Baltimore, MD -Aug. 1, 2025 - I was leaving shul this week, chatting casually with someone about our recent games in a tennis league that benefits a prominent cause. I mentioned how I had lost a playoff match badly, and he seemed surprised – “What happened?” he asked. I shrugged and said, “My back was killing me. I got injured in a previous match.”
A third person walking alongside us gently chimed in. “You know,” he said softly, “you really shouldn’t complain like that... My grandfather just passed away, and he had terrible back pain.”
At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was he saying that my minor injury paled in comparison to what his grandfather endured? Was it a gentle reminder to be more grateful?
But then it hit me: this wasn’t about comparison or critique. This was coming from someone who himself lives with some of the most difficult physical challenges I’ve ever seen; countless surgeries, daily limitations, and yet a spirit that somehow shines even brighter because of it. He never complains. He smiles. He jokes. He lifts up those around him. Even when he said this comment about his grandfather, he was whispering – because his voice is still recovering from a recent surgery.
Yet, here I was, complaining about a sore back that just needed a bit of rest.
As we enter the days of Tisha B’Av, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we speak, especially when it comes to bein adam l’chaveiro. We can be close friends, kindhearted people, and still not fully realize how our words land. Sensitivity isn’t about censorship; it’s about awareness. It’s about remembering that we never really know what others are carrying — and certainly when we do know what they’re carrying, we have an even greater responsibility to speak with care and compassion.
And maybe sometimes, the strongest people aren’t the ones winning the match, but the ones walking alongside us, whispering truths with grace and courage.
Wishing you a peaceful Shabbos and an easy fast.