What Can I Do?
What Can I Do?
We are living through bitter divisions. The differences between us are real, and instead of trying to understand one another, we often make those differences even greater. Political disagreements become personal. People are judged by the camp they belong to. We hear less and accuse more.
But the Torah asks me not what the other side should do, but what I should do.
That is a powerful message to hear at this time of year.
Parshat Nitzavim begins:
״אתם נצבים היום כולכם לפני ה’ אלקיכם״
“You are standing today, all of you, before Hashem your God.”
Why does the Torah emphasize כולכם — all of you?
The answer becomes especially meaningful when we look at the next words.
The Torah immediately lists the different people who were standing there:
״ראשיכם שבטיכם זקניכם ושוטריכם… כל איש ישראל… מחוטב עציך עד שואב מימיך״
The heads of the tribes, the elders, the officers, every Jew, from the woodcutter to the water drawer.
They were not all the same. They did not have the same position or the same responsibilities. Yet they were all standing together before Hashem.
That is the Torah’s idea of achdus.
We do not have to be the same to be one.
This is especially important for us today. We can disagree about politics. We can have different opinions about public affairs and different approaches to many issues. We can firmly believe that our position is correct.
But the person who disagrees with me is still a Jew. He is still part of כולכם.
The danger begins when a disagreement becomes personal. When we stop seeing the person and see only the label. When we assume the worst about someone simply because he belongs to a different camp. When we say things about other Jews that we would never say if they were standing in front of us.
Political campaigns come and go. Governments change. Parties change.
But Klal Yisrael remains.
The Midrash makes this point beautifully with the ארבעת המינים. The אתרוג has טעם and ריח, the לולב has טעם but no ריח, the הדס has ריח but no טעם, and the ערבה has neither. Yet all four must be taken together.
״אמר הקב״ה: יוקשרו כולם אגודה אחת, והן מכפרין אלו על אלו״
They are different, but they belong together. Without one of them, there is no מצוה.
There is a familiar story about a man who wanted to change the world. When he realised how difficult that was, he decided to change his country. Then his community, and then his family. Eventually, he understood that there was one person he could begin to change: himself.
The same is true of achdus.
We cannot control what others say or do. But we can ask ourselves what we can do differently.
How do I speak when someone disagrees with me? Do I listen before I answer? Do I assume the worst? Do I repeat something negative about another Jew without knowing whether it is true? Can I disagree without humiliating? Can I stand firmly for what I believe without turning the person who disagrees with me into an enemy?
Sometimes achdus begins with something very small: holding back a sharp comment, not repeating something negative, listening before responding, making the first phone call after an argument, or simply making the effort to know someone outside our own circle.
We have much more in common than we sometimes remember: Torah, mitzvot, family, Jewish history, Eretz Yisrael, our children and grandchildren, and our responsibility for one another.
We do not have to agree on everything in order to care about one another.
Moshe Rabbeinu tells Yehoshua:
״חזק ואמץ״
There is strength in standing firmly for what we believe. But there is also strength in restraint — in knowing when to listen, when to remain silent, when to forgive, and when to make the first move.
And this brings us back to ourselves.
In these difficult times, we spend a great deal of energy thinking about what other people should do. What should they change? How should they behave? What should the other side do differently?
But perhaps we should ask ourselves a different set of questions:
What do I need to do?
What should I do?
And what will I actually do?
I cannot control what others do, but I can take responsibility for how I behave. I cannot decide what another person will say or think. But I can decide how I will speak, how I will respond, and whether I will add to the machloket or help lessen it.
This is especially appropriate as we approach the ימים נוראים. חשבון הנפש is not about examining everyone else. It is about standing before Hashem and examining ourselves.
Perhaps the real avodah of these days is not to convince ourselves that we know what the other person should do, nor to tell everyone else what they should change.
It is to ask ourselves what we need to do, what we should do, and what we will actually do.
That is where achdus begins.
And perhaps that is the message of ״אתם נצבים היום כולכם״: we may not all think alike, but we are all standing before the same Hashem.
We do not have to be the same to stand together. And each of us has a part to play in making that possible.
