My daughter Eden is a self-proclaimed theater nerd, and she wears that title proudly. She loves musicals of all kinds and is constantly exploring cast albums and soundtracks to broaden her horizons. Because of that curiosity, she introduced our family to a show I had never heard of before: Ride the Cyclone.
The way we discovered it feels important to the story. Eden heard a single song on a Spotify playlist. That one song caught her attention, so she went searching for others. That led her to a bootleg video online. And then, this fall, when our local high school announced it was putting on Ride the Cyclone, Eden was over the moon. The rest of us were intrigued, mostly because of how excited she was.
If you don’t know the show, the premise is…unusual. It follows six teenagers who tragically die while riding the Cyclone roller coaster. They find themselves in a kind of purgatory run by a Zoltar-style fortune-telling machine. To return to life, they must share their stories, their regrets, and ultimately vote unanimously on which one of them deserves a second chance. Yes, it’s bizarre.
And yet, it was spectacular.
The acting, the music, the set design, and the A/V work all made it feel like a Broadway production rather than a high school show. In fact, it was so strong that it was nominated to be performed again at the Illinois High School Theater Festival.
One character in particular stayed with me: Constance Blackwell, who is labeled “the nicest girl in town.” Constance is painfully aware of how others see her. She’s ashamed of coming from generations of “townies” and of feeling pride in her hometown. In a monologue that leads into her solo, she says something that sounds simple but hits hard. She compares life to a jawbreaker: you suck, and you suck, and you suck, and you suck some more, yeah you suck some more.
At first, that line feels almost funny. Then it lands. Because what she’s really describing is endurance. The slow, grinding experience of living inside systems and expectations you didn’t choose. You don’t get to skip ahead to the sweet center. You just keep going.
That idea connects deeply to this week’s Torah portion, Yitro.
Yitro is often remembered for one dramatic moment, revelation at Sinai. Thunder, lightning, a trembling mountain, and the Ten Commandments. It is one of the most cinematic scenes in the Torah. But that moment does not stand on its own. It is preceded by a lesson in leadership.
Before the people can stand together at Sinai, Yitro watches Moses try to carry the entire community on his own. Moses listens to every complaint, resolves every dispute, and bears the full weight of responsibility alone. Yitro sees immediately what Moses cannot. This is not just exhausting, it is unsustainable. More importantly, it keeps the people from learning how to lead themselves.
Yitro’s insight is not simply about delegation. It is about shared purpose. He tells Moses that if the goal is for these people to move forward, and to build something lasting together, then leadership cannot live in one person. The work has to be distributed. Responsibility has to be shared. Growth has to involve everyone.
Only after that shift can revelation happen. Sinai is not just a moment when God speaks. It is a moment when the people are finally ready to receive something together. They stand as a community that understands structure, responsibility, and partnership. Revelation is not the reward for perfect behavior. It is the result of learning how to work toward a common goal, one step at a time.
Constance’s jawbreaker and Yitro are telling us the same thing. Meaning is not found by skipping ahead to the dramatic moments. It is formed by staying present through the long, sometimes uncomfortable middle. By accepting that becoming who we are meant to be, individually and collectively, takes time.
Sometimes Jewish life feels like that jawbreaker, too. We keep showing up. We keep learning. We keep wrestling with what it means to be responsible for one another, even when it is hard or messy. Yitro reminds us that those quiet, patient moments are what make us ready for something bigger.
The sweetness doesn’t come after the work. It comes from staying with it.
And if all this talk of jawbreakers, teenagers, and big questions has sparked your curiosity, Ride the Cyclone will be coming to Valparasio, Indiana, this summer. I hope to see you there. Click Here to See the Off Broadway recording of Jawbreaker/Sugar Cloud.
Shabbat invites us to pause in the middle of it all, to breathe, and to remember why we keep showing up together.
Shabbat Shalom.