It is finally coming to a close. Before long, we will find out who has won the election.
Yet no matter who wins the White House or other major and minor offices, our nation will still be the same disunited mess—a place where our divisions seem insurmountable. In physics, there's a theoretical framework that seeks to describe all the fundamental forces of the universe in a single, cohesive model. It's called the Unified Field Theory. Our disunity is its own kind of Unified Field Theory: a messy, chaotic model that seems to capture all the fundamental forces of our differences.
Lately, I've been in a conciliatory mood, pondering the oft-quoted principle of the Torah, that teaches us to "Love your neighbor as yourself." It's as relevant as ever. Many rabbinical commentators have noted how the Hebrew, "V'ahvta l'rei'acha kamocha," suggests the reasoning for this wisdom. Since "rei'acha" means "your fellow person" and "kamocha" means "like you," they read the verse this way: “Love your fellow person because he is like you.” This reveals the urgent truth that because we all share a common humanity, this should be enough to treat one another with a base level of respect and compassion. That is the definition of empathy.
We so frequently bemoan our divisions that we forget they did not appear overnight. They didn’t even begin with the 2016 election. No, this current round of polarization—there were others in the more distant past—has been building since at least the 1980s, each subsequent decade deepening the fault lines. There are so many reasons for this—cultural, political, social, economic—but the result is the same: our incredibly diverse nation struggling to see the value in its diversity. It’s not one-sided, the province of xenophobes and Christian nationalists. Every one of us plays a part, viewing those with opposing views or priorities as “the other,” threatening our values and our way of life. Sometimes we’re dead right about them. And sometimes we just lump folks together because they support the candidates we blame (not always undeservedly) for beating that drum.
All of which has led me and many others to meditate on the concept of "love your neighbor."
We've heard it so many times that it's become common to perceive it as naïve. Sure, sure, sure, we say. Of course, the Hebrew Bible wants us to be nice to people we disagree with. Our ancient literature also foresees a day when "nation shall not lift up sword against nation." It’s all very poetic and generally unrealistic, like any good scripture should be. Such cynical views are not completely unmerited. But personally, I don't think this verse is merely futurist utopianism. I think there’s more to it than that.
By reminding us of our capacity to act out of empathy, the verse doesn’t assume that a more unified reality will ever emerge naturally. Whoever wrote it (or at least its interpreters) was highly aware of our instinct to shut out those we disagree with. And yet, it hangs on to hope by reminding us that others are enough like us that we have an obligation to emphasize our shared humanity in the name of healing our deepest rifts.
Does that mean we have no right to be angry with those whose worldviews and priorities seem so diametrically opposed to our own? Not at all. Anger is often justified. Still, if we are ever to move forward, we need to find a way to live together better than we have been. This doesn’t mean sweeping disagreements under the rug or compromising on our views about the essential civil rights and freedoms we hold dear. What it means is recognizing that the person on the other side, however frustrating their views might be, carries their own set of experiences, fears, and beliefs. They may be misguided or misinformed in our eyes, but they are still as human as we are. They still share, in a basic sense, our desire for a better life and a fairer society. And sometimes they agree with us on some things even when they support a candidate we don't or won't.
Recently, we’ve seen unexpected moments of shared values emerge, even amid our divisions. The Dobbs decision, for instance, has been met with an overwhelming response in places where we might have expected the opposite. In Kansas and other states whose constitutions make it possible, voters have turned out to protect reproductive rights. This reflects the truth that even many whom we assume to be so very different from ourselves are not always as different as we suppose. We have discovered shared ground in places we hardly expected.
My personal journey has taught me a similar lesson. As a gay man, I spent many years angry and disheartened by the widespread opposition to marriage equality. The rejection of my relationship felt deeply personal. Leaders I supported, including advocates of civil rights like Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, took forever and a day to recognize the rights of people like me and my husband Arthur to marry. Those of us denied recognition felt the weight of that rejection. But we also held onto hope because we sensed that empathy could and would one day kick in. And boy, did it. Today, support for marriage equality is stronger than ever, and even a large number of Republicans, whose party never adopted it into its platform, now affirm our right to marriage. Or, at the very least, have stopped fighting us on it. This taught me that sometimes, and perhaps more than just sometimes, people on the other side come around. It’s no great secret that, on a different spectrum of issues, I've become much more attuned to the merit of some criticisms that folks who are right-of-center have leveled at progressives. (What brought me around was not the populist exploitation of grievances but the rational presentation of facts presented with empathy. One might guess that those who came around on same-sex marriage might have similar tales to tell.)
Building bridges in this atmosphere is challenging. Putting aside anger, especially when rights are at stake, requires strength and patience. But if we remember that “love your fellow person” is not simply a call to compassion but an empathetic recognition of our common humanity, we just might find more ways to cut through our disunity. We know we will never agree on everything, but perhaps we can spend a little more time trying to coexist respectfully.
This ancient commandment exists precisely because it is hard. Yet, once we become attuned to the rabbinical interpretation that the verse is suggesting empathy, it can help us find the strength it takes to love, or at least respect, our neighbors.
Our shared path forward will never be built on winning every battle or converting every mind. This shouldn't stop us from working to build a nation where we try to muster up a little more respect and understanding in the hopes of creating a bit more unity.
Empathy will not resolve every disagreement, but it will open a few doors, creating possibilities for a more unified future. And who knows what we might accomplish once we make that choice?