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On the 7th of May, my mentor, the academic titan in well-being and mattering, Dr. Isaac Prilleltensky, passed away.
Four days later, on the 11th of May, I walked across the stage to graduate with my doctorate.
It was also the day that Isaac’s beloved wife, Dr. Ora Prilleltensky, died.
After graduation, I went directly to Isaac’s Shiva ceremony, a Jewish mourning gathering centered on remembrance, community, and supporting the grieving family. The timing of it was a lot to process: celebration, grief, gratitude, and loss, all existing together in the same week. But what I remember most from that evening was the stories.
The ceremony was beautiful. What stood out most was how people spoke about Isaac: his humor, kindness, and ability to make people feel at ease. Laughter seemed to be part of how he built connection and community. His deep devotion to Ora was also ever-present in the stories shared, a love so central to who he was that it was impossible to speak about one without the other.
Listening, and having many conversations that evening, I realized that Isaac’s work on mattering was never only theoretical. He lived it. Even as a professor, Isaac did not simply teach people. He invested in them, believed in them, and made them feel seen and valued.
Isaac was not only my mentor. He was my professor, support system, advocate, cheerleader, and in many ways, a father figure. He remembered every detail about my life, and I know I was not the only one he had this kind of relationship with. Isaac was deeply invested in the people around him and intentional about building community. Through all his relationships, he created spaces where people felt welcomed, valued, and connected.
One of Isaac’s greatest strengths was his humor. When he received his diagnosis, he created a club called IFAC (Isaac Fighting Adenocarcinoma Club) and invited all of us to join. He spent time during treatment watching comedy films and shows, meditating, and continuing to guide our research team, making us laugh even then. He understood something many educators and leaders overlook: Humor is not separate from connection. Often, it is the bridge to it.
Reading back through Isaac’s emails to me over the years, I realized he led by example in the truest sense. People felt comfortable around him. Seen by him. Welcomed into the spaces he created. He had a way of making communities feel less intimidating and more human. Some people teach from a distance. Isaac taught through relationships.
At the Shiva, I began to understand that the measure of a life is often found in the stories people tell when someone is gone.
The stories shared about Isaac were not primarily about achievements or titles. They were about how he made people feel. In a world that often emphasizes performance and productivity, Isaac reminded us that human connection matters too.
Listening to people speak about Isaac and Ora, I was also struck by how deeply love shapes a life. Ora was not simply part of Isaac’s story; she was woven into it. The stories shared that evening reflected a partnership grounded in devotion, care, humor, and presence. It became clear that the communities Isaac built were shaped not only by his professional work but by the values he lived privately as well.
Graduation is often framed as an ending or an achievement. But this year, it felt more like a reminder of how many people carry us toward the moments we eventually reach. This week, I found myself thinking less about accomplishment and more about inheritance. Not inheritance in the traditional sense, but the kind mentors leave behind in the people they shape.
There is sadness in knowing Isaac and Ora were not there to witness this milestone. But there is also deep gratitude. The people who shape us do not disappear entirely.
They remain in the communities they built, in the values they modeled, in the ways we show up for others, and in the work we continue because they once believed we could.
When I pitched the idea of The Mattering Lab to Isaac, he was excited and even read my first blog post before I sent it in. In many ways, it would not exist without him. Publishing this post here feels like both a tribute and a continuation of the work he devoted his life to.
Isaac’s legacy does not live only in publications, programs, or professional accomplishments. It lives in relationships. In communities. In students who now carry forward the values he embodied so naturally: humor, generosity, connection, and the belief that people deserve to feel that they matter.
Some teachers teach subjects. Others teach people how to become more fully human. You mattered, Isaac, very much so, and you will continue to through the legacy you created and the people you shaped.
Rest in eternal peace, Dr. Ora and Dr. Isaac. You will forever remain part of me and part of the countless lives you shaped. We promise to continue your work of mattering and well-being for communities everywhere, carrying forward the humanity, compassion, and connection you both lived so fully.
And to Matan, your parents were deeply loved, as evident in every story shared. May that community continue to hold and support you in the days and years ahead. Prayers for your strength and fortitude are ongoing.
