There is a heaviness in the air this Shabbat. Many of us are holding quiet prayers for safety, clarity, and peace—both close to home and across the world. We arrive carrying questions we can’t answer and burdens we can’t always name. In moments like these, it can feel strange to celebrate, to speak of youth leadership, or to mark transition. Yet this is precisely when we return to the small, steady things that give our lives meaning. That’s where this drasha begins—not with answers, but with presence.
"Open for Me a doorway the size of a needle’s eye, and I will open for you an entrance as wide as a great hall."
(Shir HaShirim Rabbah 5:2)
I come back to that midrash often.
It captures so much of what we do—what we try to do—each Shabbat in our youth spaces.
We open small doorways.
Not always perfect ones. Not always with the right words or the clearest plan.
But meaningful ones.
The kind of doorway that lets a child know they belong—even when they’re loud, or unsure, or having a hard time.
The kind that turns a brief exchange into something that matters.
A way in.
That’s the work.
It happens in those barely-visible moments:
When a teen leader spots the child who hasn’t found a friend yet—and without making a big deal, simply sits beside them.
When someone notices a meltdown brewing and leads with calm instead of correction.
When a youth leader asks a shy kid to help set up chairs—not because they need help, but because they know that invitation might change the kid’s whole morning.
These moments might seem small from the outside.
They are everything.
They are the needle’s eye.
Again and again, I’ve watched God expand those moments into something spacious.
A relationship. A memory. A child who finally feels safe in a communal space.
This week, as we gather for Shabbat, many of us are also holding uncertainty.
Our hearts are heavy with what’s happening in Israel, and what may yet unfold.
We are, in many ways, standing in the doorway of something unknown—something that could change lives.
In that place, we do what generations before us have done:
We say Tehillim.
We lean into community.
We keep showing up for one another in the smallest and holiest of ways.
Presence is not passive—it is powerful.
Even when we cannot fix, we can still hold space.
Even when we don’t know what’s next, we can be part of what’s holding someone steady right now.
Our youth leaders—our teens—are not just running games or helping with logistics.
They are building spiritual memory.
They are shaping the way kids feel about tefillah, about community, and about themselves.
They are doing sacred work.
This work begins even earlier than people often realize.
Our Tot Shabbat leaders show up week after week to hold space for our youngest members—babies, toddlers, and preschoolers—who are just beginning to encounter prayer, ritual, and communal joy.
They create warm, playful, musical spaces where young children learn that Shabbat is a place of welcome and wonder.
Their patience, their rhythm, their ability to hold chaos with gentleness—it is a holy gift.
They are not just entertaining toddlers. They are planting seeds of belonging that can last a lifetime.
That sacred work has a model in this week’s parsha.
Behaalotecha opens with the lighting of the menorah.
The Torah doesn’t simply say lehadlik—to kindle—but behaalotecha—“when you raise up the lamps.”
Rashi explains that the flame must be tended until it rises on its own.
That’s what our leaders do.
They don’t just ignite excitement or deliver information.
They stay beside each child—patiently, steadily—until the light within begins to rise on its own.
Then, like Aharon, they step back and let that light shine.
To be a youth leader in our Bayit is to hold Torah not only in words but in your actions—
In your patience, your humor, your responsibility, your presence.
It means leading not from a platform, but from the floor—
At eye-level with a four-year-old,
Or in whispered conversations with a sixth grader who’s suddenly too old for Parsha puppets but still wants to feel like they matter.
As Pirkei Avot teaches, “In a place where there are no people, strive to be a person.”
Sometimes, being a person simply means staying.
Not filling the silence. Not rushing to fix.
Just standing with someone at the edge of their becoming—and not looking away.
This Youth Shabbat feels a little different.
Alongside our youth leaders, I too am stepping into something new.
In the coming time, my ways to connect and serve here at the Bayit will expand—
Not just in title, but in purpose.
I will continue to work closely with our children and teens,
And I will be able to bring my expanded rabbinic training into my relationships with our Bayit families in moments of transition, celebration, and challenge.
This new chapter includes expanded programming, more opportunities for pastoral care, and deeper ways to help people feel seen, supported, and rooted in this Bayit.
It’s not a departure from what we’ve built—it’s a natural unfolding.
A continuation of the sacred work we’ve already been doing together.
I didn’t grow into this role through titles or exams.
I became who I am in the classrooms of this building.
On the floor with a child crying over a lost snack.
In quiet conversations with teen leaders learning how to hold something hard with grace.
In watching kids learn how to share, apologize, pray, lead, and begin again.
In many ways, we are graduating together.
This cohort of youth leaders—many of whom I’ve watched grow from participants into true leaders—has walked beside me on this path.
I could not be prouder of the work you’ve done.
You’ve shown up early in the morning, even when tired.
You’ve handled challenges with maturity that most adults would admire.
You’ve laughed with the kids, danced with them, taught them Torah, and helped them feel at home.
You may not always see it, but the seeds you’ve planted matter.
Behaalotecha offers one more piece of wisdom.
When Moshe says he can no longer carry the burden alone,
God instructs him to gather seventy elders to help shoulder the load.
Leadership is not meant to be solitary. It is meant to be shared.
That’s been true here, too.
I didn’t build this space alone.
Our teen leaders, our parents, our staff, our children—you’ve all lifted with me.
You’ve made it possible to lead with joy, because you lead with me.
There’s a child in this building who walks into shul with more confidence because of you.
A parent who breathes easier knowing you’re in the room.
A younger teen watching and thinking, Maybe I could lead like that someday.
You opened the doorway.
You opened it while I was still learning how to hold mine open, too.
As I step into this next chapter,
I carry all of it with me.
This is not just youth programming.
This is Torah.
This is community.
This is how we build the future:
With presence.
With consistency.
With love.
May we keep doing this sacred work—together and in our own ways.
May we open doorways, even if they are small.
May we show up with presence, even when we don’t have the perfect words.
May we remember that kindness offered quietly and consistently can create a wide entrance for someone else’s becoming.
May we all—leaders, learners, graduates, and little ones—walk through those doorways together.
Shabbat Shalom and Am Yisrael Chai