In his novel, Inside Outside, Herman Wouk writes the somewhat autobiographical story of a man’s struggle to be true to his traditional Jewish upbringing, but also to live successfully in modern America. I was thinking about Wouk’s intriguing title during a recent trip to Beaumont Hospital.

I had gone to Beaumont to have a procedure as a follow up to my aortic surgery. While there, I decided to stop by the floors where I stayed during my two week hospitalization. I had an emotional reunion with some of the nurses, and I learned how much they enjoy being visited by their former patients. This reaction is quite understandable as one’s recovery is as much a victory and source of joy for the hospital staff as it is for the patient.

Walking into the Intensive Care Unit caused me to have an unanticipated response. I noticed how large and well-lit the area was, made up of bright and wide open spaces. This should have come as no surprise since I had seen this Unit so many times before. Yet entering the Unit evoked a strange feeling within me, and I soon understood why.

As a patient in the Unit, I felt (for no logical reason), from the perspective of my room and my bed, that the Intensive Care Unit was a much smaller and darker place.

And then it dawned on me — Insiders and Outsiders don’t see the world in the same way.

One of my favorite memories from Rabbinical School was when a congregational rabbi came to talk to us about visiting patients in the hospital. This rabbi explained that being in the hospital is akin to living in a foreign country, and that the visitor needs to understand the patient’s perspective in order to make the visit a truly positive experience. For example, since one’s hospital room is one’s temporary home, the visitor should knock before entering, let the patient’s wishes guide one’s length of stay, and certainly never sit on the patient’s bed.

This leads me to think about the differences between Insiders and Outsiders in the synagogue. Some of us feel very much at home at a service in the Sanctuary or Chapel. We know the language (or at least we are able to read the Hebrew phonetically), we are familiar with the rituals — knowing when to stand, sit, sing out loud or pray silently, etc. But for many, the experience of attending a synagogue service is off-putting, uncomfortable, and leads one to leave and never wish to return.

This real problem, this rift between so-called Insiders and Outsiders, can be healed if both sides assume a degree of responsibility. Those who regularly attend the synagogue service need to welcome the newcomer, reach out to unfamiliar faces, and even to familiar faces who nonetheless might not know “what’s going on.” Years ago, while attending another synagogue’s Friday Night service, I struck up a conversation with a friendly mother and her young son. When I later asked someone to tell me the names of this mother and son, I was told that, “no one seems to know. We never bothered to ask their names. Now that they’ve been attending our services these many months, we are too embarrassed to ask them their names after all this time.”

On the other hand, those who feel like outsiders have a responsibility to bring about change. You can learn to read Hebrew; you can borrow a siddur, practice using the transliteration, and study the helpful notes and directions. Most importantly, you can follow the advice I give to all who are contemplating attending our synagogue service — don’t just attend one time. Rather, come to shul for three consecutive Shabbatot, and then make a decision about your future. You will be pleasantly surprised by how much you are beginning to learn, and more importantly, how much the “regulars” are starting to ease your transition.

In the synagogue, as in life, Insiders and Outsiders co-exist and have a lot to learn from one another.