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In millions of homes across America, it's going to be a Thanksgiving like none other. It was fraught enough during the Trump years. But this year, many of us have children who have been on a college campus or on the streets, proclaiming Israel to be a "genocidal" state, chanting "Free Palestine!" and "From the River to the Sea!" According to Harvard/Harris, approximately half of young adults aged 18-34 believe that Palestinian grievances justify the atrocities of October 7.
The table is set for difficult dinner conversation.
It will be particularly rough in Jewish families, who may face the heartbreaking scenario of having on one end of the table a precious grandparent who helped found the state of Israel or fled there from antisemitic oppression—and on the other end a young person who publicly advocates for the destruction of the Jewish homeland.
There is no pain-free way out of this moment. We could lament our situation, but handling excruciating moments is the human—definitely the Jewish—condition. There are choices and consequences. As in Israel, so in America: Let us consider which pain we choose, and manage the consequences guided by Jewish values.
One possibility is to suppress altogether any conversation about Israel, for the sake of shalom bayit—peace in the house. On the surface, this sounds like a values-based approach. But the war in Israel is an existential struggle. Many of us are vividly experiencing it as life-threatening. How do you ask, "How 'bout those Lions?" or, "Have you seen the Scorsese movie?" while your brothers and sisters are hostages in Gaza?
Suppressing the topic may be impossible. Yet the pain of addressing it might be overwhelming. The opposite approach is to do it like Israeli families might: a no-holds-barred free-for-all. For many, this war is the ultimate issue; we can accept a lot of things from our treasured young people, but the destruction of a Jewish Israel is the hill we will die on. Surely Grandma Svetlana and Uncle Babak will have plenty to say, and bluntly. The odds of a family rift are high. Nobody wants blood on the walls at Thanksgiving.
There is a third path—hard, but perhaps productive. It is to invite a conversation for moral clarity. Moral clarity happens when a person states what they believe, argues for things aligned with one another, owns their values, and acknowledges likely outcomes. This is the path of Talmud sages, who did not always agree.
To illustrate moral clarity, consider the opposite. Across the world, many are calling for a ceasefire, like our anti-Israel young people. There is great certainty about what should not be done. And yet, if pressed about what should be done to remove Hamas and return the hostages, those calling for a ceasefire shrug and claim they don't know enough to propose solutions. This is moral non-clarity. It is less than useless.
A productive conversation for moral clarity means that everyone at the table has equal responsibility to weigh in on what should be done. Do they deny Jews as indigenous to the Middle East, despite the historical evidence? Advocate a two-state solution? One-state solution? Jewishness as mere religious practice, like Presbyterianism? The resettlement of global Jewry in Kansas?
Moral clarity is a spiritual imperative—in this moment, in Judaism, and in life. To shirk it is intolerable cowardice.
This discussion may also bring pain. Some of our anti-Israel kids will hate it, no matter how gently we encourage them to interrogate what they truly believe, and what consequences should flow from their choices. They'll feel discomfited. Some may claim "harm." Older adults, too, may recoil, as young people fairly question us about history, choices, and consequences. Someone may stomp off in a huff.
There's no easy way out of this Thanksgiving. We must pick our pain: the pain of avoidance, pain of a free-for-all, or the pain that comes from making our children and families squirm as we sort through choices and consequences in the service of moral clarity.
Happy Thanksgiving. It is our prayer that we all have the courage to tolerate the pain that is coming, that it not be overwhelming, and that we find time to thank God for our blessings.
Jeff Gottesfeld is an award-winning children's book author. Beth Leedham is a clinical psychologist and former president of the Los Angeles County Psychological Association. They are members of Congregation Adat Ari El in North Hollywood, California.
The views expressed in this article are the writers' own.
