The waiting room was unusually quiet, though not because there was nothing happening.
A row of women sat beside me, heads lowered, eyes on their phones. Knees bounced. Fingers tapped. Handbags were opened and closed as if the perfect distraction might be hiding inside. We were all there for the same reason: appointments, blood draws, tests, consultations. We were strangers united by feelings of uncertainty.
Worry has a way of turning us inward. It narrows our focus and convinces us that our concerns belong to us alone. Yet as I looked at those next to me in the narrow hallway, I realized that every person there was probably carrying some version of the same nervous energy I was feeling.
So, I smiled and asked a simple question of the women next to me, loud enough for the row to hear:
“What have you planned to do after this to comfort yourself?”
The response was immediate. Heads lifted. Smiles appeared. One person mentioned coffee. Another was meeting a friend for lunch. Someone else planned to go to work. For a few minutes, the room changed. We were no longer individuals sitting alone with our thoughts. We became a collection of strangers sharing small plans, simple pleasures, and quiet acts of self-care.
Nothing about our medical appointments changed. The uncertainty was still there. But something else appeared alongside it: connection. No one talked about diagnoses, test results, or fears. Instead, we talked about comfort. We talked about what awaited us on the other side of the appointment.
It reminded me how often comfort arrives in unexpected ways. We tend to think relationships require years of history, yet sometimes all that is needed is a shared experience and someone willing to start a conversation. A stranger may not know our story, but they may understand our moment.
In our JSL community, we are surrounded by opportunities like this every day. We can sit beside one another in dining rooms, hallways, elevators, activity rooms, and waiting areas. How many potential friendships could begin with a simple question? How much comfort might be found if we looked up from our own worries and without judgment, long enough to notice someone sitting near us or across the room.
Most of the people we encounter each day are like those individuals in the waiting room. We meet them somewhere in the middle of their stories. We rarely know what came before our encounter, and we almost never know what happened afterward.
A resident we pass in the hallway may be missing their family and friends. The staff member who greets us with a smile may be carrying a burden we can’t see. The family member sitting quietly in the lobby may be waiting anxiously for news. We cross paths with people whose lives are as full, complicated, hopeful, and uncertain as our own.
Yet how often do we pause long enough to acknowledge others in the room?
Perhaps the greatest gift we can offer one another is not advice or solutions, but simply attention.
“Are you new here?”
“You seem a little nervous. Would you like to talk?”
Sometimes that’s enough to remind us that we were never alone in the room to begin with. We don’t need lifelong friendships to experience belonging.
Sometimes a single sincere conversation with a stranger can ease a burden, brighten a day, and remind us that we’re part of a larger human story.
May each of us bring comfort through our presence, kindness through our words, and peace through our connections. May we find the courage to look up from our own worries and recognize the hearts beside us.
Shabbat Shalom