Jerry I Lesch
Act well your part. There all the honor lies."
Obituary
With profound sorrow we announce the passing of Jerry Lesch, 88, of Portland, Oregon.
Jerry passed away peacefully on September 4th, 2026 surrounded by his loving family.
A beloved Drama teacher at Parkrose High School for 30 years, he impacted many lives with his humor, belief in his students, and his love of acting, art and authenticity.
Survived by his wife, Judy, and his daughters, Kelly and Emily, as well as extended family, many friends, and former students.
Private funeral services have been held. An event to celebrate and honor his life will be held at a later date. Check back for details.
Eulogy by Rabbi Eve Posen
Pirkei Avot asks a deceptively simple question: Eizehu chacham? Who is wise?
And the answer is, Ha-lomed mikol adam — the one who learns from every person.
Jerry once wrote to me reflecting on a sermon in which I had talked about music, The Temptations, and why certain songs stay with us. Jerry wrote that even when others recreate the same music, we remember the people who first gave it to us, but we also remember “the joy it brought, and the impression it made upon us.” And then Jerry wrote: “I believe it’s the same with the people you meet, friends and family and even strangers. It’s what you can carry away from that encounter, whether it’s brief or throughout your life, that will always be with you and help shape who you are and who you become.”
Eizehu chacham? Ha-lomed mikol adam. Jerry learned from everyone.
He loved life, and he loved people. He believed everyone had something interesting to share. He accepted people for who they were, rarely complained, and paid attention. Years after students had left his classroom, Jerry could remember not only their names, but the stories that went with them.
Perhaps that is why he was such an extraordinary theater teacher. Jerry understood that theater wasn't really about pretending to be someone else. It could be about discovering who you actually are. Kelly described the core of what her father taught as authenticity: be yourself and be true to yourself. Jerry created a safe place where young people could take risks, find their voices and find themselves.
And they remembered.
Even in Jerry's final days, former students came to see him, and he lit up when they walked into the room. Each carried their own Jerry story, some way Mr. Lesch had touched their life. There are teachers whose students remember what they taught. And then there are teachers whose students remember who they became because that teacher saw something in them. Jerry was that kind of teacher.
Family was at the center of Jerry's life. Growing up, Shabbat dinner meant gathering each week at his grandparents' home. Those Friday nights sealed his connection to family and Judaism and, remarkably, eventually helped lead him to Judy. At his grandparents' home, Jerry became friends with Pat, a neighborhood kid. Years later Pat and Judy worked together, and she introduced them. Except the universe had already been working on this: Judy and Jerry had previously crossed paths at a Parkrose student performance. Apparently, one chance encounter wasn't enough. The universe needed to try again. And it worked. What followed was a 52-year love story.
Jerry loved being a father. Kelly and Emily knew how proud their dad was of them, in part because he apparently believed their accomplishments were public information. They occasionally had to remind him that not every detail of their lives needed to be shared with everyone he encountered. But if Jerry loved you and was proud of you, why wouldn't everyone want to hear about it?
When his girls were little, he read stories to them, giving every character a different voice and drawing them into the world of imagination. There were, I suspect, no minor characters when Jerry Lesch read a story.
And Jerry knew the importance of showing up. In an email with me after the High holidays one year he shared during a difficult time, a colleague of Jerry’s took two buses every week or two simply to visit the family for five or ten minutes. Once she brought strawberries because she thought perhaps they might help.
Jerry carried the lesson of those visits: showing up matters. Small kindnesses matter. We never know which five minutes, which phone call, which visit, which container of strawberries someone will carry with them forever.
Perhaps that is because Jerry himself had such a gift for making people feel seen. His neighbors called him “the Mister Rogers of the neighborhood.” He knew everyone, and he made people feel that they mattered. Kelly calls him the kindest man she has ever known. Emily remembers his fearlessness and determination. Jerry did not believe obstacles should dictate what was possible. He could undergo dialysis and still play tennis and get his 10,000 steps. For his 70th birthday, he swam 70 lengths of the pool, because apparently simply having cake wasn't challenging enough.
He loved Sondheim and theater, traveling the world and the beach at Seaside. He loved tending his roses. And he had that unmistakable laugh — the kind that meant if Jerry was in the audience, you didn't need to know where he was sitting. You could hear him.
As he grew older, Jerry became increasingly interested in the stories that had come before his own. He treasured objects that had belonged to his mother, his Bubbi, his aunt, because they weren't simply things. They carried stories. He wished he had asked more family questions when he'd had the chance.
Jerry understood that memory was another way we carry people. After his sister Trudy died, he wrote to me about the strangeness of cleaning out her room. He said, “I know this will take a long time to get over, but I suspect it will never be ‘over.’ Trudy will always be a part of me.”
He was right. We don't get over the people we love. We carry them.
And so I return to Jerry's own words: “It’s what you can carry away from that encounter...that will always be with you and help shape who you are and who you become.”
Each of you carries your own Jerry story: Shabbat dinners and theater performances, bedtime stories and Sondheim, tennis and swimming, Seaside and roses, that unmistakable laugh.
Former students carry the teacher who saw them. His family carries a husband, father and brother who loved them fiercely and was enormously proud of them.
That is how a life continues.
Eizehu chacham? Ha-lomed mikol adam. Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.
Perhaps Jerry's final lesson is to live as he did:
Believe everyone has something worth discovering.
Learn people's names and remember their stories.
Create spaces where people can safely become themselves.
Be ridiculously proud of the people you love.
Ask the family questions now. Tend the roses.
Laugh loudly enough that people know you're in the room.
And when someone needs you, show up. Even if it takes two buses. Even if you can stay only five minutes.
Bring the strawberries.
Jerry learned from everyone. And now, may we continue to learn from him.
Yehi zichro baruch. May Jerry's memory, his laughter, his kindness, and all that he taught us be a blessing.
Words from Harold Lesch
Shalom, friends and family.
My name is Harold Lesch and I am a first cousin to Jerry. Judy asked me to say a few words on behalf of the family. Thank you for joining us to mourn the loss of Jerry and to honor the extraordinary life he lived — a life rich with creativity, kindness, and devotion.
I never really knew Jerry growing up. He was 14 years older than me and was in college and on to his acting and teaching career by the time I was in junior high. When he returned to Portland, I would see him at his moms on Rosh Hashanah afternoon and later he would join us or Jeanette & Ben for holiday meals. Occasionally we would see him in a performance or attend one of his student plays.
In 2014 Jerry and Judy joined Jackie, me and our friends Carol and Kent on a Panama Canal Cruise. We had a wonderful time touring, playing games and enjoying the food. After that trip we all got together every other month or so for a meal, games and company until Jerry got sick and we had to stop.
Jerry was a caring and wonderful husband, father, cousin and friend. He dropped everything to help us when my mom got sick, even coming over to help us set up her estate sale after she passed.
For decades, Jerry shaped the lives of his students. He taught them that every person has a story worth telling — and that telling it with honesty is an act of courage.
Jerry’s greatest role was that of husband to Judy and father to Kelly and Emily. His love for his family was the anchor of his life. He celebrated every milestone, big or small. He taught his children not only how to dream, but how to work for those dreams with integrity and heart.
Jerry lived his life guided by the values of our tradition, chesed (kindness), emet (truth), and tikkun olam (repairing the world) and he showed those qualities every day.
The Talmud teaches: “Whoever teaches a child, it is, as if they have created them.” By that measure, Jerry created hundreds of lives — not just his own children, but every student who walked into his classroom and left believing in themselves.
Today, the curtain falls on Jerry’s earthly stage. But for every great husband, father and teacher of the arts, it’s not a final curtain, only a long intermission until the next cast party in the Garden of Eden. Every time we speak with honesty, every time we listen with compassion, every time we dare to step into the light, we carry his legacy forward.
May his memory be a blessing, and may we honor him by living our own lives with the same passion, generosity and truth that he brought to his.
Words by Mike Ferrell, brother in law.
If we can summon the people who have passed by thinking of them and talking to them and about them, then let's summon Jerry. And change the tense from past to present, the past to now.
Jerry is confident without a swagger, has stature without being tall. He is smart without being pedantic. He is sturdy and steadfast.
He believes in imagination and can lead the way there, and by example, on stages great and small, he is courageous.
He is also likely embarrassed by this public praise. (though my sister tells me he privately loves praise).
In his resume for the hereafter, he can claim this: he is a good son, a good brother, a good husband and father, and he is a teacher of high school kids. (That alone should be enough). And his references are in the hundreds, those taught to be the lead actor in their own lives, to be in the spotlight before an audience, and to not stand in their own way, to believe in themselves and trust who they are. For art, the thanks are many, and that is his legacy, a great legacy. Everlasting, praise worthy.
We miss you.
Memory wall
Please share your thoughts, memories and photos with us so that we may all remember him..
October 5, 2026
When I went back to school (at 50) to get my teaching credential and teach drama in middle school, Jerry was my methods teacher at Pacific University. I really hit the jackpot with him: a guy who knew how to get things done. There was no BS about his methods, what he gave me was practical, useful information I could use day one in the classroom. We kept in touch over my 12 years of teaching and Jerry came to observe me several times. Each visit I learned something new.
I'm grateful for my time with him. My condolences to his family.
I'm grateful for my time with him. My condolences to his family.
September 26, 2026
Mr. Lesch was an important person for me while I was growing up.
I first met him in the summer following my fifth grade, when I participated in a summer TAG drama program at University of Portland, along with a few dozen other Parkrose students, including Kelly, who was in the same grade as me. Engaging in “Circle” before our performance was the first time I ever used a swear word . . . I then took classes from him for most of my time in high school and was in six plays that he directed. After college, he called me back to help out with two musicals, Bye Bye Birdie and Hello Dolly. We stayed in touch on-and-off over the years and I enjoyed meeting him for brunch just last fall.
Jerry cared deeply about his students . . . sometimes referred to as “Jerry’s Kids” (readers of a certain generation will understand the double entendre of that). Not everyone at PHS had their own car or a parent who was available to drive them home after a rehearsal, so he would do the job. I remember cramming, sardine-like, into his funny orange car with five other students on foggy November nights after 9 pm and being shuttled all over the district.
He also cared about our social emotional growth. Most of what I learned from Mr. Lesch were more important in life than on stage. For example, he was the first person to teach me that when offering constructive criticism, you always start with the positive . . . an important lesson for all of life. There were practical lessons too – I had a mild speech deficit and recall classes with him where we worked on diction and projection (skills I still rely on today doing public speaking). He was the first person to point out to me that one of my personality traits, one that I assumed was normal, might be interpreted by others as being anti-social. He was a teacher and a friend to me and many others, and especially seemed to extend consideration to kids that were struggling with neurodivergence, identity, issues at home, or just in life.
Jerry also cared deeply about his family. I was in high school while Emily was being treated for leukemia. In retrospect, it was amazing that he was juggling all of that while also teaching a full course load and producing two full productions a year (and supporting the Thespians club, acting competitions and other activities). When he took a year off from stage productions (my senior year), it was disappointing for sure but a sign that he had the right priorities.
I was delighted when the voters approved the bond to build a new high school and Jerry finally got a real stage and auditorium (vs. a cafetorium) to further bring his magic to life. And I have very fond memories of his retirement celebration, where three decades of former students came together to pay their respects and honor Jerry with an evening of rich performances – a true testament to the positive impact he made on the lives of so many people.
Life dealt Jerry a series of blessings and challenges. There were moments of joy, and moments of frustration, bitter herbs. He held us to a higher standard, and modeled patience, perseverance, and joy even in the shadows of pain and disappointment. He knew both sides of the Thespians' masks, but chose the happier one. With his passing, the world has lost a bright light, except that it still glows in the hearts and minds of his family and students.
I first met him in the summer following my fifth grade, when I participated in a summer TAG drama program at University of Portland, along with a few dozen other Parkrose students, including Kelly, who was in the same grade as me. Engaging in “Circle” before our performance was the first time I ever used a swear word . . . I then took classes from him for most of my time in high school and was in six plays that he directed. After college, he called me back to help out with two musicals, Bye Bye Birdie and Hello Dolly. We stayed in touch on-and-off over the years and I enjoyed meeting him for brunch just last fall.
Jerry cared deeply about his students . . . sometimes referred to as “Jerry’s Kids” (readers of a certain generation will understand the double entendre of that). Not everyone at PHS had their own car or a parent who was available to drive them home after a rehearsal, so he would do the job. I remember cramming, sardine-like, into his funny orange car with five other students on foggy November nights after 9 pm and being shuttled all over the district.
He also cared about our social emotional growth. Most of what I learned from Mr. Lesch were more important in life than on stage. For example, he was the first person to teach me that when offering constructive criticism, you always start with the positive . . . an important lesson for all of life. There were practical lessons too – I had a mild speech deficit and recall classes with him where we worked on diction and projection (skills I still rely on today doing public speaking). He was the first person to point out to me that one of my personality traits, one that I assumed was normal, might be interpreted by others as being anti-social. He was a teacher and a friend to me and many others, and especially seemed to extend consideration to kids that were struggling with neurodivergence, identity, issues at home, or just in life.
Jerry also cared deeply about his family. I was in high school while Emily was being treated for leukemia. In retrospect, it was amazing that he was juggling all of that while also teaching a full course load and producing two full productions a year (and supporting the Thespians club, acting competitions and other activities). When he took a year off from stage productions (my senior year), it was disappointing for sure but a sign that he had the right priorities.
I was delighted when the voters approved the bond to build a new high school and Jerry finally got a real stage and auditorium (vs. a cafetorium) to further bring his magic to life. And I have very fond memories of his retirement celebration, where three decades of former students came together to pay their respects and honor Jerry with an evening of rich performances – a true testament to the positive impact he made on the lives of so many people.
Life dealt Jerry a series of blessings and challenges. There were moments of joy, and moments of frustration, bitter herbs. He held us to a higher standard, and modeled patience, perseverance, and joy even in the shadows of pain and disappointment. He knew both sides of the Thespians' masks, but chose the happier one. With his passing, the world has lost a bright light, except that it still glows in the hearts and minds of his family and students.
September 13, 2026
What a phenomenal theatre actor and director with exuberant and exquisite talent! His teaching, acceptance, and caring for everyone, were above and beyond what most school drama departments had to offer, and we will be forever thankful for his leadership! Blessings to his beautiful family for which he was always SO very, VERY proud!!!
September 12, 2026
It’s hard for me to separate Mr. Lesch from some of the happiest memories of my childhood and high school years. He is woven into so much of my growing up.
I knew him before I was old enough to be his student. He taught my brother first, and when I was little, I was lucky enough to be one of the kids he brought into the high school productions. Then came summer theater camps, and eventually I grew up and became one of his high school students myself. By then, the theater already felt like a place I belonged.
So many of the memories I treasure most from high school happened on that stage or somewhere behind it. The plays, the musicals, the rehearsals, the excitement, nerves, laughter, long hours, hard work, and plenty of tough love. Mr. Lesch expected a lot from us because he knew we were capable of more, and he taught us there was always room to be better. Theater was a place to play and imagine, but he also taught us the work it takes to create something worth being proud of. Those are lessons I carried with me long after I left his stage.
Mr. Lesch gave me a place where I could learn how to grow up while never having to completely grow up at all. He gave me a safe place to be free, to imagine, to play, and to hold on to the part of myself that still believed in magic.
When I learned of his passing, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t a particular show or something he taught me. It was his face. We were doing Peter Pan in the new theater, which had a rigging system that allowed us to fly. One day, Mr. Lesch got into the harness himself and they pulled him into the air.
I will never forget his face. It was pure, overwhelming joy. He was elated. He was laughing and crying, and you could see the joy in his entire body. There was nothing restrained about it. For those few moments, the teacher and director we knew disappeared, and we got to see this completely unguarded, almost childlike wonder as he flew above his own stage.
As students, we so rarely get to see our teachers that way. Really, we rarely get to witness that kind of uninhibited joy in anyone outside of the people closest to us. I remember standing there watching him and somehow knowing, even then, that I was witnessing something I would never forget. And I never did.
That’s how I picture him now. Flying, with love in his eyes and that same joy radiating through him. I hope you get to fly forever, Mr. Lesch.
Thank you for letting me into your theater when I was a kid, for still being there when I grew up, and for teaching me how to grow up without ever asking me to leave Neverland completely behind. I am so grateful I got to be one of your kids.
All my love to Judy, Emily, Kelly, and the entire Lesch family. I hope you know how many of us are carrying a little piece of him with us.
I knew him before I was old enough to be his student. He taught my brother first, and when I was little, I was lucky enough to be one of the kids he brought into the high school productions. Then came summer theater camps, and eventually I grew up and became one of his high school students myself. By then, the theater already felt like a place I belonged.
So many of the memories I treasure most from high school happened on that stage or somewhere behind it. The plays, the musicals, the rehearsals, the excitement, nerves, laughter, long hours, hard work, and plenty of tough love. Mr. Lesch expected a lot from us because he knew we were capable of more, and he taught us there was always room to be better. Theater was a place to play and imagine, but he also taught us the work it takes to create something worth being proud of. Those are lessons I carried with me long after I left his stage.
Mr. Lesch gave me a place where I could learn how to grow up while never having to completely grow up at all. He gave me a safe place to be free, to imagine, to play, and to hold on to the part of myself that still believed in magic.
When I learned of his passing, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t a particular show or something he taught me. It was his face. We were doing Peter Pan in the new theater, which had a rigging system that allowed us to fly. One day, Mr. Lesch got into the harness himself and they pulled him into the air.
I will never forget his face. It was pure, overwhelming joy. He was elated. He was laughing and crying, and you could see the joy in his entire body. There was nothing restrained about it. For those few moments, the teacher and director we knew disappeared, and we got to see this completely unguarded, almost childlike wonder as he flew above his own stage.
As students, we so rarely get to see our teachers that way. Really, we rarely get to witness that kind of uninhibited joy in anyone outside of the people closest to us. I remember standing there watching him and somehow knowing, even then, that I was witnessing something I would never forget. And I never did.
That’s how I picture him now. Flying, with love in his eyes and that same joy radiating through him. I hope you get to fly forever, Mr. Lesch.
Thank you for letting me into your theater when I was a kid, for still being there when I grew up, and for teaching me how to grow up without ever asking me to leave Neverland completely behind. I am so grateful I got to be one of your kids.
All my love to Judy, Emily, Kelly, and the entire Lesch family. I hope you know how many of us are carrying a little piece of him with us.
September 12, 2026
Often an announcement of someone's passing hits a nerve, triggers a memory, or just makes you pause. The phone call I received from a wonderful friend did all of that. Jerry was a special person. I spent some amazing moments working as rehearsal accompanist on several shows. My first show was in the old HS cafeteria. I couldn't believe the magic that happened in that horrible space. No theatre, no problem. Suspend reality and make magic. Indeed, Mr. Lesch. Seeing the dream become a reality was amazing, and finishing my work with him in an actual orchestra pit was pretty special. My favorite Jerry moment: The night that he flew during rehearsals for Peter Pan. Again, magic. May your voice continue to be heard Mr. Lesch. (Even without your favorite megaphone, complete with alarm). Love to you, and all who knew you. You will be missed.
September 10, 2026
I had the privilege of sharing time with Jerry as he managed a chronic health condition. We would discuss everything to do with theatre, including local Broadway plays. He was also quick to let me know what he liked and didn't like about any particular performance and/or actor. He was an avid reader of memoirs. I so enjoyed hearing stories about his teaching and time in New York He was kind, engaging and funny. I will truly miss him.
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