Shabbat Candles and the Final Four

There are always Cinderella stories in March — buzzer-beaters, bracket-busters, teams no one saw coming. But this year, the surprise isn’t in the seeds. It’s in the sidelines.

This year’s Final Four doesn’t just feature strong teams — it marks something rare and worth noticing. Three of the four head coaches are Jewish: Bruce Pearl at Auburn, Todd Golden at Florida, and Jon Scheyer at Duke. In a moment when Jewish identity is under pressure — on campuses, in culture, and in quiet corners everywhere — three men are leading some of the biggest programs in the country without apology.

This isn’t just about basketball. It’s about presence. About showing up, leading well, and carrying something heavier than a playbook.

Each of these coaches brings something more than just a clipboard to the sidelines.

Bruce Pearl has spent decades coaching. He’s known the highs and lows, the headlines and the consequences. His story isn’t spotless — few worthwhile ones are. But instead of fading away, he rebuilt. He took the hard road, not the easy one, and returned stronger, steadier, and more grounded. Now, as the world darkens for Jewish communities, Pearl hasn’t blinked. Since October 7th, he’s used every microphone, every press conference, every camera lens — not for self-promotion, but for something higher. He speaks of the hostages, the atrocities, the humanity at stake. He makes sure names like Edan Alexander are not reduced to headlines. He wears the pins, the tags, the symbols — not as fashion, but as responsibility. Pearl reminds us, just by standing there, that silence is never an option.

Pearl’s influence runs deeper than his own sideline. Todd Golden, now coaching Florida into the Final Four, didn’t just play for Pearl — he was shaped by him. As co-captain under Pearl at the 2009 Maccabiah Games, Golden was more than a player — he was a young man absorbing lessons beyond the box score. Pearl saw something in him and later hired him at Auburn, where Golden learned the grind and grace of coaching at the highest level. Golden’s rise hasn’t just been about schemes and scouting — it’s about carrying what he learned. Intensity. Preparation. Resilience. Identity. The Florida team you see isn’t just sharp — it’s disciplined. It’s focused. It reflects the mentor behind the mentor.

Then there is Jon Scheyer. A gritty player from Chicago, Scheyer was known as much for his toughness as his talent. That same grit shows in his coaching. The Duke standout from Illinois inherited the most daunting task in modern college basketball — following Mike Krzyzewski. The shoes weren’t just big, they were legendary. Yet Scheyer never pretended. He didn’t imitate. He didn’t shrink. He stepped into the role as his own man, with the same quiet determination that marked his playing days. He leads with resolve, without needing to broadcast it, and the result is a program that reflects steady leadership, not showmanship.

What makes these three men stand out is not just their success, but the respect they command from those who matter most — their players. Faith, conviction, and the courage to be fully themselves haven’t just shaped their own journeys, they’ve built bonds on the court that are impossible to fake. Their teams play with a purpose rooted in something deeper than just winning — it’s about trust. The kind of trust that doesn’t just win games, but forges teams.

Together, Pearl, Golden, and Scheyer have placed Jewish leadership back at the heart of college basketball’s biggest stage. Not by design. Not by press release. Just by doing the work. By leading. By standing firm.

This isn’t about symbolism for its own sake. It’s about what happens when, especially in hard times, people show up. It’s not just about basketball. It’s about presence. A reminder that faith, identity, and strength don’t have to be loud to be real.

Beyond the Final Four, others are carrying that same quiet torch. Lindsay Gottlieb at USC continues to build a national contender — not as a symbol, but as a coach, commanding respect with clarity and calm. Danny Wolf at Michigan plays with fire and pride, never separating identity from performance. Deni Avdija, a rising star from Israel, brings that same pride to the NBA — a presence that resonates far beyond the arc. Each, in their own way, is teaching a generation of Jews that we do belong on the court — not just as fans, but as leaders, competitors, and role models.

For some, it may just be a game. For others — especially now — it is more than that. It is a reason to cheer. A reason to feel pride. A reminder that perseverance, unity, and hope aren’t abstract ideas — they are practiced, visibly and unapologetically, on the court.

It won’t fix what’s broken. It won’t undo the grief. But sometimes, in moments like these, it’s enough.

This year, the Cinderella headlines didn’t chase greatness — the moment found them, and they answered it in their own way with presence, purpose, and quiet strength. History shows we love the underdog. But this year feels different — like a quiet metaphor for Jewish emotion around the world. And what a response: strength when it’s needed most, found in the most uncommon places. They didn’t just coach. They became candles — to their universities, their cities, and in their own way, added light to the Jewish community.