New York Times op-ed:  My Synagogue Was Attacked, but I Will Never Stop Welcoming the Stranger, by Charlie Cytron-Walker (Rabbi, Congregation Beth Israel (Colleyville, TX)):

Some teachings, such as, “Love your neighbor” or, “Care for your community,” are shared by almost every religious or ethical practice. From an evolutionary standpoint, that makes sense: In the long run, the group does better than the individual.

But welcoming strangers, let alone caring for them, does not come naturally. I was reminded recently that our brains aren’t wired for it. Strangers are, by definition, unknown. The unknown often generates fear. Strangers, in this context, are harmful.

All people should enjoy a sense of safety in their sacred space. But too many people, of many backgrounds, don’t always feel safe. My congregants and I know this well and we are all grateful to be alive.

On Jan. 15, a gunman entered our synagogue and demanded the release of a woman being held at a nearby federal prison. During the 10 hours I spent held hostage by this terrorist, all the anxiety and fear that many Jewish people live with on a daily basis were realized. No one should live like this — not the congregants of the Mother Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, S.C., and not the members of Sikh temples or mosques that have been vandalized or our small synagogue in Texas, the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh or the Chabad synagogue of Poway, Calif. …

I, and so many other religious leaders, have pointed out again and again the sacred obligation to love the stranger. The command to care for the stranger is mentioned at least 36 times in the Torah, the first five books of the Bible — more than any other mitzvah. It’s mentioned so often because we need the reminder, because it isn’t natural. It is hard. Just getting past the notion of fearing the stranger is a big enough hurdle.

I stress this teaching and try to live by this ethos even after living through a hostage situation — where every minute feels like it could be your last. I understand the temptation to seek comfort solely in those one knows and trusts. My congregants and I spent over 10 hours with a gun pointed at us in our sacred home.

Adding to the agony, I opened the doors of my synagogue and unknowingly welcomed the individual who would later attack me and my fellow congregants. That I opened the door will always weigh heavily on me. Still, I remain committed to the idea of welcoming and caring for the stranger and living that value.