How many of us have ever hugged our Uber driver?
I know—it’s not the most common question. But stay with me, because there’s a story behind it.
Just a few days ago, I was in Florida, traveling between Boca Raton and Miami Beach. It was a long ride—an hour and twenty minutes—and I did what I always do: tossed my luggage in the back of a red SUV, slid into the passenger seat, and greeted the driver.
His name was Robbie.
Almost instantly, our conversation took off. What started as small talk—how long he’s been driving Uber, what he does on the side, what his dreams are—quickly turned into something deeper. He asked about me, and though I don’t always do this, I told him I’m a rabbi. We talked about the conference I was attending, what I was learning, why I was there. The words came easily.
Somehow, we found ourselves in a real conversation—the kind where you lose track of time. So much so that Robbie missed an exit and ended up taking us through a rougher part of Miami. But even that detour had its own gift. It led us into a dialogue about poverty, about luck and circumstance, and how the lives we lead are often shaped by forces beyond our control.
By the time we neared my destination, I didn’t want the ride to end. Have you ever had that feeling—where you’re en route somewhere, but the journey itself feels more valuable than the place you’re going? That was this ride.
We pulled up, Robbie got out and handed me my suitcase. And in that moment, a simple “thank you” felt insufficient. So I did something I’ve never done before—I gave him a hug.
Before I left, Robbie told me something beautiful. He keeps a journal of the most meaningful conversations he has with passengers—and I made it into his book.
What made that ride unforgettable wasn’t just the conversation—it was the connection. It reminded me that deep relationships don’t just appear out of thin air. We have to be willing to let our guard down, to listen—really listen—to someone else’s story. When we do, something sacred can happen.
We form a bond. A human one.
And that leads me to what I believe relationships are really about. If I had to boil it down to just one idea, it would be this:
Relationships are about showing up.
That’s it. Showing up.
Robbie showed up for me—not just physically, by picking me up when I called an Uber—but emotionally. He was fully present. And those are the people we want around us—the ones who show up.
There’s a question I like to ask as a kind of litmus test for any relationship: If you found yourself in trouble, would this person show up for you?
If the answer is yes, that’s someone to hold onto.
This idea of showing up isn’t just about one-on-one connections. It’s the foundation of something bigger—community.
This week, we read the Torah portion Vayakhel. The word vayakhel means “he gathered”—as in, Moses gathered the people. But it’s more than just a headcount. Moses wasn’t simply collecting individuals; he was forming a kehila—a community.
A kehila isn’t just a group of people doing the same thing at the same time. It’s a web of relationships. It’s a network of people who show up for each other. That’s the heart of sacred community. That’s what we’re striving to build at the Jewish Center of the Hamptons.
You can join a gym or take a class and feel like you’re part of something. But when life gets hard—when you need someone to bring you soup, or hold your hand, or just sit with you in silence—the question is: Will those people show up?
Here, we do.
Here, we commit to being that kind of community—for each other, and for anyone who walks through our doors.
So try this: if you sense someone around you might be in need—even if they don’t say it out loud—offer a smile. A hug. A high five. A moment of your time. In whatever way you can, show up.
You never know whose journal you might end up in.