I scroll and scroll.

While I see a few entertaining reels and beautiful updates from friends and family, my feed is mostly dominated by two horrific narratives:

1. Photos, videos, and stories of suffering and dying in Gaza, families in tents, escaping hollowed out buildings, mothers bringing naked newborns home after giving birth in horrific conditions, ads from the World Food Program and International Rescue Committee seeking donations so Gazans don’t starve to death, and more. 

2. Photos, videos, and stories of Israeli families murdered, women and girls raped by Hamas on October 7th, innocents taken hostage, heart-wrenching testimonies of those released, kibbutzim burned to the ground, a massacre at a music festival, soldiers who have perished, and more. 

This nighttime habit (which any psychologist would advise against) tears me up inside. And yet, like so many others, I feel a responsibility to bear witness to the realities I am privileged to not be living through firsthand. Delving into post after post breaks my heart for Israelis and Palestinians, and the cascading impact this has on both the Jewish and Muslim communities here at home. 

This habit makes me wonder…when other people open Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, or TikTok, if they see anything about the war at all, do they see the lived realities of both peoples? Do their hearts break for both the Israeli and Palestinian children who will undoubtedly be impacted by this conflict, through no fault of their own, for generations to come? 

Many Jews struggle with the consequences of Israel’s military efforts, even while they support the aims of Israel’s war on Hamas and the return of the hostages. But there is no consensus in the Jewish community on a ceasefire. And there is not likely to be one soon. 

At a time when our psychological safety has been so deeply shaken, and the security of Jewish people in Israel and around the world is at risk, it is natural to turn inward to protect ourselves, to create a bulwark of uniform support as a coping strategy. However, the metaphoric walls we build to keep ourselves safe also divide us — they enforce a binary way of thinking that excludes people within and beyond our community who see and hold a multiplicity of perspectives and experiences in this current moment. 

Even my acknowledgement of these nuances and perspectives will be challenging for many in our community. Because we feel scared. We feel broken. We are living through intergenerational trauma, which may be why it feels so hard to hear viewpoints different from our own.  

These are some of the reasons why it’s challenging to both lead with and ask for curiosity, nuance and empathy. And yet, when so many Jews are feeling alone – due to the rise of antisemitism, the silence of some of our allies, the exclusion of Jews from certain spaces – our communal institutions still have a responsibility to make sure Jews who have diverse views feel welcome in our spaces. 

For the JCRC, an organization that does its work through consensus, this puts us in a challenging position. 

What do we do?

One of the JCRC’s core values is elu v’elu, or an openness to multiple perspectives. This means recognizing there are multiple sides of an issue, being open to respectfully hearing views that are not our own, and grappling with complexity. It’s important to remember that perspectives we are hearing and seeing, though they may be significantly different from our own, can also be motivated by Jewish values we actually share. 

For the JCRC, which seeks to build bridges both within and beyond the Jewish community, this is a value we must take to heart and live, especially today, in both our intra- and inter-communal tents. Because history has shown the Jewish people that we are not safest when we are alone. And because the active pursuit of tzedek, or justice, is as core to us as a Jewish people as is our responsibility to care for one another. 

The JCRC remains committed to supporting our community through these challenging times, including through addressing antisemitism when it appears in dialogue around the war in Israel, and we must do so in ways that ensure our JCRC remains open to hearing diverse points of view.

And now, it is more important than ever that we open our minds, hearts, and spaces to see the humanity in one another and honor the diverse perspectives we hold. Only in the vulnerability of sharing our true selves – our pain, our fear, our empathy – can we forge the meaningful connections that will bring us comfort and strength both within our community and beyond.

L’shalom,

Max Patashnik
Director of JCRC and Government Affairs