What We Owe One Another After the Elections
The recent elections in Israel and the United States raise a question that will outlast any campaign: How do we live with people whose political choices we find troubling, even intolerable? Political opinions have become so entwined with identity that disagreement can feel like a personal assault. A position on a candidate, a war, or a policy becomes a verdict on someone’s character, and whether they deserve our trust, affection, or a hearing. We presume to know someone’s entire moral universe from their ballot. As a result, friendships fracture, parents and children become estranged and siblings stop speaking. Between strangers, understanding becomes impossible before a conversation begins.
Jewish people in Israel, the United States, and around the world are watching what happens next. Whether voters chose party loyalty, a particular candidate, or a single issue, we will all live with the consequences.
As a Jewish person living in the United States, I believe we have reason to feel uneasy, and, in some cases, afraid. I will be watching whether restrictions on women’s reproductive health care are lifted, hate crimes are taken seriously, and religious freedom extends equally to everyone. I will also be watching whether rhetoric about supporting Israel and confronting antisemitism translates into meaningful action.
For people living in Israel, votes affect who serves in the military and how that burden is shared; how funding reaches schools, communities, and essential services; and which security policies shape daily life and prospects for peace. These choices reach into families, livelihoods, and futures.
The consequences of political choices are real. Someone facing the loss of medical care or religious discrimination has every reason to question those who supported policies that threaten them. Calls for civility can pressure those bearing the consequences to remain silent for everyone else’s comfort. Yet in a binary, zero-sum political culture, complexity looks like betrayal and conceding a point feels like surrender. People conceal their doubts and repeat the positions that secure their belonging. Relationships lose room for difference. Public discourse loses the debate through which ideas are tested and judgments revised.
To be sure, there are red lines. Human dignity, safety, and equal rights warrant firm boundaries. Preserving a relationship cannot require accepting threats, humiliation, or our own mistreatment. But we should be able to name the boundary. What belief or behavior crossed it? Whose rights or safety are at stake? Can both people speak and be heard? Is there willingness to acknowledge harm and take responsibility?
Those questions help us distinguish a painful disagreement from a relationship that requires one person’s tacit acquiescence. They also require listening. Society requires debate, and debate requires a willingness to hear views we find troubling. A vote warrants questions about what someone supports, tolerates, or prioritizes. Understanding why someone voted as they did does not require agreeing with their choice.
The same scrutiny belongs within our own political communities. Can we challenge people we otherwise support or acknowledge a legitimate concern from someone whose vote we opposed? Can we change our minds without losing our friends? If we cannot, belonging has become conditional on obedience.
Election results determine who governs. We still have to live alongside one another, in families, synagogues, workplaces, and communities where agreement will always be incomplete. Our children deserve relationships that can withstand disagreement. That demands boundaries, accountability, and a willingness to listen.
When belonging requires complete agreement, we sacrifice the closeness that allows us to disagree and the honesty that allows us to think for ourselves. We need to be able to say both “I believe you are wrong” and “I want to understand.” What happens next depends, in part, on whether we still mean both.
