See something, do something

Eighteen years ago, in May 2007, a 62-year-old man named Moshe Hai Israeli was riding his scooter from Cholon to the Azur Junction. He collided with a cement truck and was thrown to the ground. He lay sprawled out in the middle of the road — and not a single car stopped.

For a full 90 seconds, dozens of drivers swerved past him as if he were just another chunk of cement in the road. Eventually, a motorcyclist stopped, knelt down and saw what had happened. But by then, it was too late. Moshe had died from his injuries.

It’s a chilling story, and it forces us to ask: How is it possible to just keep driving? How can someone see a fellow human being in such a state and not stop?

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Some might say, “I was on my way to work,” or “I didn’t know what to do,” or “There are so many problems in the world — how much of a difference can I really make?”

It’s a fair question. When is it your problem? And when is it the world’s?

There’s a powerful mitzvah in Parshas Kedoshim: “You shall not stand by your fellow’s blood” (Leviticus 19:16). Rashi comments: Don’t just stand there and watch someone die when you can help. If someone’s drowning, being attacked, bleeding out — you can’t just say, “Not my problem.” You have to act.

This idea isn’t just spiritual — it’s codified in Israeli law. Inspired by this verse, the Knesset passed legislation that makes it a legal obligation to help someone in distress. If you walk past a person who collapses in the street and you don’t stop or call for help, you can be held legally liable. That’s a huge contrast to places like the U.S. or U.K., where you’re often not required by law to intervene.

But Rashi’s comment is even deeper than it first appears. He doesn’t just say, “Don’t stand by.” He says, “Don’t watch your fellow’s blood being spilled when you can save him.” Why emphasize watching?

What if you close your eyes? What if you pretend not to see — does that let you off the hook?

The Lubavitcher Rebbe offers a beautiful insight: Rashi isn’t just stating the obvious. He’s addressing something deeper — the inner voice that says, “Why me?”

Why should I be the one to stop? I have places to be. I have problems of my own. I don’t have time, or training, or resources. Can’t someone else do it?

And Rashi answers: The very fact that you saw it means that it’s yours to deal with. If you were meant to look away, God wouldn’t have let
you see it. The fact that this particular person, situation or problem showed up in your line of sight — that’s not random. That’s Divine Providence.

You’re not responsible for every problem in the world. But you are responsible for the ones you see. Because the ones you see are the ones that were chosen for you.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything a person sees or hears is meant to teach them something in their service of God. Nothing is an accident. If something crosses your path, don’t ignore it. Engage with it. That’s your shlichus — your mission.

And it’s not just about emergency situations. It’s about being awake and present in daily life. Noticing someone who’s overwhelmed at work. Pausing to check on a neighbor. Helping someone who’s been left out or forgotten. These are all chances to say, “I see this. And because I see it, I have a role to play.”

Rashi is giving us a surprisingly practical formula for repairing the world: Don’t worry about fixing everything. Just take responsibility for what you see. Your “corner of the world” — your office, your family, your community, even your inbox — that’s the part of the universe you’ve been entrusted with.

And if everyone did that — if each of us really focused on the problems in our line of sight — the bigger picture would take care of itself. Your friend’s problem would be seen by someone else. Your neighbor’s pain would be noticed by someone in their life. Every gap would be filled.

Redemption doesn’t come from one person solving every issue. It comes from each person addressing their piece.

So what does that look like, practically? Say one kind word. Offer one warm smile. Check in with one person who looks like they’re having a rough day. Be the one who stops, who listens, who cares.

That’s how we change the world — not all at once, but one seen-and-answered moment at a time. PJC

Rabbi Mendel Rosenblum is director of Chabad of the South Hills. This column is a service of the Vaad Harabonim of Greater Pittsburgh.