Lamah Nigara

Last week I had the privilege of speaking at the first graduation of Shalshelet, a new school in our community for children with language-based learning differences, children who read, learn, and process the world in ways that the typical classroom was not built to hold. Shalshelet was created so that these children would have a place of their own: a school designed around how they actually learn. This is the address I gave to its very first graduating class.

Good evening, and mazel tov.

I know that all the speakers tonight are going to say, in one way or another, the same thing to the incredible students sitting here: we are so, so proud of you.

Last week’s parsha, Parshas Beha’aloscha, tells us that the entire nation, all of Am Yisrael, was getting ready for Pesach. A central part of that preparation was bringing the Korban Pesach. Every family, the entire camp, was moving toward this one sacred moment.

But there was one group of people who were left out.

They were not left out because they had done anything wrong. They were not left out because they did not care. For reasons beyond their control, the door that was open to everyone else was closed to them.

At that moment, they had a choice.

They could have walked away and said, “This year, Pesach is just not for us. Maybe next year. Maybe some other time.”

But they did not do that.

Instead, they chose the harder, more courageous, and more meaningful path. They approached Moshe Rabbeinu and said:

Lamah nigara? Why should we be left out?

Everyone else has a place in this mitzvah. Everyone else has a way in. Why should there not be a place for us too?

And Moshe Rabbeinu, with his incredible humility, said: “I don’t know. That is a real question. Let me bring it to Hashem.”

And Hashem’s answer was not a small consolation prize. It was not, “Fine, you can participate a little.” Hashem gave them something brand new: Pesach Sheni.

Because they asked Lamah nigara, because they refused to accept that there was no place for them, they helped create a new pathway in Torah for generations.

When we chose the name Shalshelet for this school, it could almost have been called Lamah Nigara.

Because look around this room.

For many children, school is built in a way that fits how they learn, how they think, how they process, and how they grow. But for the students of Shalshelet, that was not always the case.

Not because anything was wrong with you. Not because you did anything wrong. But because you learn and think in ways that sometimes require something different.

And your parents, your families, your teachers, your administrators, and so many people who love you looked at that reality and said:

Lamah nigara? Why should these children be left out?

They deserve a school. They deserve a place. They deserve a home. They deserve a pathway. They deserve a door that is open for them too.

And that is why Shalshelet was created.

And you, the students sitting here tonight are the first graduating class. You are the first link in this new Shalshelet, a new link in a chain that is deeply connected and rooted in our beautiful mesorah.

Every class that comes after you will be here because you came first. Because your families and your teachers believed in you. Because this community said Lamah nigara. Because everyone here knew that you deserved a place where you could learn, grow, succeed, and shine.

And before I close, I want to say something to the people in this room who built this place.

To the board, and to the leaders who made tonight possible, our board presidents, Dov Adler, Azi Mandel, and Menachem Schechter, and the incredible board members who did not treat Shalshelet as someone else’s project, but took a personal interest in this school and cared for it as if their own children would be walking through its doors, thank you.

To our Head of School, Mrs. Shulamit Roth, who gave this school a vision, and who helped create the foundation for everything you see here tonight, the learning, the growth, the confidence, and the magic that happens here every single day, thank you.

And to the incredible teachers: you are the ones who see these students clearly. You meet them where they are, but you never leave them there. You never let them be defined by what is hard for them. You continue to build open pathways for this graduating class and for every future class of Shalshelet so that each child can find a way in.

May you always remember that a school is not only built with classrooms and programs and schedules. A school is built by people who care enough to open doors that were closed before.

And may all of you be blessed with the bracha of knowing that the things you bring into this world, with Hashem’s help, do not only touch lives. They change lives.

I want you, the graduates, to remember two lessons from the story of Pesach Sheni.

The first is: you belong.

You belong in school. You belong in shul. You belong in Torah. You belong in Am Yisrael. Sometimes the pathway may look different. Sometimes you may need to advocate for yourself. Sometimes others may need to help create the doorway. But there is always a place for you.

And the second lesson is: never stop wanting more for yourself.

The people who asked Lamah nigara were not asking for less. They were asking for the chance to come closer. They were asking for the chance to participate. They were asking for the chance to grow.

That is what you have done here at Shalshelet. You have grown. You have worked. You have shown what is possible when a child is given the right support, the right environment, and the right people who believe in them.

And now, as you move on to high school, we cannot wait to see all that you will continue to become.

You are the first graduating class of Shalshelet. You are the first link in the chain. And because of you, many more links will follow.

Mazel tov, mazel tov.

This last piece is not something I said that night. It is another layer to this thought that I wanted to include.

There is one other place in the Torah where almost this exact question is asked.

The daughters of Tzelofchad come before Moshe after their father has died without sons. They are afraid his name and his portion will simply disappear from the Jewish people. And they say, lama yigara shem avinu, why should our father’s name be left out? Why should there be no place for him in the land? Once again, Moshe does not have the answer on his own. Once again, he brings the question to Hashem. And once again, the answer comes back: they are right. They are given their portion in Eretz Yisrael.

Two questions, asked with almost the same word, in two very different moments. And I think that is the whole point.

The Korban Pesach is about our past. It is the offering that forged us into a nation, that anchors us to where we came from. The Land of Israel is about our future. It is our inheritance, our destiny, the place we are still building toward. One looks back to our beginning. One looks forward to where we are going.

And in both stories of our origin and in the story of our destiny there were people who might have been left out. People for whom the door was not yet open. And in both, they refused to disappear from the story. They said lama nigara. We belong in the past that made us, and we belong in the future we are building. And the answer, both times, was the same: you are right. There is a place for you.

Maybe that is what a chain really is. A shalshelet is the thing that holds the past and the future together, link by link. Our graduates are not only finding their own place. They are becoming the link that carries what came before them forward to everyone who comes next.