09 Sep WHO IS SITTING NEXT TO YOU?

Our hearts were
broken by the news
that two evil terrorists
i n d i s c r i m i n a t e l y
opened fire on a
crowd of innocent people waiting at
a bus stop in Yerushalayim earlier
this week. The lives of the family
members of the six beautiful souls
who were murdered will forever be
different, and the futures of the
twelve people who were wounded—
six of them seriously—are forever
changed.
The scene was horrific, filled with
panic, dread, sadness, and grief. The
wicked terrorists who perpetrated the
atrocity, and the organization and
society that sent and applauded them,
were successful in casting a shadow
of darkness not only over that
intersection, but in truth, over all
Israel. The central victims of this
event were of course the kedoshim
who were murdered, those injured,
and those directly in harm’s way that
day. But in truth, all of Israel became
victims of terror that day and beyond.
The goal of terrorists and terrorism is
to terrorize. Two of my daughters in
Israel called me that day, worried
about taking the bus. They, and
nearly ten million people, are now
(or, in some cases, once again)
looking over their shoulders,
increasingly mindful of their
surroundings, braced for what to do
if an attack occurs.
If you look at that scene, you see
darkness, hate, and evil. But if you
look closer, you can also find light,
love, and goodness. Naturally,
countless people ran away from the
scene, fleeing for their lives. But, as
is often the case in Israel, several ran
toward the gunmen, risking their
lives in an effort to protect total
strangers. Indeed, many lives were

saved because an IDF soldier from
Chashmonaim and an armed civilian
were successful in neutralizing the
perpetrators before they could claim
more lives. While understandably
most people were focused on saving
themselves, one particular taxi driver
could be seen ignoring bullets being
shot mere steps from him while
helping an elderly woman exit his
cab and get out of harm’s way.
A day after the attack, I saw a
message from someone who lives
near where the attack occurred that
left me deeply moved:

People will sometimes refer to
themselves as “stam a Jew, just a
simple Jew.” There is no such thing
as “just a Jew.” Every person you
encounter carries an entire world
within them, a unique mission, an
irreplaceable neshama, and a story, a
history, and a destiny only Hashem
fully knows. If you knew that in the
coming year the person you were
sitting next to would be murdered,
would you not cherish him a bit
more? If you knew that in the coming
year the person you were sitting next
to would display heroic courage and
save countless lives, would you look
at him the same way?
As we prepare for the Yamim

Noraim, it’s natural to become
absorbed in ourselves—our situation,
our status, our tefillos, and our
success. We open our selichos or
machzor, look down at the words,
and focus on our personal struggles,
our hopes, our fears. These are
important concerns that deserve our
heartfelt prayers. But the Yamim
Noraim are not meant to be
experienced in a silo. They are not
private retreats of the soul; they are
communal pleadings of Am Yisrael
standing together before our Father
in Heaven.
The great Rosh Yeshiva of the Mir
Yeshiva, R’ Nosson Tzvi Finkel zt”l,
was once asked by a student on Rosh
Hashana what he should prioritize in
his davening. Success in Torah?
Good health? A proper shidduch?
What is the most important thing to
daven for? The Rosh Yeshiva
answered him with two words:
“Someone else.”
When you sit in shul this Rosh
Hashana and Yom Kippur, take a
moment—not to interrupt your
davening, but to expand it. Look
around. Who is sitting next to you?
Who is behind you? Who is in front
of you? Don’t assume you know their

story. That elderly man may have
carried the weight of unimaginable
suffering and still comes faithfully to
minyan. That young father may have
risked his life to protect others. That
quiet neighbor may be enduring an
invisible struggle you can’t see.
The person beside you is not “stam a
Jew.” He or she is a precious child of
the Ribbono Shel Olam, with infinite
worth and unique greatness.
So as you pour out your heart in
prayer, include them. Daven not only
for yourself and your family, but for
the family sitting two rows behind
you, for the widower across the aisle,
for the single struggling mother, for
the child fidgeting beside you. And
just as importantly, trust that they are
davening for you, too.
This year, may we enter the Yamim
Noraim with the awareness that there
is no such thing as “stam a Jew.”
Every Jew is extraordinary. Every
Jew is worth knowing, worth caring
about, and worth davening for. And
when we recognize that—when we
see the greatness and holiness in each
other—then perhaps Hashem will
see the greatness and holiness in us
all, and inscribe us together for a year
of blessing, health, and peace.