Rowyn Zupo Fall Festival Speech 2025

When someone asks me what Midrasha means to me, I always pause. Not because I don’t know, but because it feels too big to fit into a simple explanation. Midrasha isn’t just a youth group. It’s a place where I’ve discovered who I am, and the meaning of being part of something larger than myself.

There’s one moment that truly changed how I see Midrasha.

It was saturday night of my first retreat, during Havdalah. We stood in a close circle, the candle held high. The night was dark except for those bright, braided flames reflecting in all of our eyes. The scent of spices floated through the air, warm and comforting. As the blessings came to an end, we leaned in to watch the candle go out—its flames hissing as it met the wine. Darkness took over for a second. And then… singing.

In that exact moment, as the smoke curled upward and everyone’s voices rose together in joy, I felt something shift inside me. The week ahead didn’t feel scary. The world outside didn’t feel heavy. I was surrounded by people who made me feel strong, people who made me feel like I belonged.

That moment showed me what Midrasha is about.

Midrasha is connection.

It’s connection to Jewish tradition—not as something ancient and distant, but something alive, something we feel in our voices and our hearts. It’s connection to each other, to friendships that have become family. And it’s connection to myself—to confidence I didn’t know I had, to a Jewish identity that isn’t just a label, but a home.

Before Midrasha, I wasn’t always sure where I belonged within Judaism. I wondered if I fit the “right” image of what a Jewish teen was supposed to be. But Midrasha showed me that identity isn’t measured by how much you know or how perfectly you practice. It’s about showing up, being curious, and letting your heart guide you. Here, my uncertainties aren’t flaws—they’re the starting point. Here, I’ve discovered that my voice has a place and a purpose.

Havdalah reminds us that we are always moving between moments—between the calm of Shabbat and the noise of the week. And Midrasha is what helps me carry the peace, the community, and the joy forward into everything else I do.

So when I try to explain Midrasha, I go back to that circle. The sparks fading from the candle. The chorus growing louder. The feeling that even in the transition from light to dark, I wasn’t alone for a second.

That’s the meaning of Midrasha to me.

A community that holds onto you when the world gets quiet. A place where Judaism feels like joy. A home I will carry with me wherever I go next.