By David J. Butler

As we prepare for Rosh Hashanah, the High Holy Days invite us to take stock of ourselves. We think about the year that is ending and the one about to begin. We reflect on the kind of people we have been — and the kind of people we hope to become.

Perhaps there is one question we do not ask often enough. How do we treat the stranger?

The late poet, memoirist and civil rights leader Maya Angelou, whose writings challenged America to recognize the humanity in every person, once observed, “I learned that a friend may be waiting behind a stranger’s face.” It is a beautiful thought. Every lifelong friendship, every trusted colleague and every beloved neighbor was once someone we did not know. Every meaningful relationship begins with a stranger.

Long before Angelou expressed that insight, the Torah made the stranger one of Judaism’s central moral concerns. Again and again, it commands us to treat the stranger with compassion, dignity and love. “You shall love the stranger,” it teaches. Elsewhere it reminds us, “You shall not wrong or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Whether referring to a convert, a resident alien or simply the outsider, the Torah’s message is unmistakable: those outside our familiar circles deserve our respect and our concern. Elsewhere it adds, “There shall be one law for the citizen and for the stranger who dwells among you,” reminding us that justice and dignity do not depend upon whether someone is already part of “us.”

Human nature pulls us in the opposite direction. We naturally gravitate toward people who look like us, think like us and share our experiences. We notice differences before we discover common ground. We often make judgments before we know another person’s story.

The Torah asks us to remember something. “You were strangers in the land of Egypt.” That is more than a reminder of Jewish history. It is an appeal to memory. Never forget what it feels like to be the outsider — to wonder whether you belong, to walk into a room where everyone else seems to know one another, to hope someone will notice you and make you feel welcome.

Every community creates strangers — not intentionally, but inevitably. Every synagogue has first-time visitors. Every neighborhood has newcomers. Every workplace has the employee eating lunch alone on the first day. Every school has the student hoping someone will invite them into the conversation. Every community has people quietly wondering whether they truly belong. Every one of us has the opportunity to decide whether they remain strangers — or begin to feel at home.

Most of us remember what that felt like. We also remember the person who made it easier. The smile. The introduction. The invitation to join a table. Those gestures may seem small to the person offering them. They often mean far more to the person receiving them. Communities are built one welcome at a time.

It is also a lesson our society desperately needs. We increasingly see people through labels before we see them as individuals. Conservative or liberal. Religious or secular. Native-born or immigrant. Jew or non-Jew. We sort people into categories before we take the time to know them.

The Torah quietly suggests a different approach. Meet the person before the label.

That principle does not answer every difficult public question. Immigration, for example, raises legitimate debates about borders, law, security and humanitarian responsibility. Reasonable people can disagree about those issues. But whatever conclusions we reach, our personal obligation remains the same. The stranger before us is never merely a political issue. He or she is first a human being deserving of dignity and respect.

That lesson extends far beyond immigration. It influences how we welcome newcomers into our congregations, neighborhoods, schools and workplaces. It determines whether people remain on the margins or become part of the community.

On Rosh Hashanah, synagogues around the world will fill with people seeking reflection, hope and renewal. Some will be surrounded by lifelong friends. Others will arrive alone. Some will know every page of the machzor. Others may be attending services for the first time in years, wondering whether anyone will notice them.

They will. Or they won’t. That choice belongs to us.

This Rosh Hashanah, perhaps one resolution deserves a place alongside all the others. Introduce yourself to someone you have never met. Invite the newcomer to sit with you or help them find a seat. Introduce a first-time visitor to your friends. Invite someone to join you at kiddush. None of these gestures takes much time, but each has the power to send a simple, unforgettable message: “You belong here.”

We may not remember every sermon we hear or every prayer we recite while attending services. But many of us remember the person who welcomed us when we felt like strangers.

Maya Angelou reminded us that a friend may be waiting behind a stranger’s face. As we begin another Jewish year, let us resolve to be the person who takes the first step. That would be a New Year’s resolution worthy of Rosh Hashanah.

David J. Butler is an attorney. He is president of Dvash Consulting, LLC and a member of the ownership group of Mid-Atlantic Media, which owns and publishes Philadelphia Jewish Exponent.