On May 7, my mentor, the academic titan in the field of well-being and substance abuse, Dr. Isaac Prilletensky, passed away.
Four days later, on May 11, I walked across the stage to graduate with my Ph.D.
It was also the day that Isaac’s beloved wife Dr. Ora Prilletensky died.
After graduation, I went straight to an Isaac Shiva, a Jewish mourning gathering focused on remembrance, community, and support for a grieving family. There was a lot of processing time: celebration, sadness, gratitudeand losses, all together in one week. But what I remember most about that evening were the stories.
The ceremony was beautiful. The most interesting thing was how people talked about Isaac: he humorKindness and the ability to let people go. Laughter It seemed to be part of how he built relationships and community. His deep devotion to Ora was also ever-present in the shared stories, a love so central to him that it was impossible to talk about one without the other.
After listening and talking a lot that evening, I realized that Isaac’s work on matter was never just theoretical. He lived. Even as a professor, Isaac taught more than just people. He invested in them, trusted them and felt they were seen and appreciated.
Isaac was not only my teacher. He was my professor, support system, advocate, cheerleader and in many ways my father figure. He remembered every detail of my life and I know I wasn’t the only person he dealt with. Isaac was deeply invested in the people around him and intent on building community. Through all of his relationships, he created spaces where people felt welcome, valued, and connected.
One of Isaac’s greatest strengths was his sense of humor. When he got his diagnosis, he started a club called IFAC (Isaac Fighting Adenocarcinoma Club) and invited us all to join. During treatment, he spent time watching movies and comedy shows, meditating, and continued to guide our research team, even making us laugh. He learned something that many teachers and leaders ignore: humor is inseparable from communication. Most of the time, it’s money.
As I read through Isaac’s letters to me over the years, I learned that he was a role model in the truest sense. People felt comfortable around him. Seen by him. They welcomed the spaces he created. He had a way of making communities feel less intimidating and more human. Some people teach remotely. Isaac taught through relationships.
In Shiva, I learned that the measure of life is often found in people’s stories when someone is gone.
The stories about Isaac were not primarily about achievements or titles. They were about how he made people feel. In a world that often has to perform and labor productivityIsaac reminded us that human connection is also important.
Listening to what people had to say about Isaac and Ora, I was also struck by how love shapes lives. Ora was not only part of Isaac’s story; it was made up. The stories shared that evening reflected a partnership based on loyalty, care, humor and presence. It turned out that the communities built by Isaac were shaped not only by his professional work, but also by the values he lived by himself.
Completion is often described as an end or an achievement. But this year, it was more of a reminder of how many people lead us to the moments we finally get. This week, I found myself thinking less about success and more about legacy. Not a legacy in the traditional sense, but kind mentors leave in the people they shape.
It is sad to know that Isaac and Ora were not there to witness this milestone. But there is also deep gratitude. The people who shape us do not disappear completely.
They live on in the communities they built, in the values they exemplified, in the ways we show others, and in what we continue to do 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 many ways, it wouldn’t exist without him. The publication of this article here is both a tribute and a continuation of the work to which he devoted his life.
Isaac’s legacy lives on in more than just publications, programs or professional achievements. It lives in relationships. In communities. In students who now carry the values he so naturally embodied: humor, generosityconnection and the belief that people deserve to feel important.
Some teachers teach subjects. Others teach people how to become more fully human. You, Isaac, were so important and you will live on through the legacy you created and the people you shaped.
Rest in eternal peace, Dr. Ora and Dr. Isaac. You will always be a part of me and a part of the countless lives you have shaped. We pledge to continue the important work and improvement of your communities everywhere, continuing the humanity, compassion, and connection that you both lived so fully.
And to Matan, your parents loved each other very much, as is evident in every shared story. May that community sustain and support you in the days and years to come. Prayers continue for your strength and endurance.
