Thank you, Stacy, for the kind words. And thank you Mrs. Landy, Rabbi Malkus for inviting me to be here today.

It’s truly an honor to be back in the midst of this extraordinary community.

Graduates—mazal tov! You made it. You took your last final, turned in your last paper, paraded through the Lower School, and maybe even had to dig your cars out of the snow just to arrive here today.

And congratulations to the parents as well. As a parent to a five-year-old and a three-year-old, I can say with certainty: this moment does not happen without you.

Now, I have to admit: I had a hard time writing this speech.

How could I possibly sum up 13 years of JDS—and everything it’s meant to me in the years since—in only five minutes?

Twenty years ago, I was sitting exactly where you are now: blue graduation gown and an ’06 tassel dangling from my cap.

At that ceremony, four of my classmates sang a song. Don’t worry, I’ll spare you my own attempt.

They sang from Wicked: “Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”

At the time, I had no idea how true that would be.

I had no idea that twenty years later I’d be back here giving a graduation speech.

I definitely had no idea I’d be here right after the release of Wicked: For Good—starring a former JDS student.

But what was true then is true now: because you have known JDS—because you have known one another and been a part of this vibrant community—you have been changed for good.

I know it’s not easy to leave a place this warm and values-driven.

The world you’re graduating into is… a lot.

There’s lot’s of wonderful things out there—like, have you guys seen Heated Rivalry?

And of course, there’s so many wonderful things to look forward to—

late nights sitting around your dorm with new friends… getting to choose classes with titles like The Science of Superheroes…

finding the subject or club that electrifies you…

and maybe even traveling to new places and learning new languages.

It’s also a world, though—especially now—that’s filled with injustice and uncertainty.

We see it in Minneapolis.

We see it right here in the streets of DC.

We see it in Israel and in Gaza.

We see it in a warming planet.

I feel the injustice every day as I get to hug my girls when other parents are not so lucky. And as I take them to their Jewish preschool and walk through metal detectors.

That’s not to mention all the other things that probably feel scary and uncertain: new schools, new classes, being away from family and friends.

Just finding your way forward in the world right now is daunting. Actually repairing the world—doing the work of tikkun olam—is even more daunting.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers—if anyone does, please let me know—but I can say that my time at JDS gave me the building blocks I needed. And enabled me to pursue my passion and become a civil rights lawyer.

It was being active in Junior States of America and debating the best policies to put forward in the Model Congress.

It was learning from my history teachers, Dr. Cunningham and Mr. Buckley, about how previous generations overcame oppression.

It was staying up late with my classmates on Shabbatones.

It was pouring my heart into color war junior year so that the gold team could finally win after 4 years of losses.

And it was debate club—where I believe I lost almost every debate I participated in. Though, that was actually great preparation for parenting a couple of toddlers.

These experiences live with me.

They’ve been with me as I’ve fought for restaurant workers whose wages were being stolen…

for trans individuals denied gender affirming care by their state…

for families evicted from their homes simply for calling the police for help…

and for women facing sexual harassment from their landlords, forced to choose between a roof over their head or their bodily autonomy and dignity.

And, whatever passions you’ve pursued here, those experiences live with you too. Whatever college or the world throws at you, you’re prepared.

You’ve learned to think critically and ask hard questions.

From dissecting every paragraph of Pride and Prejudice…

to wrestling with the words of the Talmud…

to questioning sources, assumptions, and even your own opinions—

JDS has taught you not just to absorb information, but how to approach problems.

You’ve learned perseverance.

Throughout middle school—you lost Zimriyah.

Freshman year—you lost Zimriyah.

Sophomore year—you get where I’m going with this.

But you didn’t give up. You kept showing up, kept working, and finally—you won.

I have to say, I’m a little jealous. My grade also worked hard every year and never quite pulled that off. But that persistence—that matters far beyond that glorious victory.

You’ve also learned what it means to be in community.

When a classmate was out sick or struggling, you reached out.

You shared your class notes.

You checked in.

And you also learned how to rely on others when you needed help in return.

And you’ve learned how to find joy even when things are hard.

Despite the stress of high school, you dressed up as the Lorax for Purim and went all out for Gatsby Day.

You showed up for Powder Puff.

You laughed. You celebrated. You remembered that joy is not a distraction from seriousness—it’s a form of resilience.

No matter what you encounter in the coming years, you have the tools to succeed.

So take what you’ve learned here. Take this community with you.

Remember that because you have known this place, because you have known one another, you have already been changed for good.

And now it’s your turn to help change the world for good.

Mazal tov, Class of 2026!