I’ve told the story before: of a woman who, as part of a long illness, found she could not eat. Every day of her convalescence, the hospital staff would bring her fresh milk and other nourishing foods but the idea of drinking even the tiniest sip disgusted her. One day a friend came to visit, and seeing the untouched milk asked if she could drink some. Watching her friend drink with gusto that which she abhorred, the woman realized: we are all so profoundly different. What tastes awful to me, is delicious to her.

As simple as this story is, I have found it helpful this week – as I did when I first shared it, after Roe v. Wade was overturned and I watched as some people celebrated and others wept. Here we are again, it seems: some people elated and relieved with the outcome of this week’s election, and others grieving and anxious about what the future holds. What tastes awful to some is delicious to others. And if we thought those tastes were delineated across state or county lines, or if we thought that it was just our own families or friendships that bear this complicated dynamic of political difference – well, we now know it’s not. The election results prove what a mixed bag of values and ideas we are. I know I’m not the only one whose nephews and nieces (all six of them, from both sides of the family!) posted very different reactions on Instagram than my own children had to the election news. 

They are good, kind, fun, wonderful, menschy kids and teens, my nieces and nephews. The news tastes different in their mouths than it does in my own children’s – who are also good, kind, fun, wonderful, and menschy. Family is hard, community is hard, and democracy is hard, because in all of these groups we agree to live with our differences. We agree that the work is worth it. Pluralism is predicated on honoring differences including the ones that taste the worst in our own mouths. 

The parasha this week is the opening of Abraham’s story. Lech l’cha, the opening words, mean “Go to yourself.” Go, get going, for yourself, into yourself, to you. It is God’s call to Abraham, and to us. It is literal – Abraham (still Abram, actually, at this point in the story) is to leave one place and travel to a new one; but it is so much more than that. As Israeli journalist and Torah scholar Sivan Rahav-Meir put it: When Abram hears this call to get going, he has no idea where he is headed. We know he is going to the Promised Land, and we can picture Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, Ben-Gurion Airport, the landscaped neighborhoods of friends and family. But none of this exists yet, and moreover – Abraham has never been there. He is journeying into the complete unknown.

Which is where we are, too. Like Abraham (and Princess Elsa, in Frozen 2) we have never been here before.  Whether we voted for our President-elect or not, whether we are excited about his policies or find them abhorrent – we are in a new phase of American life and American history. We are also in a new phase of Jewish life and Jewish history. More than a year into this war, its geopolitical consequences are only one layer of what we witness as we follow the news of, for example, last night’s pogrom in Amsterdam against Israeli athletes and fans, or whatever crops up each day for Jewish communities around the globe. While antisemitism is thousands of years old, this particular moment (“globalized intifada,” some are calling it) with its particularities is new. We can learn from history, but are going to live through this new moment in new ways because we have never been here before.

As humans, the unknown is frightening. We are designed to hold fear around change and difference. It serves us well sometimes, and sometimes it does not. I’d like to suggest that right now, it does not. I’d like to offer us instead two qualities that Abraham brought with him into his unknown: faith and kindness.

Faith: Abraham lived among people who believed in many gods, and he believed there was only One. His faith was bold and he was not afraid of it or where it would take him. We may disagree with our neighbors and families about the best course for this nation. We may be convinced that our values and vision and ethics are correct and theirs is not. What sorts of faith can we nurture in ourselves now that can help us in this moment? Is it a faith that we are all acting out of best intentions and highest ideals? That even the most distasteful people and leaders have something to teach us or to offer the world? Might we cultivate faith in the goodness of humanity? Most famously, Abraham modeled for us faith in a Higher Power that has a plan. A plan that we can’t see or hear or understand and has not been shared with us. Abraham’s faith was tested over and over again throughout his life; so too our faith is tested, perhaps especially in moments like these where we may feel bewildered. Faith is faith because it is not about proof or logic; it is about recognizing the clenched-heart feeling of fear and taking a deep breath and saying: the sun came up this morning, the world will keep turning, it will be okay.

Kindness: Abraham’s kindness mirrors in so many ways the ways we might be kind in this moment. Abraham opened his tent to those who appeared on his doorstep (flap?) and shared his food. He risked his life to rescue his nephew Lot when taken hostage. He worried for Sarah’s safety and took action to keep her, and him, safe. He made peace treaties with his neighbors. Over and over again he sought God’s help in creating shalom bayit, a peaceful home marked by smooth relations with his family. Abraham’s kindness is for us to emulate. It, too, is an antidote to grief, fear, anxieties of all sorts. Because when we are kind to others, that kindness spreads. We create the world we want to live in, a world where people care for one another. It helps others, but it also helps us.

Faith and kindness will be our guides as we step into the unknown. Abraham and Sarah will be our companions, along with all of the stories our ancestors gave us as an inheritance to accompany us on our journeys. The news of the day is going to taste differently for each of us. But as a Jewish community, we can continue to create for and with one another the sanctuary and solace we seek through faith, through kindness, and through Torah.