Today was the Israel Day parade in New York City. For the third year in a row, I had the privilege of accompanying both assisted living and nursing home residents, along with staff and some volunteers, on this march down Fifth Avenue.

As has been the case as long as we have been involved, we were the only elder care facility among hundreds of other organizations. And, as has been the case, the NYPD did an impressive job of managing the route, the crowds and all the rest.

Security has always been taken seriously, this year even more so with many staffed checkpoints as well as bag checks and metal detectors.

We bring a security guard with us and we have plenty of staff. The crowds are behind barriers and, while there were a few political signs that were clearly anti-Israel, there was cheering all along the route.

Yet, the whole time we walked with our banners held proudly in front of us, the whole time we pushed wheelchairs and waved to the crowds, I felt myself scanning and scanning the faces. I wasn’t looking for familiar faces. I felt as if I was a bodyguard in a movie, scanning the gathered people for any sign of threat, anything that could jeopardize the safety of these 30 people for whom I feel responsible.

What was I going to do if something happened? In truth, there was likely nothing I could do. And, in my rational mind, I knew that there were many far more trained people around who would have reacted more quickly and more professionally than I ever could have. And yet, I couldn’t stop looking, scanning, searching for what I didn’t know or could even articulate.

I realize that this kind of constant, underlying anxiety is not confined to the parade, although today it felt more acute. I realize I walk around this way almost all of the time in crowded or unfamiliar public places. This heightened sense of vulnerability is not mine alone, of that I am certain. We live in a world in which senseless violence and hatred have become the norm, in which the phrase “anything can happen” has taken on new and terrible meaning.

I don’t know how we change what has become the norm, how we create a culture and society in which civility and compassion are valued, where we accept others and appreciate our differences. I do know that, at least for me, it is about holding onto hope and belief and striving, always, to fill my full heart.