By Naomi Herman

Ms. Manilow was one of those rare teachers who leaves a mark that lasts far beyond the classroom. She didn’t just teach math—she taught us how to persevere, how to show up, and how to lead with compassion. Even when she was going through cancer treatment, she never stopped caring for her students. Her resilience and unwavering commitment inspired me deeply, and it’s part of what drives my passion for giving back today.

I’m currently a junior at The Latin School of Chicago, where I’ve had the opportunity to dive into my interests both academically and personally. I co-founded and lead the Care for Cancer Club, serve on the Student Philanthropy Initiative, and was elected to the Student Service Learning Board. One of the projects closest to my heart is Carrying Hope, a philanthropic initiative that raised over $7,500 to create and deliver personalized tote bags to chemotherapy patients at Northwestern’s Women’s Care Center.

Giving back, especially to those touched by cancer, is deeply personal to me. My mom had cancer, and I know how it can shake a family. That experience, combined with the compassion modeled by Ms. Manilow, helped shape who I am. I’m also passionate about dance—I used to compete and now love teaching younger students—and I hope to pursue a future career in finance because I truly enjoy math, thanks in large part to Ms. Manilow’s encouragement.

My foundation for service and resilience began at Bernard Zell Anshe Emet Day School (BZ). Some of my favorite memories are from middle school—our overnight grade-wide sleepover at school, performing Freaky Friday in 8th grade, and our unforgettable two-week trip to Israel before graduation. These experiences brought our class together in such meaningful ways. Many of my closest friends today are people I met at BZ, and I still feel connected through high holiday services and ongoing friendships.

BZ always emphasized the importance of tikkun olam—repairing the world—and practicing everyday acts of kindness. Our Israel trip in 8th grade deepened my Jewish identity, and the experience taught me to appreciate the little things I once took for granted. That sense of community and purpose was reinforced daily by teachers like Ms. Manilow.

She had a gift for making math feel approachable. I was shy in class, and she knew how to gently support me without ever making me feel uncomfortable. She once told me she used to be the same way—not everyone is meant to speak up all the time. She saw me, respected how I learned, and helped me gain confidence in my own way. That quiet understanding made all the difference.

Her teaching wasn’t just about formulas or tests—it was about connection. She made each student feel seen, heard, and supported. Even when undergoing chemotherapy, she showed up. She would try to take it easy, but she couldn’t help herself—she loved teaching too much. Watching her light up when we understood a concept is something I’ll never forget.

If I could say one thing to her today, it would be: You were one of the most impactful teachers my friends and I have ever had. You helped us grow—not just as students, but as people. We carry your lessons with us.

When she passed away, our class knew we wanted to do something meaningful to honor her. At the time, no idea felt quite right—until I discovered Twist Out Cancer, an organization that uses art to help people process their cancer journeys. That’s when it clicked. Art, healing, and legacy—this was the tribute she deserved.

We’re creating a permanent art installation at BZ where every community member can design a unique hexagon tile. I’m still deciding what mine will look like, but I’m drawn to the word YET. Ms. Manilow used to say, “You don’t know it yet,” reminding us that learning is a journey, not a race. Her optimism was infectious. This tribute isn’t just for our class or even just for her students—it’s for the whole BZ community. It’s a reminder that one person can make a difference. Ms. Manilow did. And I hope that as future students walk past the installation, they’re inspired by her legacy and by the idea that showing up—with kindness, with love, with passion—matters more than we may ever realize.​