Jewish legal sources—including the Mishnah, and the later rabbinic elaborations in the Talmud—have a lot to say about restitution for damages. Nowhere, however, does Jewish law recommend living in isolation. Community is essential to being a Jew, because community is essential to being a human. We need one another. When we live in close proximity, we will inevitably cause damage to our neighbors, whether with our words or our actions, and we lay ourselves open to being damaged in turn. But the implicit message of Bava Kamma is: The risk is worth it.

Jewish law obligates us to gather. We gather to study, we gather to pray, we gather to celebrate, and we gather to mourn. The members of my synagogue live near one another, for on Shabbat we commute to synagogue only by foot—and so in our community we are not just co-religionists but also neighbors, sharing cups of sugar, folding chairs, and playdates. At our synagogue we hold three prayer services a day: morning, afternoon, and evening. Some of our most central religious activities simply cannot be performed without the presence of others.

These gatherings make us vulnerable. On a day-to-day basis, we are perhaps more aware of how they make us vulnerable to our fellow community members. Our synagogue is a community of differences. Our congregants are diverse in age, race, sexual orientation, marital status, political affiliation, and socioeconomic situation. Being able to share community amidst such differences mean accepting and even embracing vulnerability.

And so in our synagogue, 20-year-olds sit next to 70-year-olds every week. Republicans and Democrats share pleasant conversation, perhaps agreeing on various areas of synagogue policy or learning from one another in Torah study. Families invite newcomers into their home for meals and conversation, drawn together by the warmth of Jewish hospitality modeled by the biblical Abraham. And even the most deep-seated differences can be temporarily set aside: Cubs, White Sox, and even Cardinals fans pray side by side. In a polarized world, our synagogue stands out as a model of what living around other people can be.

Under attack, we realize that there’s another type of vulnerability that we face when we gather. We are also vulnerable to outsiders. Just having a holy space at all, in this day and age, makes a community open to attacks. Our urban location makes us particularly visible. And yet, it is important for us to remember that we also benefit from that visibility. Jews who come to Chicago for conferences find hospitality in our synagogue. We have the opportunity to educate the wider Chicago population about Judaism. Our members enjoy the arts, culture, and convenience that the city offers. And we gain wonderful neighbors. Our community benefits tremendously from our location, even as it makes us vulnerable.