The religious response to suffering is to use it to enter into the mindset of others who suffer

“You shouldn’t oppress a stranger, for you know the heart of a stranger: You were strangers in Mitzrayim.” (Shemos 23:9)

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his commandment speaks of the power and significance of empathy.  Yet the need for empathy surely extends way beyond strangers. It applies to marriage, parents and children, neighbors, colleagues, etc. Empathy’s essential to human interaction. Why then invoke it specifically about strangers? The answer is that empathy’s strongest in groups where people identify with each other.  The stronger the bond within the group, the sharper the suspicion and fear of those outside the group. It’s relatively easy to “love your neighbor as yourself.” It’s very hard to love, or even feel empathy for a stranger. (Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, Covenant & Conversation)

It was a regular Thursday morning in the office. Then one of the editors called out, “Agam Berger was just released.” The staff in the office froze for a moment, then gathered around my coworker’s computer.

“That’s Agam bat Merav,” one woman said softly. “She’s my hostage who I was davening for. I was so scared when her four other friends were released and not her. I thought the worst.” Then to her surprise and ours, she burst into tears.

Fear of the one-not-like-us is capable of disabling the empathy response. That’s why this specific command is so life-changing. It tells us to empathize with the stranger because you know what it feels like to be in his place. It’s as if Hashem is saying that your sufferings have taught you something of immense importance. You’ve been oppressed; you’ve suffered; therefore, you’ll become the people who are there to offer help when others are suffering.

Who is Agam? Who are Omer and Ohad and the Berman twins?

They’re strangers to me. If I’d met them on the street before October 7, I wouldn’t have given them anything more than a passing glance. We didn’t live the same cities, move in the same social circles, or even speak the same language. But here I was, standing in the office, sharing emotions and fears, elation and sorrow, toward this group of strangers — the hostages.

The religious response to suffering is to use it to enter into the mindset of others who suffer. That empathy is structured into the way the Torah tells certain narratives:  Hagar and Yishmael, Eisav losing the brachos, Leah’s Imeinu’s feelings. The Torah’s essentially a book of law. Why then contain narratives at all? Because law without empathy equals justice without compassion. Rashi (Bereishis 1:1) tells us that originally Hashem planned to create the world through Middas Hadin, but saw that it couldn’t survive on that basis alone. Therefore, He prefaced it with Middas Harachamim, joined with Middas Hadin. That’s how Hashem acts and how He wants us to act. Narrative is the most powerful way in which we enter imaginatively into the inner world of other people. Empathy isn’t a lightweight, touchy-feely, add-on extra to the moral life. It’s an essential element in conflict resolution.

People who’ve suffered pain often respond by inflicting pain on others. The result is violence, sometimes emotional, sometimes physical, directed against individuals, or against whole groups.

The only genuine, nonviolent alternative is to enter into the pain of the other in such a way as to ensure that they’re understood, their humanity recognized, and their dignity affirmed. Active empathy is life-changing, not only for you, but for the people with whom you interact. Instead of responding with anger to someone else’s anger, try to understand where the anger might be coming from. Enter into their mindset, see the world through their eyes, and try to feel what they’re feeling. Then say the word or do the deed that speaks to their emotions, not yours. It’s not easy. Very few people do this. Those who do, change the world.

How are we able to feel such empathy? It goes against all philosophical parameters of how we relate toward strangers. Why did the video clip of Eli Sharabi hugging his brother who’s saying Shema go viral, reducing everyone to tears? Why do we want to hug those mothers still waiting for their children to return, and to pace the floor with those families whose loved ones are trapped in Gaza?

It must mean that we’re not and have never been strangers.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 932)