Be a good neighbor

Growing up in Pittsburgh, my son Jonathan had many heroes, but one of his favorites was Fred Rogers. Long after he outgrew children’s television, he never outgrew Mister Rogers’ message that kindness matters, that every person deserves to feel seen, and that we should all strive to be good neighbors. At the time, I don’t think either of us realized just how profound that simple message would become in our own lives.

This spring, as my husband, David, and I traveled from Pittsburgh to Southern California for the trial of the man responsible for taking the life of Jonathan, we came to understand Mister Rogers’ words in a way we never had before.

Some of our greatest neighbors turned out to be people we had never met.

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In the days before we left for California, I found myself thinking about another remarkable young Jewish man whose life ended far too soon, Blaze Bernstein.

Jonathan and Blaze never met, yet their stories share striking parallels. Both traveled across the country to pursue their dreams — Jonathan to Blaze’s home region of Orange County to attend Chapman University, and Blaze to Jonathan’s home state of Pennsylvania to attend the University of Pennsylvania. They were born the same year, just weeks apart, and even shared the Hebrew name Natan, derived from the Hebrew word meaning “to give.”

But more importantly, they shared the qualities that matter most. Both were bright, compassionate and deeply connected to their Jewish communities. Both had an extraordinary gift for making others feel welcome, seen and included. And while each accomplished so much during his life, the stories told by those who loved them begin with the same simple truth: They were kind.

Jonathan had a quiet way of making people feel cared for. As a counselor at Emma Kaufmann Camp, he nurtured and brought joy to his campers. As a beloved madrich at Temple Emanuel of South Hills, he guided younger students with patience and warmth. Whether he was helping a friend through a difficult time, being a loving and incredible big brother, or simply making someone laugh, kindness wasn’t something he showed occasionally. It was the essence of who he was.

Everything I have learned about Blaze tells us that he lived in the same spirit. He embraced people for who they were, built community wherever he went and left behind a legacy defined not by how his life ended, but by how generously he lived.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that kindness became the bridge between our families.

Just days before leaving for California, I reached out to Blaze’s parents, Jeanne and Gideon Bernstein. They had already endured the long and painful journey through the very same Orange County Courthouse and District Attorney’s Office where we were about to begin our own. I wasn’t looking for answers, because there are none that can make sense out of losing a child. I simply hoped they might offer a little guidance as parents who understood the impossible road we were about to travel.

Instead, they gave us something far greater. They opened their hearts.

Rather than simply sharing their courtroom experience, they introduced us to their local Jewish community and friends. Through Jeanne and Gideon, we were connected with rabbis, congregations and individuals throughout Orange County. Before we had even boarded our flight, people were reaching out to welcome us, offer support and let us know that we would not face the weeks ahead alone.

None of the people who embraced us had ever met Jonathan. They had never met David or me. They knew us only through our story and through the Bernstein family. Yet they welcomed us as though we had always belonged.

Their kindness also reached far beyond us.

Back home in Pittsburgh, we have been surrounded by family, friends and a community that loved Jonathan deeply. So many people wanted to support us during the trial, but we also knew how emotionally difficult it would be to sit through weeks of testimony. We wanted to spare the people who loved Jonathan from carrying that burden if we could.

The Bernstein’s community became an extension of our own. They stood beside us so that more of Jonathan’s family and friends didn’t have to endure those impossible days themselves. They checked on us, filled the courtroom seats beside us, delivered meals, offered to host us in their homes for dinner, welcomed us into their congregations and local JCC, and reminded us, day after day, that we were not alone.

In becoming a support system, our newfound Orange County community wasn’t only caring for David and me. They were caring for our friends, family and community at home as well.

They drew on their experience of walking alongside the Bernstein family to understand how best to support ours. They gave our family and friends the comfort of knowing that we were surrounded by people who understood our pain and had wrapped their arms around us. Their community carried ours, and together they carried us.

For a city like Pittsburgh, that lesson feels especially meaningful. Our Pittsburgh community understands the extraordinary power of a meal delivered, a comforting embrace, a prayer offered, or simply showing up. The same community that supported the Bernsteins reminded us that those bonds and shared values do not have geographical boundaries.

As I look back on those weeks, I realize that the greatest legacy Jonathan and Blaze left behind is not found in the heartbreaking circumstances that connected our families. It is found in the kindness they inspired. The people who loved Blaze honored his memory by caring for strangers. The people who loved Jonathan were comforted because those strangers became people we are fortunate enough to now consider friends. That is the ripple effect of a life led with kindness.

Today, the Bernstein family continues that legacy through Blaze It Forward, an initiative that encourages people to perform simple acts of kindness in Blaze’s memory. It is a beautiful reminder that love and compassion can continue to shape the world long after someone is gone. I hope you’ll take a moment to visit the Blaze It Forward website and consider participating. Please also consider doing an act of kindness in Jonathan and Blaze’s honor.

Smile at a stranger. Visit someone who is lonely. Deliver a meal. Reach out to someone who is grieving. Welcome someone new into your community. Brighten someone’s day. Be the neighbor Mister Rogers taught us all to be.
Acts of kindness rarely make headlines, but they change lives. Because these extraordinary young men lived that way, their kindness and decency continue to ripple outward through their families, their friends, communities separated by thousands of miles, and people who never had the privilege of knowing either of them. Each act of kindness done in their memory becomes a continuation of the goodness they brought into the world and ensures that their legacy continues to grow.

And just as Jonathan taught us, Mister Rogers was right all along. The world becomes a better place, one good neighbor at a time. PJC

Amy Bahm lives in Mount Lebanon with her husband, David. She is the mother of three sons and believes that small acts of kindness can have a lasting impact on individuals, families and communities.