“Know before whom you stand”
I understand the traditional origin of this phrase to mean that when we pray, we should recognize the privilege and responsibility of standing before something greater than ourselves. But I have come to think about these words in a more personal way. To me, these words connote the responsibility of recognizing who is standing in front of me.
As a pediatrician who works in the hospital and intensive care unit, this is something I encounter every day.
When a child is sick, I am rarely speaking only to the child. I am standing before parents who may be frightened, overwhelmed, angry, exhausted, or simply trying to understand what is happening to their child. Sometimes they have been in the hospital for days. Sometimes they have just arrived. Sometimes they understand exactly what I am telling them. Sometimes they hear the words but are not yet able to absorb what those words mean.
Before I can have a conversation they need to hear, I have to figure out where to meet them.
Where do I begin? What do they already understand? What are they afraid of? What words will help them understand what is happening, and what words will only make the distance between us greater? What do I need to explain, and what do I simply need to acknowledge?
There is no single answer. Every family is different. Every child is different. And every encounter requires me to pause for a moment and recognize the people standing before me. For me, that is where presence becomes important.
It is easy, particularly in medicine, to focus on what needs to be done. We are trained to identify a problem, gather information, make a diagnosis, and determine the next steps. But caring for a child requires something more. It requires being present enough to recognize the human behind the medical problem.
I may know the science of medicine, but that knowledge is only useful if I can find a way to share it with a family in a language they can understand and at a moment when they are able to hear it. That requires listening. It requires patience. And perhaps most importantly, it requires the recognition that I may be the expert in the room on the illness, but the family is the expert on their child.
The privilege of caring for a sick child is therefore something I do not take lightly. Families allow me into one of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. They trust me with their child and with information that may change the way they understand their world. That trust carries a responsibility that goes beyond making the right medical decision. It requires me to see the family as individuals, to listen carefully, and to meet them where they are.
The more I think about the phrase, “know before whom you stand,” the more I realize that this idea extends far beyond medicine. Being part of a community asks much the same of all of us.
We often enter a room knowing who people are, or at least believing we do. We know their names, their professions, their families, perhaps their history in the community. But knowing about someone is not necessarily the same as knowing the person who is standing before us. To know before whom we stand is to ask us to be curious, to recognize that everyone carries a story we may not know. It asks us to understand that our own experiences shape the way we listen. It asks us to search for the common understanding that allows genuine connection to occur. And sometimes, that connection is the most important thing we can offer.
Perhaps that is what “Know before whom you stand” means to me now.
Before I speak, listen.
Before I assume, become curious.
Before I decide what someone needs from me, take the time to understand who they are.
Every child I care for reminds me of this. And every community reminds me that belonging is not simply about standing together. It is about seeing one another.
During this holiday season, I hope to carry that reminder with me wherever I find myself standing among others. To know before whom I stand is, ultimately, to recognize the privilege of the moment and the responsibility that comes with it. L’Shanah Tovah.