You Are Enough: Graduation (Beha'alotcha 5786)

I want to start, as I often do, with a Laffy Taffy–type riddle.

Q: How many Jewish grandparents does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: None! “Don’t worry about us. We’ll just sit here in the dark eating leftover matzah.”

We’ll come back to that.

The summer before you started 9th grade — in 2022 — the JCHS Professional Community, our educators and staff, had summer reading, just like students. One of the books for ProCom that summer was a memoir by Edie Eger. The Choice.

Edie grew up in Hungary. By sixteen, she had earned a spot on the Olympic gymnastics team. But then the Nazis deported Edie and her family to Auschwitz. She survived. Emaciated and nearly dead, she was liberated in 1945. Edie went on to become one of America’s most celebrated psychotherapists, seeing patients well into her nineties.

Edie died just weeks ago, at 98 years old. Zichronah livracha — may her memory be a blessing. Her death prompted me to recall that book we read just before you started at JCHS and to share an episode from it.

On Edie’s first night in Auschwitz, the infamous Dr. Mengele came to the women’s barracks looking to be entertained. Someone told him there was an accomplished dancer among them. He commanded sixteen-year-old Edie to dance.

Musicians played. Edie danced. But as she danced, she closed her eyes. And in her mind, she was no longer in Auschwitz. Instead, she imagined being at the Budapest Opera House. When the Auschwitz musicians changed to Tchaikovsky, in her mind, Edie was dancing Romeo and Juliet.

“I created a world inside me,” she said later. “I was always thinking about the future — when all this is going to be over.” Edie recalled something her mother told her on the way to Auschwitz: “Everything can be taken from you. But what you put here — in your head — no one can take away.”

That interior treasury — that inner knowledge — sustained her. It was enough: enough to endure, enough to survive, enough to thrive. That is what kept Edie Eger alive.

So why did JCHS faculty read the book? Because we believed, even before we knew you, that this was a vital lesson for you too. What we carry in our heads about ourselves is important. It is the doorway to our future.

Speaking of doorways — in the JCHS tote at your feet is a gift for you, a gift for your doorway. It is an olive wood beit mezuzah, a mezuzah case. Marked on it is the Hebrew letter shin — ש. An image familiar to many of us because it is on lots of Jewish doorposts. It stands for Shaddai — one of the ancient names of God. One traditional interpretation of “Shaddai” is “Almighty.”

But the rabbis of the Talmud in Chagigah 12a weren’t satisfied leaving it there. When they looked at that word, they saw something hidden inside: She-amar l’olamo: dai. “The One who said to the world: this is Enough.” A rabbinic legend explains: When the world was being created, creation kept expanding — oceans poured, mountains multiplied, heavens accumulated upon heavens. And the Creator said: Dai. Enough.Not because creation had failed. Not because it needed more time to become worthy. But because it was — exactly, precisely — enough.

That word dai is also hidden inside the name Shaddai. Seeing it on a mezuzah is an essential reminder of a value that has been part of our tradition for thousands of years: You are enough.

You are! In my years at JCHS, I have rarely seen so many distinct, strong, fully-formed personalities gathered in one grade. You came in with your own convictions, your own voices, your own ways of seeing the world. You never stopped surprising us. What I did not expect was how generously you held all of that. How flexible you could be with each other. How adaptive when the world shifted under your feet. How kind — genuinely, quietly, persistently kind — even when kindness wasn’t the easy choice.

You figured out, without anyone telling you: that a room full of strong personalities doesn’t have to become a competition. It can become a community. And through four years you created that kind of community.

This week’s Torah portion, Beha’alotcha, teaches a similar truth.

In it, Jews in the wilderness are frustrated, crying out. For Moshe the burden is crushing for a leader Torah calls more humble than any person on the face of the earth (Numbers 12:3). An exasperated Moshe turns to God. And, as Ms. Rabinowitz taught beautifully at Siyyum last night, Moshe concedes: I cannot carry this people alone. It is too heavy for me. Moshe admits he cannot do it by himself.

But the answer he gets is not “try harder.” It’s not “Come to think of it, Moshe, you’re right. You are not enough.” Instead, seventy elders are gathered to share the load, so the weight could be carried together.

And that transforms things for Moshe. As others rise to take up the load, he isn’t threatened — he’s grateful. And as they actively participate, Moshe observes, “Would that all the people were prophets” (Numbers 11:29) — would that all of them were this wise, this engaged, this ready to lead.

Sharing the burden doesn’t diminish Moshe. It steadies him. He becomes secure in knowing that with others he is enough. Admitting his limitations was not a confession that he was not enough. Rather, it led to the discovery that being enough never meant standing alone.

That is the dai story of this Class. You were enough — not in spite of your differences, but through them.

This idea of dai is familiar to lots of us already from the Pesach Seder, when we sing Dayenu — each stanza calls out a gift, on its own, that would have been enough.

Beyond the Seder table, when I call that word to mind today, I direct it toward each of you. Each one of you is dai — is enough. Perfectly and completely. Not too much. Not too little. Just right. Enough.

Now look around for a moment.

Look at the people who came to celebrate you today. Every person in this room who loves you does not love a future version of you. They do not love a perfected version of you. They love you this version of you — the one sitting here right now, human and imperfect and whole. For them, you are enough!

We know! We have watched you wrestle with ideas that didn’t yield easily, navigate relationships that got complicated, make sense of a world that asked a great deal of you. And after four years of knowing you, here is what we can say with complete certainty:

You are enough.

Hang this mezuzah on your doorpost. In your dorm room, your first apartment, wherever life takes you next. And on the hard days — when the world makes you feel small, when you wonder whether you measure up — look at the shin. Remember what it means.

Remember Edie Eger, who at sixteen found a whole world inside herself that no one could touch.

Remember the lesson from Moshe that being enough depends on not standing alone.

Remember the thousands-year-old tradition placing that letter on your doorpost to tell you exactly what you need to hear:

Dai. You are enough.

And unlike some Jewish grandparents sitting happily in the dark . . . with their leftover matzah — we are not in the dark about you.

We see you. Clearly. Completely.
And what we see is more than enough.

Precious, bold, and grateful Class of 2026 — we have loved having you at JCHS. We are so proud of who you are, and so excited for all you are becoming.

As your journey takes you away from us, know that all of us in this sanctuary are always here for you.

And we will miss you deeply.

This Kind of Community: Compassion, Humility, and Lovingkindness (Naso & B’ha’alotecha 5786)

Tower of Babel, Pyramid, Salesforce Tower, Menorah

Here is my final dvar Torah of the JCHS school year shared this week just before final exams.

This is a season filled with closing rituals — so I have two of my own. The first is sharing my final "Laffy Taffy" jokes of the year:

Q: What do you call a wolf* with bad language? A: A swear-wolf!

Q: Why is challah like the sun? A: It rises in the yeast!

Q: What do you call a wolf with insight? A: An aware-wolf!

That’s one closing ritual. Here’s the other.

Last Shabbat we celebrated Shavuot — we rehearsed standing at Sinai again and receiving the Torah. So the question now, as the school year closes and summer opens, is what do we do with it -- all of this Torah we've received?

This week the calendar gives us a clue from two directions. Here in the Bay Area and everywhere outside of Israel we will read parshat Naso; in Israel they read parshat B’ha’alotecha. Both parshiot place the kohanim — the priests — at the center. The priest’s whole job was to serve, not to rule. To lead in support of a community, not to control a community. In Naso, the kohanim bless the people. In B’ha’alotecha, the kohanim light the menorah. Similar work, two directions: blessing flowing outward, light rising upward.

In that second parsha — B’ha’alotecha — the Torah tells us something striking about Moshe, our greatest leader: that he was exceedingly humble (Numbers 12:3). The Torah’s highest praise for the person who led our people out of Egypt and stood at Sinai is not his power, not his vision, not his eloquence — but his humility.

And that humility isn’t just a personal trait. It’s the shape of the society Judaism is trying to build.

Contrast Jewish architecture with Empire architecture. Our world is filled with Empire architecture — from the Tower of Babel to the Pyramids to Salesforce Tower — broad at the bottom and narrow at the top: the many holding up the few. But Jewish architecture, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught, is the opposite. Consider our premier Jewish symbol: the menorah — narrow at the bottom, broad at the top. Leaders serve the people, not the other way around.

About Jewish "architecture," Sacks also wrote: "Judaism became the religion whose heroes were teachers and whose passion was study and the life of the mind. The Mesopotamians built ziggurats. The Egyptians built pyramids. The Greeks built the Parthenon. The Romans built the Coliseum. Jews built schools." That’s the kind of school community we are trying to be.

And the Talmud names three behaviors that mark a community like that. The rabbis ask: what should others see when they look at us? Their answer (Yevamot 79a): “The people Israel are marked by three qualities — rachmanim, baishanim, ve-gomlei chasadim — Jews are marked by acting with compassion, humility, and lovingkindness.”

These are aspirational. None of us embodies them in every moment. What sets us apart as a community is the striving — that we keep reaching for these three: more compassion in how we speak with and about others; more humility in how we see those around us; and more lovingkindness in how we lift those who have stumbled and reach out to those in need.

Show your friends, your families, and the strangers you’ll meet this summer, that you can grow through compassion, humility, and lovingkindness. When you do, you strengthen yourselves, you strengthen our community, and you bring more light into the world.

This is the JCHS kind of community.

Finish strong, and have a great, great summer.

* A wolf is the JCHS mascot.

Bringing Our Light to Those in the Dark (Miketz & Chanukah 5786)

This is the season of short days and long nights. Chanukah arrives precisely at this moment, imploring us to bring more light into the world.

That exhortation feels almost unbearable this year. In Sydney, sixteen people were murdered at a public Chanukah celebration on Bondi Beach. One victim was a child, another was a Holocaust survivor who died shielding his wife from bullets.

In the midst of that horror, a Muslim named Ahmed al Ahmed tackled one of the gunmen. Ahmed himself was shot multiple times saving lives. His was a courageous type of wisdom, seeing his neighbors as worth protecting. 

And beyond attacks on Jews, our world reels with violence: two students were killed at Brown University this weekend during final exams, a gunman still at large at the time of this posting.

We are tempted to scroll past headlines to absorb only darkness.

Into this darkness comes this week’s Torah portion, Miketz, which often coincides with Chanukah. Miketz contains Torah's first use of the word chacham—"wise one." Pharaoh marvels at Joseph, declaring, "No one is as wise as you!" (Genesis 41:39). What made Joseph wise? He was able to see things that others missed or passed by.

For instance, Joseph could see his brothers for who they really were even when they could not recognize him. He transformed dark and nightmarish images of dreams into sources of light and understanding. Joseph's wisdom lay in his ability to see what others could not and to bring light to places of darkness.

Just last week, we received a devastating lesson about that kind of wisdom – the wisdom it takes courage to express and that comes from seeing things that others miss or simply pass by. 

Video was released showing six Israeli hostages — Ori Danino, Carmel Gat, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Alex Lobanav, Almog Sarusi, and Eden  — lighting Chanukah candles in a Hamas tunnel in December 2023. They had been held captive for eighty days. They fashioned a menorah from disposable cups. They sang blessings and Maoz Tzur. 

In that darkness — literal, psychological, and absolute — they brought light. Like Joseph in his prison cell, they saw meaning where others might see only despair. They found resilience where others might feel only fatigue. 

As they sang Maoz Tzur together, some of the hostages learned for the first time that the song has multiple stanzas—each commemorating a different attempt to destroy the Jewish people: Egypt, Babylonia, Persia, the Greeks, the Crusades.

When they understood the structure of the song, they said to each other: "They'll have to add another verse." They placed themselves in the arc of Jewish history even as they were living it. Eight months later, all six were murdered by Hamas.

JCHS students learn in Conceptual Physics that it is nearly impossible for the world to be completely dark. Just a tiny speck of light can overcome total darkness. Those six young people (now sometimes called "The Beautiful Six”) understood this. In a tunnel, in captivity, facing death, they lit candles. They sang. They joked about waiting for sufganiyot from Roladin bakery. They saw each other. They remained human. They remained Jewish.

It would be easy this Chanukah to feel overwhelmed by darkness—to scroll past, to look away, to protect ourselves from feeling too much. But Joseph's wisdom calls us to do the opposite: to see what others might miss. To look at the suffering and not turn away. That's what it means to be wise: to shine a light on others and to see them.

May this be a season when each of us has the wisdom to see others authentically, to shine our light on them, and to find the strength to be the light that overcomes darkness.

Chag Urim Sameach - May the Festival Lights Bring Joy

Shabbat Shalom From Hostage Square in Tel Aviv (Sukkot 5786)

Debby and I went early this morning to Hostage Square in Tel Aviv to stand with thousands to sing Hallel, holding our lulav and etrog with prayers of gratitude and anticipation of release. Release for the hostages and release for Israel from the war launched by Hamas, and release for hope from the shackles that have been binding it for two years.

What struck me most was not the nature of the prayer itself, but the breathtaking diversity of Jewish expression present. Secular and religious, young and old, people from across every spectrum of Israeli society stood together, united in a combination of anxious hope, excited anticipation, and resolute gratitude.

Israeli journalist Amit Segal captured this morning’s event perfectly as he urged viewers to watch without political or partisan commentary: "Strip away the spin, the slander, the endless arguments about who deserves credit or blame. Forget the political framing for a moment. Look at what [is actually happening]." 

I see the day coming close for the release of hostages, the return of bodies, the return of those displaced, troops returning home, competing sides talking about resolution, and the pause we all need to reflect and consider what has been lost regardless of one’s allegiances.

Standing there among thousands, I felt something shift—not certainty, but possibility. The possibility of shifting the purpose of that public square from a space to remember the hostages toward a space to celebrate the rescue and redemption from the trauma of these last two years. The possibility of a page turning from a chapter of darkness and despair toward one of light and hope.

Shabbat Shalom From Hostage Square in Tel Aviv,

Rabbi Howard Jacoby Ruben

Laffy Taffy: Rosh Hashanah Edition 5786

Monday evening starts the new Jewish year of 5786. The timing of Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) is in sync with the start of each school year. These new beginnings bring the opportunity to visualize our path and our learning in the year ahead.

Echoing the custom of dipping apples in honey at Rosh Hashanah, I hand out lots of Apple Laffy Taffy and Bit-O-Honey at this time of year. Usually, Laffy Taffy riddles are juvenile. But I discovered three that were seemingly written for this season.

#1) Why was the boy covered in gift wrap? 

His mom told him to live in the present. 

#2) What kind of tea is hard to swallow?

Reality. 

#3) What would you do without your memories?

Forget.  

Embedded in these three riddles is the secret of this season that begins with Rosh Hashanah -- a season of reflection, introspection, and renewal. We have to be deeply present in order to reflect on our memories of real, authentic moments from the year past to inform a commitment to doing better in the new year. 

This is our opportunity to imagine an end to the challenges and dislocations of the year ending and to dream about the year ahead. Seventy-five years ago Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote about the power of wonder and original thinking. He wrote: "Wonder rather  than doubt is the root of all knowledge." 

This captures the core idea that true knowledge starts with a type of awe and curiosity that animate spiritual and intellectual inquiry. Applying that sense of awe and curiosity to the year ahead is precisely what this Jewish season is about. We reflect on the year that is coming to a close in order to inspire our dreams for the year ahead.

Then we dedicate ourselves to spend the coming year pursuing those dreams. That is the kind of imagination and innovation that makes original thinking real in our school and in the world. 

My wish for you and your families is for a new year filled with lots of wonder and much awe. May it be filled with learning abundant and sweetness overflowing.

PS- Please check out the new podcast from JCHS.

Changing the Future: “Give From Wherever You Are Whatever You Can” (Vayechi 5782)

As we read in this week’s Torah portion about the biblical Jacob gathering his children to give a blessing, the Rabbis puzzle over whether his blessing is a prophecy for their future or affirmation of their present. The episode calls to mind Claire Levin. She is pictured here with a kid she befriended four decades before in her neighborhood. 

As Claire’s family recently marked her fifth yahrzeit (anniversary of death), I first learned about the transformative impact she had on that kid named Steve. He was growing up with no mother and no father. Steve’s future was so bleak that one babysitter pinned a note to him saying “this boy has no chance in the world.”

As if that weren’t bad enough Steve was in an abusive foster home from the age of 3 until 16. Apart from the physical and emotional privations Steve’s fosters also forbade him from reading in their presence.Steve was a third generation orphan seemingly destined to a life of total despair. Until he encountered Claire. 

As a mom of three boys Claire actively walked the neighborhood. She would see Steve sitting outside reading the same book day after day. One day Claire asked Steve about why he was always reading the same book. “Its the only book I have,” Steve told Claire. A few days later, Claire brought Steve a box full of books.

Claire’s kindness and encouragement ignited a passion for reading. Reading offered Steve an escape, an alternative reality to one he was suffering. Claire’s caring regard also was a beacon. In Steve’s words, Claire the first of several “human lighthouses” who shone a light toward a brighter future for him. 

Their light also inspired his perseverance and nourished his resilience through high school, college, and a career in corporate America. They lit a path that carried Steve (Pemberton) toward becoming not only the chief human resources executive for Walgreens but also a loving  spouse and father of three. BET.com calls him “a trail-blazing corporate executive.” His bestselling memoir became the inspiring 2018 film, “A Chance in the World.” 

Four decades after getting that box of books, Steve searched for Claire to thank her. Because without her and the other lighthouses who showed him care, Steve believe he would not have achieved more than living out his tragic destiny. 

At their reunion Steve asked Claire why she did it – what inspired her to bring him that box of books. Claire answered she was fulfilling her mother’s vivid encouragement, “Whenever you are able, give from wherever you are whatever you can.”

Steve’s extraordinary capacity to transform his future and the small, but essential, part that Claire part that played bring us back to that Torah scene of Jacob blessing his children. According to Rashi (11th century, France), Jacob wanted to give his children a prophecy. He wanted to foretell their futures. But he wasn’t able. (Rashi to Gen. 49:1; Pesachim 56a). 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks learns from this week's Torah portion that the future is not made by our destiny. Rather, “we make the future by our choices. . . . There is no fate we cannot change, no prediction we cannot defy. We are not predestined to fail; neither are we pre-ordained to succeed. We do not predict the future, because we make the future: by our choices, our willpower, our persistence and our determination to survive.”

Steve Pemberton is concrete proof of this. He succeeded because of his profound willpower . And because Claire Levin was inspired to “give from wherever you are whatever you can.” May we be inspired by each of them to defy any negative predictions that plague us, exercise resilience and grit to overcome our obstacles, and show caring regard to others whenever we can. Our regard might just be the lighthouse moment that changes the future.  

Laughter Lifts Learning (Ki Tavo 5781)

What an exciting first day of school we enjoyed this week. All students on campus at the same time for the first time since March 2020! The journey of a school year is so exciting. And anxiety producing. And confusing. And joyful. So many different feelings come together on that first day of school. 

As we gathered the whole JCHS school community this week in the theater ahead of our first classes of the day, I told the student body about a gift my mother handed me my first day of school one year. She gave me "101 Elephant Jokes" saying to me, "laughter lifts learning! If you start your day with a smile, the learning will be better." Wanting to tell some of my favorite riddles from that now tattered book, I put on a clown mask (see photo - because this year we are all masked indoors all the time in California schools), so my smile behind the mask could be seen outside the mask, then shared:

 

Q: What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?

A: Time to build a new fence.

Q: Where do you find elephants?

A: It depends where you left them.