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I don’t know about you but I don’t like having to always defend myself. It gets a little wearisome.

But when you work for a Jewish publication, sometimes it comes with the territory.

Trust me.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, when you put something out there week after week that touches people at their core – about their community, values and faith – you’re going to hit some raw nerves.

Recently, I wrote a news article about B’nai Israel, the historic shul on Lloyd Street in East Baltimore. B’nai Israel has a special place in my heart. My Latvian-born great-grandfather, Aaron Sauber, was a melamed (teacher) there around the turn-of-the-century (the 20th, that is), and from what I gather was a beloved, respected figure.

Much of my family is buried in B’nai Israel’s cemetery on Southern Avenue in Hamilton, and I still remember going to the shul back in the ‘70s, before its major renovation, with my parents. We found a dilapidated, crumbling structure, one in which pigeons frequently flew in and out of gaping holes in the roof. It was a former shell of its onetime grand self, barely on life support, kept going by a small crew of committed, caring individuals.

Check out B’nai Israel in 2011. My, how times have changed. It is now a gorgeous, thriving shul, with a solid, devoted membership, regular services and activities, and lots of people around the community who feel a strong connection to the synagogue and care deeply about it. After all, it’s our greatest (and last remaining) living connection to the immigrant Jewish community that once thrived in East Baltimore, paving the way for what we have and enjoy today.

But one of the shul’s leaders—for the record, not B’nai Israel co-presidents Howard L. Cohn or Frank Boches—recently got irked with me for the article I wrote last week about some recent security problems that B’nai Israel has experienced. He simply felt I didn’t go far enough in questioning in my article why the shul’s landlord, the Jewish Museum of Maryland, and its parent organization, the Associated, weren’t communicating more with B’nai Israel about security matters.

He also accused me of having a vendetta against B’nai Israel, bringing up an article I wrote several years ago about the synagogue’s battle with its former rabbi regarding his abrupt dismissal. At that time, the firing caused a schism at the shul, largely between its younger congregants who liked the rabbi and its old guard who obviously weren’t card-carrying members of his fan club.

As far as the latter subject is concerned, I personally view that as ancient history. B’nai Israel is still around and has moved on and has a wonderful spiritual leader today, the wise and kindhearted Rabbi Alan J. Yuter. Perhaps the shul leader is correct that the Associated, the museum and B’nai Israel should have better lines of communication about security (although as I reported, several meetings have been held so far between those groups). I just wish he would’ve said it in a less rancorous and more constructive way.

But here’s the bottom line, all bruised egos aside – this community needs to support B’nai Israel, financially, morally, logistically, in any way possible. Besides the fact that it provides a warm, wonderful house of worship for the largely unaffiliated young professional crowd living in Canton, Federal Hill, Fells Point and other downtown neighborhoods, it is a testament to our history, heritage and resilience. It is the last outpost of what once was, and it would be a great shanda if the synagogue followed the path of so many inner-city shuls and went out of existence, or only had services during the High Holiday season.

We shouldn’t forget this gem in our midst. More than a nostalgic footnote, it is a model for rebirth—a living, breathing part of our community that serves a vital role. We need to get more in the game about B’nai Israel, whether it’s ensuring the shul’s security or focusing on its longevity and perpetuity.

The other day, I was coming out of a meeting here at the JT offices when I saw someone approaching me. The man, wearing clothes covered in old paint, was none other than Loring Cornish, the local “outsider artist” whose works about the shared legacy and mission of the African-American and Jewish communities are now being exhibited at the Jewish Museum of Maryland. If you haven’t seen this exhibition yet, do yourself a favor and do so. Loring has a gift and a sense of empathy that might truly be beyond words.

I wrote about Loring two years ago (when he had a somewhat similar show at Morgan State University), and I wrote last month about his current exhibition. Each time, I found him to be an extraordinarily kind, energetic and friendly man who genuinely loves people. He almost seems too good to be true, with his spiritual nature and childlike optimism. In our cynical times, you don’t meet many people like Loring. He’s always like a shot in the arm. You always feel good after seeing him.

Which is why I was delighted to see him the other day. He stretched out his hand to shake mine and asked me how I was doing. But of course, I was a bit puzzled by his sudden appearance. (You have to understand that this man spends night and day working on his art in his West Baltimore rowhouse, when he’s not prowling the streets of “Charm City” for “found objects” for his brilliant pieces.)

“So Loring, what brings you to our office?” I asked him. He simply smiled and said, “Oh, I’ve just been so busy with everything – with the exhibition and stuff – that I realized I never got a chance to thank you and Kirsten [Beckerman, the Jewish Times’ staff photographer] for doing such a great job with the article. You guys here have all been so wonderful to me, I can’t thank you enough.”

This might sound trite, but I was a bit stunned and dumbfounded. Occasionally after I write an article, I get a phone call from someone, thanking me (albeit with some minor kvetches). Maybe an email, or if I happen to run into them somewhere, they’ll happen to remember to say thanks, often in an offhanded way.

But to actually come down and offer gratitude in person, to say how much you appreciate what someone did, well, that’s almost unheard of.

And like a bolt of lightning, Loring was gone, running off to his next appointment or mad creative endeavor, waving and thanking us again for doing our best to get his message heard.

It all made me think about the concept of gratitude, and how—like good etiquette and manners – it’s fallen by the wayside and become a casualty of our hyper-caffeinated, tech-obsessive age, something as antiquated and seemingly out of place as the steam locomotive or churned butter. I’m guilty of it, you’re guilty of it, too. We all are.

There’s a power in saying thank you to someone. It empowers them, to see that the world ain’t so bad after all, and it empowers you to bring that gift to someone and to do the right thing. Now here’s a confession: Sometimes I think that in the Jewish community, we’re even more guilty of not offering thanks to each other than in non-Jewish circles. Of course, I could be wrong about that. People are people, right? Still, without indulging too much in potential stereotyping (or “self-loathing”), it’s a phenomenon of sorts that I’ve often discussed with colleagues in Jewish fields, and I’ve frequently found they feel the same way, that there’s a sense of entitlement and expectation, and a lack of gratitude.

Loring has once again taught me a lesson, something that our moms taught us long ago. It’s important to say thank you. It makes you a mentsch, and it makes the world a more mentschlikeit place. Simple stuff.

Anyway, thanks for listening (or in this case reading).