A Call from Colleyville

A Call from Colleyville
Most days I look at most of the Jews around me and think they’re nothing like me at all.
That woman’s not like me since she: wears a sheitl/ drives on Shabbat/wears heavy makeup/is to the right (or left) of me politically/eats crab-cake sandwiches.
And that man’s definitely not like me since he: is Sephardi/is intermarried/runs marathons/is covered with tattoos/davens k’vatikin/ has a large photo of Rav Eliashiv on his living room wall.
But this Saturday night, when I checked the news and found out about the 4 people being held hostage at the synagogue of Colleyville, Texas, I felt sharp dread, a deep, effortless connection with these people whose lives were being threatened for one reason alone, because they, like me, are Jews.
And when I woke up early this morning, and found out the gunman was dead and the hostages were safe and well, I felt a deep feeling of celebration. We’re OK! We’re safe!
On a regular day, I could have thought of a 1001 reasons why each of those released hostages was nothing like me at all. But this was no regular day. This was the day that I and all of us felt those 1001 reasons fall flat, completely meaningless, when united as one.

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