Lesley Matsa

Before college, most of my Jewish experiences had been created for me.

Someone else planned the service.

Someone else organized the program.

Someone else designed the holiday celebration.

I showed up.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

It's lovely to be part of something someone else has created.

But Berkeley Hillel taught me something completely different.

It taught me that Jewish life wasn't something I only had to consume.

I could make it.

At Hillel, students were encouraged to look around and ask:

What do we want?

What's missing?

What could we create for other people?

And then we were expected to actually make it happen.

That changed me.

I went from being a participant to being a leader.

I became president of the Jewish Student Association.

At the Bayit, I had a leadership role in the house—we called it the "House Mom" or "House Dad" at the time—and part of the job was simply making things happen.

But one of my favorite examples was Israeli dance.

A few of us decided to create a DeCal course in Israeli dance.

It was me, Hila, Alana, and, during the first semester, Libby.

Hila and Alana were some of my closest friends at Cal.

We were doing something we loved, but we were also creating a completely different doorway into Jewish life.

Not everybody wants to walk into a service.

Not everybody wants to take a text-study class.

Not everybody is looking for the same thing.

But maybe someone wants to dance.

Maybe they want something cultural.

Something social.

Something arts-based.

Something fun.

And, as a bonus, something they could earn academic units for.

We reached students who otherwise might never have been interested in a Jewish program.

Then something happened that I still find amazing.

The class kept going.

We taught it for years.

Before we graduated, we trained other students to teach it.

And they kept it going after we left.

From what I understand, it lasted for at least two decades.

Think about that.

We were college students.

We had an idea.

We created a class.

And students who hadn't even arrived at Berkeley yet eventually got to participate in something we had started.

That's what Hillel taught me about leadership.

You don't have to wait for someone with an official title to create the thing you wish existed.

If you see an opportunity, try it.

If you think the community needs something, build it.

If you're not sure you know how, find someone who can help you.

I remember another moment when a friend and I were preparing to lead a Passover Seder.

I had never led one before.

So I sat down with Adam Weisberg.

He taught me how to lead the Yom Tov Kiddush for Pesach.

It was one small piece of a much larger experience.

But I still think about it.

Even now, when I lead Yom Tov Kiddush, I remember that I learned how from Adam at Berkeley Hillel.

That's what empowerment looked like.

Nobody said, "You haven't done this before, so we'll have someone else do it."

It was more like:

You haven't done it before?

Great.

Let's teach you.

Then you do it.

That attitude became a huge part of the way I understand Jewish leadership.

Own it.

Try it.

Create it.

Make it yours.

You're not going to break Judaism.

And if you have questions, there are people here to help.

That was the ethos.

Hillel gave us a safety net, but it also pushed us forward.

It said, "We have your back—and now go lead."

I think that's one of the greatest things a community can do for a young person.

You don't just give them experiences.

You teach them that they have the ability to create experiences for everyone who comes after them.