When Our Local Relationships Matter Most

Why this multi-faith effort is rooted in the personal contacts between neighborhood institutions.

This morning I awoke to the horrible news from Bondi Beach in Australia, where a Hanukkah candle lighting became the target of a terror attack.

Then my phone lit up. First came this, from Pastors Stephen Smith-Cobbs and and MaryAnn McKibben Dana:

Horrified and saddened by the news from Australia about the terrorist attack on a Hanukkah celebration. Know that your friends at Trinity stand with you and will be lifting you and all those affected by this act of anti-Semitic violence. God be with you. With much love and many prayers for peace.

My Cantor, Susan Caro, and I responded immediately with gratitude. About an hour later came this, from Imam Mohamed Magid of the All Dulles Area Muslim Society:

It is heartbreaking to see innocent people being killed in Australia. The attack on those who gathered to celebrate Hanukkah is a heinous crime against innocent lives. My heart goes out to my brothers and sisters in the Jewish community during this incredibly difficult time. I am praying for the victims and their families. We must commit ourselves always to stand against this hatred and intolerance, and against antisemitism and all forms of bigotry.

Now normally I do not put much stock in public statements. Absolutely, as a Jew and a rabbi, I appreciate the solidarity and support of messages that denounce antisemitism and violence against Jews. However, broad sentiments can feel performative and a little too easy. Also the proliferation of such statements creates an unfortunate social pressure for institutions to virtue signal on every issue.

But... and it is a big but... this morning these messages were like manna from heaven. And that is for a simple reason: these were sent by my neighbors. Not only are the words caring, but their appearance on my phone when I was feeling especially dismayed was intimate. It was spiritually reassuring. It was a reminder of a shared conviction for human dignity that towers above the vile hatred of the shooters. And that is a piece of Revelation.

This is why we build local clergy relationships. Yes, this is hard. The problem is not really doctrinal disagreement or even social awkwardness, although for beginners those anticipated feelings can suppress motivation. No, the problem is really logistics.

Every cleric knows this career is 24/7. Often the most valuable resource in a house of worship is the time of the clergy team. What makes pastoral work effective is the fundamental truth of presence. Giving up that time, energy, and attention to something or someone outside the church/synagogue/mosque can feel like a bridge too far. And who wants the calendar Tetris of two busy people?

But we overcome the logistics and apprehension because, very unfortunately, the world stinks sometimes, and people look to clergy for meaning in the darkness. As violence of all types proliferates, group violence continues its inexorable rise, and political violence now rips us apart, our wells of meaning can reach their murky bottoms. We prioritize these local, intimate connections because messages like the ones I received this morning pierce the dark and bring light. After another depressing act of antisemitism, I could write a message to my congregation from our clergy team, and that would bring some comfort on a cold morning. But we know that our words would be a compassionate light touch compared to the firm embrace delivered by words from our local partners.

If we look around the world today, evidence of hatred and intolerance can feel overwhelming. Precisely because we are so geographically close, because our institutions have such a long relationship, because we personally are connected whenever the need arises, and because we stay in relationship despite our profound religious differences, the messages I received this morning counteract despair. They deliver us maybe the only thing that heals after a violent, hateful attack: hope.