On Leaving the City of Refuge

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying:
Speak to the Israelites and say to them: 
when you cross the Jordan into the land of Canaan,
then you shall select cities to be cities of refuge for you, 
so that a slayer who kills a person without intent may flee there.
(Numbers 9-11)

These verses commanding the Israelites to create cities of refuge for unintentional killers are unfamiliar to most people. But they’ve brought great consolation to some of us. I know this because I’m an unintentional killer.

One night 22 years ago, on a rural California highway, I hit and killed an 18-year-old. He was crossing the road just as I came around a curve. We didn’t see each other until he rolled over my hood, into my windshield, and over my roof. He died instantly. At 18.

I wasn’t found at fault in the crash. I wasn’t drunk or high. I wasn’t speeding, or on my phone. And I don’t remember being distracted. I honestly don’t know how it happened.

So when people ask me what I learned from the crash, I always say that there’s a lot we can’t explain, and a lot we can’t control.

People also ask me, “How did you go on living?” With difficulty. With difficulty. But I had a family. And a job we really needed.

So I went on. I just went on. But I didn’t smile or laugh for a very long time. And I still question whether I deserve happiness.

And, still, whenever I see a crash—which is often—I say a prayer for the many, many people affected. The dead, the injured, their loved ones, the first responders, the later helpers, the witnesses . . . the drivers.

You probably know people who’ve been affected by a fatal crash. Maybe you’ve been affected yourself.

Because crashes happen often, much more often than most people realize—much more often than I realized before my crash. Every year, at least 36,000 Americans die in a car crash. In fact, crashes are the leading cause of death for Americans between 5 and 44. And our car death rate is much higher than in peer countries.

So how I go on now, 22 years after my crash, is by talking about it. By mentioning, as gently but as often as I can, how common “death by car” is. And how preventable it can be.

Fatal crashes are a public health crisis—but we can do a lot about them collectively. We can demand safer roadways, safer technology, safer driving laws, and much more.

Crashes are also a spiritual crisis—but we can do a lot about them individually. We can stretch for safety technology when we buy a car. We can just.drive.less.

And when we do get behind the wheel . . . . We can remember that we’ve just acquired the power to bring death. We can decide to get out of the car if we feel sleepy, or tipsy, or high. We can set aside our phones. And we can set aside our impatience. We can see speed limits and stop signs and traffic bumps as angels, not enemies.

In other words, in a world where there’s so much we can’t control, and death is so close at hand, please don’t increase your chances of becoming me.

Twenty-two years ago, my family, my friends, and wise counselors helped me go on living. They created a city of refuge for me. And now, thanks to them, I can leave the city and talk about becoming an unintentional killer just driving home one night.

Cities of refuge are crucial, and compassionate—but we don't want anyone else to join us there.

And so a prayer:

As we make our way through the world, today and every day,
may we remember both our vulnerability and our power.
May we not be harmed—and may we not bring harm. Amen.