The science of apathy and empathy, loneliness and resilience is critical to understanding the complex puzzle of the human brain and the human heart, and essential to understanding our emotional lives, our communities, and the broader society.

I don’t quite know what to say, so I mostly listen. I’ve found during the past forty-eight hours with Gail and Colin that my role as their rabbi is less to dispense wisdom—I wouldn’t dare—and more to engage in the very holy work of not running away.

Gail answers her own question, remembering something she had been told by another bereaved parent in the community that morning. “Let me be clear,” this mother had said. “Your house is the scariest place on earth right now. So anyone who walks through your door is a friend. I promise you that.”

I argue that training the heart in compassion and curiosity is a social and spiritual necessity.

had always imagined that the role of clergy was to navigate moments of crisis and rupture with the right combination of solace, inspiration, and challenge: from the pulpit, at the graveside, in public protest.

longing to connect with others who can help hold the pain, a need to share what we’ve learned in the trenches, and a desire to give, even when we ourselves have barely caught our breath.

to reclaiming the prophetic tradition and working with multi-faith partners to build a society of equity and equality, compassion and justice.

You wear your troubles on the outside: the whole world moves seamlessly in one direction and you in another. And even still, you trust that you won’t be marginalized, mocked, misunderstood. In this place, you will be held, even at the ragged edge of life.

There is a timeless wisdom in entering the sacred circle: this is, on some fundamental level, what it means to be human. Today, you walk from left to right. Tomorrow, it will be me. I hold you now, knowing that eventually, you’ll hold me. Every gesture of recognition marries love and humility, vulnerability and sacred responsibility.