Four days before Yom Kippur, I received a call from a dear friend. Her father, who had been battling colon cancer, had died--far sooner than anyone had expected. The funeral would be in Chicago in two days.

I was on a plane west early the following evening and less than 24 hours later I was on another plane home. Of course, the timing couldn't have been worse. I had about a million things to do before Kol Nidre: a sermon needed to be edited; all the names of lay-readers that I had copied onto Post-It Notes and stuck into pages of my prayer book had to be checked. I had to make sure there was food in the house for a pre-fast meal and I had to cook and deliver my contribution to an annual break-fast with friends.

Decisions like this aren't easy. Last minute plane tickets come at a premium. Schedules need to be rearranged, obligations postponed. The disruption has other, less tangible costs as well--the toll that this kind of journey takes on one's mind and spirit. Yet our Jewish sources are pretty clear on the obligation to make such trips. Every Shabbat morning we read the following statement, adapted from Talmud:

"These are the obligations without measure, whose reward, too, is without measure: To honor father and mother; to perform acts of love and kindness; to attend the house of study daily; to welcome the stranger; to visit the sick; to rejoice with bride and groom; to console the bereaved; to pray with sincerity, to make peace when there is strife. V'talmud torah k'neged kulam... and the study of Torah is equal to them all, because it leads to them all."

As this text teaches, our responsibility to tend to our neighbors extends beyond grief. Judaism not only requires that we are there during other difficult times--tending to the sick, acting as a peacemaker--but also encourages us to be present for the happy moments as well, reminding us of our obligation to "rejoice with bride and groom."

Going back to the subject of consolation, we also find this directive in the Talmud:

When the community is in trouble, don't say, "I'll go home and eat and drink and all will be well with me." ...Rather, involve yourself in the community's distress as was demonstrated by Moses (Exodus 27:12). In this way Moses said, "Since Israel is in trouble, I will share their burden." Anyone who shares a community's distress will be rewarded and will witness the community's consolation.

What's interesting to me about both of these texts is that they mention reward.

Clearly, obligation is not a good enough motivator. Though we're required to behave in a certain way, we're told of the good things that will happen if we do so. Of course there are rewards involved. It feels good to do something for another person and, as the second text points out, it is rewarding to witness consolation.

Sure there are reasons not to go. as we point out regularly from the bima on Yom Kippur, if fasting compromises your physical wellbeing, you are not required to fast. As a matter of fact, there are many authorities who will tell you that you are required to eat. Just as airlines require that you put your oxygen mask on first, Judaism insists that you take care of yourself before you take care of someone else.

But for most of us, there are not such obstacles. The sermon will wait. The laundry will wait. The kids will understand (if not today, then someday in the future) and perhaps they will learn a valuable lesson about caring and Jewish values.

Go to the funeral. Go to the hospital. Go to the bris or the wedding. I have had countless conversations with people before an event wondering if they should take the time or spend the money or face family members who they have not seen in years. I have had similar conversations in which people have shared regrets about not going, but have never had a conversation in which someone has shared regrets about going.

Go. The obligation and the rewards are without measure.