזֹּאת וּלְהַרְחִיב אֶת הַמַּעְגָּלִים שֶׁלָּנוּ.

בִּילִּינוּ הַרְבֵּה שְׁנֵים לְפִי הַלּוּחַ הַיְּהוּדִי, חָגַגְנוּ חָגִים יַחַד וְהַיְינוּ חָלָק מִקְּהִילָּה יְהוּדִית גֵּאָה וְעוֹצְמָתִית. וּבְכָל זֹאת, שְׁנוֹת הַתִּיכוֹן שֶׁלָּנוּ עָבְרוּ גַּם בַּצֵּל עֲלִיָּיה ב-בַּשִּׂנְאָה וּבַמִּלְחָמָה. רַבִּים מֵאִיתָּנוּ הִרְגִּישׁוּ פַּחַד אוֹ כָּעַס מוּל הַשִּׂנְאָה הַזֹּאת. אֲבָל עוֹד מַשֶּׁהוּ מְיוּחָד בַּכִּיתָּה שֶׁלָּנוּ הוּא שֶׁמֵּעוֹלָם לֹא בָּחַרְנוּ בַּאֲדִישׁוּת אוֹ בַּהִימָּנְעוּת.

בארק נָתַן לָנוּ יוֹתֵר מֵחִינּוּךְ. הוּא נָתַן לָנוּ הִיסְטוֹרְיָה, זֵהוֹת וּבִיטָּחוֹן בְּמִי שֶׁאֲנַחְנוּ. לָמַדְנוּ יַחַד אֵיךְ לְהַשְׁמִיעַ אֶת הַקּוֹל שֶׁלָּנוּ. וּכְשֶׁאֲנַחְנוּ עוֹזְבִים, אֲנַחְנוּ לוֹקְחִים אִיתָּנוּ אַהֲבָה עֲמוּקָּה לָעַם שֶׁלָּנוּ, אַחְרָיוּת אַחֵד כְּלַפֵּי הַשֵּׁנִי וְגַאֲווה.

אֶת הַגַּאֲווה הַזֹּאת אֲנַחְנוּ צְרִיכִים לָקַחַת אִיתָּנוּ לקולג', לְעָרִים חֲדָשׁוֹת וּלְחַבֶרוּיוֹת חֲדָשׁוֹת. לִהְיוֹת חָלַק מִקְּהִילָּה יְהוּדִית גֵּאָה וְעוֹצְמָתִית עִיצֵּב אוֹתָנוּ, וְיוֹתֵר מִזֶּה, זֶה נָתַן לָנוּ אֶת הַיְּכוֹלֶת לְהָאִיר גַּם אֵת הַקְּהִילּוֹת שֶׁנִּצְטָרֵף אֲלֵיהֶן בֶּעָתִיד.

וּבְתוֹךְ כָּל הַחֲווֹיוֹת הַחֲדָשׁוֹת וְהַמְּרַגְּשׁוֹת שֶׁמְּחַכּוֹת לָנוּ, חָשׁוּב לִזְכּוֹר שֶׁעִם כָּל דָּבָר חָדָשׁ מַגִּיעַ גַּם חוֹסֶר וַדָּאוּת. וּכְשֶׁיַּגִּיעוּ הָרְגָעִים הָאֵלֶּה שֶׁבָּהֶם נַרְגִּישׁ לְבַד, מֵפוּחָדִים אוֹ פָּשׁוּט תְּקוּעִים, נֵדַע שֶׁתָּמִיד יֵשׁ לָנוּ אַחֵד אֶת הַשֵּׁנִי לֶחָזוֹר אֵלָיו. כְּבָר עָבַרְנוּ רְגָעִים כָּאֵלֶּה, וְעָבַרְנוּ אוֹתָם בְּיַחַד, אָז בָּרוּר שֶׁנּוּכַל לַעֲשׂוֹת אֶת זֶה שׁוּב.

וְזֶה מַחְזִיר אוֹתָנוּ לְמִילָּה "מְחוּבָּרִים".

מְחוּבָּרִים זֶה יוֹתֵר מִסְּתָם קֶשֶׁר. הַחִיבּוּר שֶׁלָּנוּ נִבְנֶה מִתּוֹךְ חֲוָויוֹת וַעֲרָכִים מְשׁוּתָּפִים. הַחִיבּוּר תָּמִיד נִשְׁאַר, גַּם אִם עוֹבְרִים כַּמָּה חוֹדָשִׁים אוֹ אֲפִילּוּ כַּמָּה שָׁנִים.

אֲנַחְנוּ מְחוּבָּרִים לֹא רַק אַחֵד לִשְׁנֵי, אֶלָּא גַּם לְמַשֶּׁהוּ גָּדוֹל יוֹתֵר מֵאִיתָּנוּ. מַשֶּׁהוּ שֶׁיַּמְשִׁיךְ לְהָאִיר לָנוּ אֶת הַדֶּרֶךְ קָדִימָה.

אֲנַחְנוּ אוֹהֲבִים אַחֵד אֶת הַשֵּׁנִי.

וַאֲנִי אוֹהֶבֶת אֶת כּוּלְּכֶם!

 

daniel goldstein '26

Good evening, families, friends, teachers, and fellow graduates.

I want each of you to take a minute and let me paint a picture in your mind of the first time I went upside down on a roller coaster. It was our Junior year physics class trip to Dorney Park, and Sadie Menkowitz and I were paired for our project, spending the day with Liora Scheinmann and Noa Singer. As we headed over to Iron Menace, the most intense roller coaster in the whole park, I was a bit scared. But it was the ride Liora and Noa chose for their project, and since we decided to stick together, I went in with a positive attitude and joined them. 

As we climbed to the top of the 160-foot hill, each click of the car moving upward on the track made me both more nervous and more excited. We went over the first big drop and around the loop, and then they snapped our picture, and all four of us looked atrocious. Sadie was screaming for her life, and I looked like I had passed out, my jaw slack, and my hair and face were fully pushed back from the wind. If you looked at the picture without context, you would think we were traumatized and didn't go on any rides for the rest of the day. But that was not the case; we got off the ride, and 8 minutes later, we were back on Iron Menace. 

The second time around, we knew what to expect; we knew when the big drops and turns were coming, and, most importantly, we knew when our picture was being taken. In that picture, Liora and I are smiling, our fingers flashing peace signs, and Noa and Sadie's screams look a lot less horrified and much more joyful. It was the same ride, same place getting our picture taken, 8 minutes apart, and the only thing that changed was our attitude. 

This story is a microcosm of what the Barrack Class of 2026 has experienced together. For those of you who do not know me, my name is Daniel Goldstein, and I have been through the ups, downs, and all-arounds that we, the Barrack Class of 2026, have shared.

Our time at Barrack has been a lot like that roller coaster. We all walked through the school doors for the first time in September of 2019 with no idea what to expect -- no idea where the ride was taking us, how thrilling or terrifying it would get, or what was waiting around the next turn.

And then, before we even had a chance to find our footing, the whole world just stopped. We were in middle school when COVID hit, and suddenly, school looked nothing like what we had signed up for. We went from walking these halls together to sitting in our bedrooms on Google Meets, staring at a grid of faces on a screen. My mornings pivoted from sitting on the bus talking to my friends and making Shut Up Heather TikToks on the second floor with Ilana Fink and Belle Haris to waking up at 9:55 for our 10 am classes and seeing my first face of the day on a screen. And when we finally came back to school, we were outside, in tents. Not exactly the Barrack experience any of us had imagined. But we got through it together.

Then, two years later, came our 8th-grade trip to Israel. We made it there and enjoyed our first week together in the Negev and Jerusalem, but halfway through, the unexpected hit us once again, and half our class, including me, got COVID and were stuck in Herzlia in an Airbnb. At the time, it felt like the worst possible luck. But looking back, being stuck in the COVID house playing hide-and-go-seek, laughing when Mrs. Sussman used dish soap in the dishwasher, watching late-night TV shows, and playing board games with Dr. Frie might have been the highlight of the trip. The ride had gone completely off the rails, yet it was still one of the best parts of the journey.

And that became a pattern for our class. Our long-awaited junior-year Israel trip was postponed to senior year and ultimately canceled. Three times, our coaster got knocked off its track. But every single time, we made the best of it. We had an unexpected first trimester of junior year in Bryn Mawr and an extra two months at home after classes ended this year, but we learned yet again how to make the most of an unfortunate situation, despite what life threw at us. We got to play in Fall and Spring sports we thought we would miss, attend the Upper School Shabbaton, and bond as we explored our unique city, Philadelphia. We went on a Philly scavenger hunt in the midst of the 97-degree heat wave, had a relaxing picnic day at Valley Forge National Park, and went to Citizens Bank Park to cheer on the Phillies.    

Looking back, every canceled trip and unexpected detour gave us something we didn't know we needed: more time together, all 57 of us, before we go off and become the next versions of ourselves. Looking back at that roller coaster photo, the one they snapped at the worst possible time, the one where none of us looked good, that's kind of like a bad grade, or a hard week, or a plan that fell apart. But we can look at that picture and laugh now, because it's proof we were on the ride together, and we not only survived… we found a way to thrive.

And that's exactly what I wanted to capture in our Yearbook. When brainstorming a theme as editor-in-chief, I came across the idea of Oh, the Places You'll Go!, a Dr. Seuss classic. But I realized that the yearbook is not about our future; instead, it is a reflection of our past. So I came up with the theme Oh, the Places We've Been, to tell our story of the last seven, four or however many years we have spent  together at Barrack.

All the places we've been and all the things we have done over the last 17-19 years have set us up to walk across this bima into the next chapter of our lives, even more successful than before. Our time at Barrack has helped each of us on this stage discover who we are as students and people, and has provided us with a nurturing environment in which we learned to work well with our peers, manage our time successfully, and ask for help when needed. We juggled all of the classes a public school student takes, in addition to Jewish Studies, Tanakh, and Hebrew, leaving us not only well prepared to manage the demands of College but also free to explore our Jewish identities at our own pace. Every late night, every performance, every test we felt we weren't ready for, and every moment we spent at school, which by the way is more time together every week than with our own families, has brought us here.

So congrats, Class of 2026. Somehow, we all got through it. Our time at Barrack has been one wild ride, and I wouldn't change a single turn of it! As we move into the next phase of the journey, remember that even when life takes you to unexpected places, that's often where the best memories come from. 

I can’t wait to see and hear about all the Places You’ll go and the incredible things you’ll do.

 

Thank you, David, for your generous introduction, and thank you to the board, faculty and staff, supporters, and all the families of Jack M. Barrack Hebrew Academy.

Most importantly, mazal tov to the Class of 2026.

Graduates, today is one of those rare moments in life when everyone in the room is focused on you. Enjoy it. Enjoy the nachat your parents are experiencing for your success. Please indulge them when they want that extra, cheesy photo with your siblings and grandparents.

This is a special moment for you and for them, capping a lifetime of memories and formative experiences at Barrack and at your previous schools.

Before I go any further, let’s tackle the subject that has been the make or break of commencement speeches in 2026.

Everyone’s talking about AI.

In fact, I suspect there is an AI system somewhere right now generating a graduation speech about AI.

Let me reassure you: I am not going to spend the next ten minutes predicting which jobs AI will replace, whether robots will become your managers, or whether ChatGPT will someday be giving this speech instead of me.

Instead, I’ll echo what Steve Wozniak, co-founder of Apple, said at a recent commencement address. “You all have AI,” Wozniak said. “You all have AI.” That is “actual intelligence.”

As you graduate from Barrack, you have a powerful combination: your intelligence, intellectual and emotional, combined with the power of a profound Jewish and secular education.

If you want to know how Jews have survived for thousands of years and contributed so much to the world around us, it is because we place education at the heart of our “operating system.”

I just marked ten years as the founding CEO of Prizmah, the network that serves Jewish day schools across North America.

It has been one of the great privileges of my life to work with extraordinary educators and leaders in hundreds of Jewish day schools.

In this role, I am reminded every day that our teachers and this community do far more than prepare students for college.

They prepare students for life.

I know this because they did it for me.

Outside of my family, my Jewish day school education was probably the most formative experience of my life. I left school remembering lessons from Torah and from study of Talmud, such as Pirkei Avot, that guide me decades later, underpin my values, and determine what I strive to achieve.

I left with a deep sense of responsibility to the world around me.

I left with an understanding that being Jewish is not simply something we are. It is something we do. And most of all, I left with the imprint of teachers whose influence has never left me.

My kindergarten teacher was a woman named Hazel Goldreich.

Before becoming my teacher in London, Hazel and her husband Arthur played an extraordinary role in the struggle against apartheid in South Africa. Their farm was a secret safe house for leaders of the African National Congress. Nelson Mandela lived there before his arrest.

Think about that for a moment.

A woman who had helped shape history chose to become a teacher.

As a child, I didn’t fully understand the significance of her story.

But I understood her kindness.

I understood her belief that every child mattered.

And over time I came to understand that she was living a profoundly Jewish lesson: that we are called not only to witness the world as it is, but to help build the world as it should be.

A few years later, another teacher gifted me a different lesson.

In July 1976, Jewish communities around the world awoke to the astounding news of the rescue of hostages at Entebbe. The operation felt miraculous.

But when I arrived at school that day, my teacher shared something deeply personal.

One Jewish hostage was not rescued and later died in hospital in Uganda.

As we know from the recent hostages in Gaza, the value of Pidyon Shvuyim, Redemption of Captives, is central to Jewish values.

The death of one hostage at Entebbe was a terrible loss, despite the heroic rescue of all the others. That hostage, Dora Bloch, was my teacher’s aunt.

Suddenly, a global story became personal, almost intimate. 

I learned that day what it means when we say Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—every Jew is responsible for one another.

The Jewish people were not an abstraction.

They were family.

Like this community at Barrack is your family.

My teachers’ lessons have stayed with me for a lifetime.

And that’s why I hope you never underestimate what you have gained here.

You have learned chemistry and calculus. Literature, history, Tanakh, and Talmud.

But you have also learned something deeper. You have learned how to ask questions.

How to wrestle with ideas. How to disagree respectfully.

How to hold complexity.

How to balance particular responsibility to your own community with universal responsibility for the world.

Those are skills for a lifetime. And more than anything, through your Jewish day school experience, you have, I hope, learned who you are. At Prizmah, when we talk about the magic of a Jewish day school experience, it is in this: “When you know who you are, you can be anything.”

Some of you will become entrepreneurs. Some of you will become doctors, lawyers, scientists, artists, public servants, or community leaders.

Perhaps one of you will someday become Governor of Pennsylvania.

Perhaps one of you will even run for president. And if you do, I hope you remember today and invite me to the inauguration. Earlier this week, speaking as a Perelman and Barrack alum and parent, Governor Shapiro shared a lasting memory of an encounter with one of his teachers. One day when he got a detention, Mrs Landis told a young Josh: “You’re either going to grow up to be a criminal, or be very successful.”

The choices Josh Shapiro made turned out ok. I believe that the choices you will make will lead you in great directions, as long as you remember who you are and live by your values.

I am enjoying a career driven by my passions and a determination to make a difference. I didn’t start out with a vocation, and even today I sometimes wonder what I’m going to do when I grow up.

I am proud of the opportunities I’ve had and the times in my life I’ve been able to make the world just a little bit better.

When I look at who had the greatest impact on my life and when I ask myself who are the heroes shaping our world for the better, there is one profession I want to mention in particular.

Teaching.

In Jewish tradition, our greatest leader, Moses, is not remembered as Moses the warrior.

Not Moses the politician.

Not Moses the miracle worker.

He is Moshe Rabbeinu. Moses our teacher. The importance of Moshe as a teacher is punctuated in this week’s Parsha, Beha’alotekha. Joshua approaches Moses, fearful about the way that Eldad and Medad, two Elders of B’nei Yisrael, were prophesying. Joshua appealed to Moses to restrain them. But instead of exerting control, Moshe says:

מִי יִתֵּן כׇּל־עַם יְהֹוָה נְבִיאִי ם כִי־יִתֵּן יְהֹוָה אֶת־רוּחוֹ עֲלֵּיהֶם׃

“Would that all Gd’s people were prophets, that Gd inspired them!”

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks explains how this demonstrates the nature of real leadership embraced by the Tanakh and rabbinical Judaism.

Instead of focusing on leadership solely by power, Moshe embraces leadership by influence.

Our teachers are the ultimate influencers and we embrace their leadership.

The people who shape the future are the people who teach it.

Many achievements in my life trace back, in some way, to teachers.

I can still remember lessons from classrooms decades ago. I certainly cannot remember most meetings I attended last year.

Teachers change lives.

Teachers shape generations.

Teachers create futures they may never personally see.

And so tonight, I want us to pause and thank the remarkable educators of Barrack Hebrew Academy, who invested their hearts in this class.

The impact of your work will echo for decades.

Thank you.

For each of you graduates, when you think about your future journey, I love the opportunities that lie ahead and the choices you might make.

I hope that whatever you choose, you’ll consider being a hero and an influencer. Not an influencer measured by clicks and likes, but an influencer of the hearts and minds of future generations.

There are many ways you can and will do this, and I hope for some it will be as a teacher. You can change the world.

To your parents:

Thank you as well.

You made sacrifices to give your children this education.

You made a decision not simply about schooling, but about values.

You chose an education that would help your children understand who they are, where they come from, and what responsibilities they carry into the world.

I hope that tonight brings you enormous pride.

 

Graduates, you enter adulthood at a moment that often feels uncertain.

You are constantly reminded about technological disruption, political division, antisemitism, war, climate change, and countless other challenges.

The threats are real.

But I remain profoundly optimistic.

I am optimistic because I spend my life surrounded by Jewish day school students and teachers.

I am optimistic because our people have faced and come through uncertainty before.

And I am optimistic because I see the Class of 2026 and I imagine the next chapters in your journey.

The future is not something that happens to us.

It is something each of you will help create.

My wish for you is simple. Be proud of who you are.

Carry your Judaism with confidence.

Stay connected to your people.

Continue learning.

Continue asking questions.

Continue serving others.

May you help repair our broken world.

And may you always be worthy of the extraordinary investment that your families, your teachers, and this community have made in you.

Mazal tov, Class of 2026. Thank you.

Paul - thank you for joining us tonight and for sharing such a thoughtful and meaningful message with our students and community. As partners in the Prizmah network, we are grateful for your leadership and the important work that Prizmah does on behalf and in service of all Jewish day schools - and most importantly - our students. With a full heart - thank you.

It is an honor to gather with everyone here this evening to celebrate and graduate the class of 2026. 

Thank you to Ms. Trajtenberg, Mr. McLaughlin, Mrs. Pandian, Mr. Maybloom, the staff at Har Zion, and everyone who has been involved in tonight’s ceremony. Thank you to our entire senior administrative team, our upper school leadership team, and to all of our outstanding faculty and staff. 

Thank you to our board of directors, for everything that you do to support our school and lead us to celebratory moments like tonight’s. A special thank you to Scott Erlbaum and Jonathan Zabusky, Board co-presidents, for your leadership, commitment, and dedication to Barrack, and to the future strength of our school and community. 

To our families…thank you for giving us the opportunity to educate your children and for investing in the future of the Jewish people. As we prepare, along with our partners at Perelman Jewish Day School, to unify our schools and launch a premier, independent PreK-12 Jewish community day school, I am deeply grateful for your partnership, dedication, and belief in the power and importance of Jewish day school education for your children and for our shared Jewish future. 

This past winter, I successfully binge-watched one of the most endearing, thoughtful and moving portrayals of the high school experience - and the mix of feelings, the highs and the lows, the simplicity and the complexity - of the pivotally important, yet intensely emotional teenage years.

Set in the fictitious town of Dillon, Texas, Friday Night Lights follows the story of the Dillon Panthers, and later on the East Dillon Lions, as teenagers and adults navigate the rhythms of life in football obsessed West Texas. But while football is the throughline, the show is not about football. It’s about kids, teenagers specifically, and the non-linear march to adulthood alongside a select group of adults - some outstanding and some flawed - who believe in the power and potential of young people.

Since the show aired from 2006-2011, there is a chance that the class of 2026 may not have any clue what I am talking about — but bear with me - because I believe that some people in the audience do, and even if you do not, I am highly recommending that you add it to your queue.

Each season, the storyline shined a light upon the lives of teenagers - the drive for acceptance, the desire to be great, the fear of failure, the discomfort of being different, the pressure of adults, the heaviness of community expectations, the challenges of family, and the search for purpose and self-worth. For those who do not work with teens regularly - which is a different type of job than raising a teen - Friday Night Lights paints a picture of the many struggles those who work with teenagers see on a regular basis - or minimally know what is there - once you develop those deep relationships and they let you into their world. 

As the characters themselves each carved their pathway through adolescence, I became more and more engaged. First - because I love working with teenagers and had a natural affinity for the show and its themes. And second, because I found myself connecting with the characters. Yet often, I would watch an episode and be thinking —- “Riggins, don’t do that, you’re better than this!” or “Tyra, come on, you know this is a bad decision.” “Or... Vince, don’t be so stubborn, Coach Taylor has your best interests in mind.” And then, because they didn’t listen to me —- I needed to watch multiple episodes more to see what it would take for them to learn, to grow, to see how things could have been different if only they made a different choice the first time, and to watch their more complicated path as they grew into the version of themselves I always knew they were capable of becoming. 

Time and again, the key characters proved, change occurs over time. Every individual has enormous potential - regardless of your environment and your background - and that who you were yesterday is not who you are today, nor should it dictate who you will become tomorrow.

This year, we have set Derech Eretz as our theme for the school year. As I wrote in my opening note to the school community last August, Derech Eretz is an overarching sentiment that reflects guiding principles for how we should strive to live, act, be. While its literal translation may be closest to “the pathway of the land,” we adopted the phrase “Everyday Ethics” to signify this broader idea of the ways we should be in the world —- a way of being that reflects the choices we make and the actions we take every single day:

Will we pick up the paper our peer dropped and chase after them to give it back? Check on the person who seems upset? Offer a snack to a friend who forgot their lunch? Thank a teacher for a meaningful class? Say something positive about someone else? 

When faced with a choice about how to act or how to be, how can we encourage students to choose kindness. Choose goodness. And choose to act ethically. Every day.

The reality is that we can - and that we do - and that these examples and the thousands of other possibilities that could be mentioned - each of varying levels of complexity - are part of a growth process over time. The decision to choose one pathway or another is immensely personal, often impacted by outside influences, and the long arc of adolescent development. They are often not innate or clear choices - and are skills to be practiced and repeated, to be reflected upon and further considered, so that they become ingrained and accepted norms of behavior within one’s own sense of self.

It is in this spirit that I also recommend to our graduates not only a television show, but a book, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin’s Book of Jewish Values: A Day-by-Day Guide to Ethical Living. Though almost 500 pages, it is easily accessible, broken down into 52 weeks, 365 days — a single idea and value for each day of the year, accompanied by a story or short commentary to bring that value to life and make it both meaningful and applicable.

A sampling of the values captured in the book shows the breadth and the depth of the wisdom of our tradition along with Telushkin’s insights to help readers integrate these ideas into their lives.

• “Don’t speak unless you have something to say” is expressed through the words of 19th century British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, quoted as saying, “It is better to remain silent and have people say, ‘I wonder what he’s thinking,’ than to speak up and have people say, ‘I wonder why he spoke.” (29)
• “Judge the whole of a person favorably” is expressed through the portrait of Oskar Schindler, among others, and the mishnaic exhortation to understand why a person may have acted as they did, and consider possible reasons, and excuses if appropriate, for their behavior. (36)
• “Acting cheerfully is not a choice,” based upon a comment in Pirkei Avot (1:15) is expressed by Telushkin that “at any given moment you might be unable to control what you are feeling, but that does not mean you cannot control how you act.” (58)

Ethics and values are learned, they are practiced, they are nurtured, and they are developed over time. And in that development, we see in ourselves that we are a constant work in progress, always with the potential for being shaped, for growing, and for changing. 

Who we are today is not who we were at the start of high school, nor at the start of middle school…and even more so…we will also be different tomorrow.

As we mark 80 years of both Barrack Hebrew Academy and Akiba Hebrew Academy this year, this graduation speech also gives me a moment to reflect on the original namesake of our school, Rabbi Akiva.

Our tradition teaches us that Rabbi Akiva was not a scholar from birth. He was not raised in what we might call a “house of Torah” or the Beit Midrash.” He did not have the background that would have made you place the bet - this person, this Akiva, he is a person that will be remembered as one of the greatest rabbinic sages in Jewish history. 

We learn in an oft-quoted text from Avot D’Rabbi Natan (6:2): 

What was the beginning of R. ‘Aḳiva? It was said of him that at the age of forty he had learned nothing at all. On one occasion, as he was standing by the mouth of a well, he inquired, ‘Who carved out this stone?’ They answered, ‘The water which constantly falls on it, day in and day out’... Immediately, Rabbi Aḳiva reasoned from the lesser to the greater: If the soft [water] can wear away the hard [stone], how much more can the words of the Torah, which are hard like iron, carve a way into my heart which is of flesh and blood! At once he turned to the study of the Torah….”

At the age of 40, Akiva saw an opportunity to grow. A moment in time provided him with a question, followed by time to reflect on the answer, and then he propelled himself forward with a choice to engage in a set of behaviors - and a commitment to study - that would change his own life and would greatly impact our lives as well.

Who he was before he asked that question was different from who he would ultimately become - a result of the long journey of life, the ability to adapt and grow and change, and the recognition that the story of who we are is always being written.

As we join together this evening to both mark and celebrate your graduation, we know that we do so with immense expectations of all of you. As adults, we may not always nor fully appreciate the weight that we put on your shoulders - but we do so - in the deepest and most positive parts of our hearts and beings - because we believe in your promise and in your potential. 

We know that you are not yet done becoming who you are meant to be. That all that you have learned and practiced thus far is just a part of your ultimate story.

But we hope that with the values and the ideals of the Jewish faith, the Jewish community, and of Barrack Hebrew Academy, that together this will serve as a solid and unbreakable foundation for your futures — one that is supported by a strong belief in yourself and all that you can accomplish alongside the love of those who care most deeply about you and are excited about your growth and development in the years ahead.

With a vision for your future, let me conclude with a quote from Rabbi Telushkin’s book:  Almost two hundred years ago, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav offered a challenge to his followers: “If you are not going to be better tomorrow than you were today, then what need have you for tomorrow?”

Mazal tov - class of 2026 - with immense excitement and hope for each of you as you graduate this evening and continue your Derech, your path ahead — one that you will both walk and build.

Congratulations.