Kindness is the trait I would choose…

How one family made such a profound difference in my life at a critical stage, serving as a reminder of the basics as we approach Passover—during a time when we have endured so much.

At a very young age—around 11 or 12—I started my religious journey in what would later be seen as typical for me: impulsiveness, stubbornness, and relentless drive and commitment. I went from 0 to 100 pretty quickly. Unfortunately, I was also a teenager going through teenage stuff, and it morphed briefly into what I’d now call a self-centered, intolerant, and bitter mix.

One thing above all else stopped it from continuing: the influence of one family.

It happened by chance. Walking with my mother on a Shabbat afternoon in our local area—where I thought no religious Jews lived—we met a religious man. That encounter would shape me deeply.

The family— the man mentioned above, his brother, sister in law and family, and his sister and her family—became a second family when mine was imploding. They supported me in countless ways—building me a sukkah, teaching me by example and in practice, inviting my family for meals, and showing me the warmth of a Jewish home. Their kindness was pure and embraced not just me but my close family too.

We spent Seder with them almost every year—moments I’ll never forget.

As the late Rabbi Sacks said: “Acts of kindness never die. They linger in the memory, giving life to other acts in return.”

Their ideology, observance, or dress didn’t matter—they oozed kindness. Looking back on nearly 50 years, and now through a different lens given the grim medical diagnosis I face, I see how vital that was—and how I’ve too often failed to thank them for it. The Baal Shem Tov taught, “A soul may descend to this world and live seventy or eighty years just to do a single act of kindness for another.” Their kindness was an antidote to my toxic, fundamentalist teenage attitude, calming and shaping me.

When I think of my hopes for my children and, please G-d, one day grandchildren, it’s kindness above all. How that manifests religiously, or the paths they choose, is theirs to discover with G-d’s guidance. But I hope they carry the DNA of kindness, above all,  with them.

That kindness isn’t confined to one family or place. Israelis are known as Sabras—cactus plants, hard outside, soft inside—but in my 18 years here, I’ve found that same kindness in buckets. Colleagues, clients, doctors, neighbors, friends, even strangers—it’s a beautiful trait so many share. As Pirkei Avot teaches, “The world stands on three things: Torah, service, and acts of loving-kindness.” It is present across every part of the cultural and religious spectrum. Sadly the opposite is also true.

Why write this somewhat soppy blog post. Firstly as we head towards Passover, I hope this core DNA of kindness, tracing back to Abraham and Sarah, is a force that continues to unite us as a people. As we mourn those lost in recent months and pray for those still captive, may this compassion—this love of life and rejection of evil—strengthen us against enemies waging terror. We clearly need to remain strong and vigilent and our sons and daughters (mine very much included) will need to continue to stand firm but this doesn’t stand in contradiction – it I believe strengthens those who fight and maintains their moral integrity and in no way lessens their passion to stand tall.

Secondly, to the family I mentioned above —whose kindness I’ll never forget—thank you. You’re truly one of a kind!