I’ve heard many children excitedly wish, when asked to choose a super power, that they could be invisible. But can they even articulate what they hope will happen when no one can see them? They may have gotten some ideas from Harry Potter’s famous cloak of invisibility, which, among other things, allowed Harry to sneak off to Hogsmeade for butterbeer and candy.

Now consider the flip side: How does it feel to be invisible when it’s not a cloak you can remove? Who, in our society, in our neighborhoods, in our synagogues, do we not see? Who feels invisible? In any community, it’s impossible to know every member. Even within affinity groups, truly knowing each person is difficult.

Courtesy

Elderly congregants join young students to pack and deliver food for the needy at an event at Temple Beth Hillel - Beth El in Wynnewood, Pa.

At the beginning of each school year and at many meetings, teachers often start with icebreakers and group bonding activities. They strive to ensure all students know the names of everyone in their grade. Add learning each other’s Hebrew names, and you have quite an uphill challenge!

My doctoral dissertation focused on intergenerational programming. Part of the impetus for that research came from experiences my parents of blessed memory had in the latter part of their lives. My dad, a World War II veteran, participated in Honor Flight, a nonprofit organization that provides all-expense-paid day trips to Washington, D.C., for veterans to visit their memorials. He beamed as he recounted the view from the bus: schoolchildren lining the streets, waving American flags for the passengers. Another time, at a Sixers game, he received an enormous amount of attention from fans and stadium staff as they honored him publicly as a WWII veteran. Those big moments meant the world to him, and so did the smaller ones: being asked to lead Hamotzi at family weddings or reading Torah at grandchildren’s b’nai mitzvah.

The Better Together program, an intergenerational program with middle schoolers and adults who are eligible for AARP and above, began as a way for me to honor my parents’ legacy. We are currently in our seventh year. My experience with Better Together helped me finalize both my dissertation goals and the work itself. What I learned is how important it is to help prevent loneliness for others and, perhaps even more important, to confront the reality of invisibility, which, to me, is an even more painful experience than loneliness itself.

Recently, our synagogue lost a long-time Better Together participant. In her final days, the seventh graders, who had spent a year with her in the program, wrote cards and letters. Their heartfelt words and drawings of her signature creative outfits and carefully painted manicures made her feel truly seen.

Someone knowing and saying your name, someone making you feel special — this is an extraordinary gift. In Pirkei Avot, Rabbi Matia ben Charash teaches: “Upon meeting people, be the first to extend greetings.” This simple yet profound teaching reminds us that visibility begins with acknowledgment. A greeting, a smile, the use of someone’s name; these small acts carry tremendous power. They say, “I see you. You matter. You belong.”

As we navigate our large and vibrant communities and even the smaller ones, I challenge each of us to consider: Who might be feeling invisible among us? Is it the older adult who sits quietly in the back row? The new member who hasn’t yet found their circle? The teenager who slips in and out without connecting? The person whose life circumstances have changed, leaving them feeling disconnected from the community they once knew?

We cannot solve loneliness or invisibility with grand gestures alone; but we can commit to the small, sacred acts that Rabbi Matia ben Charash prescribes. We can be the first to say hello. We can learn and use people’s names. We can create spaces like Better Together, where generations connect and everyone has a role to play, a story to share, a name to be honored.

My father’s eyes lighting up as schoolchildren waved flags, as strangers thanked him for his service, as family asked him to lead blessings — these moments didn’t just combat invisibility. They affirmed his dignity, his worth, his continued place in the story of his community.

Each of us has the power to give that gift to someone else. The question is: Will we? Who will you see today?

Lisa Richman has been a professional Jewish educator for five decades and is currently the education director at Temple Beth Hillel – Beth El in Wynnewood, Pa.