A general view shows the plenum at the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, in Jerusalem. Photo: REUTERS/Ronen Zvulun

In the midst of Israel’s ongoing political and judicial tensions, each side has become increasingly convinced that the other represents an existential threat to the nation we all love. The right fears that judicial overreach is undermining democratic will; the left fears democratic erosion and the loss of crucial checks and balances. Both sides believe they are fighting to save Israel, yet it is this polarization itself that poses, perhaps, the greatest danger to our collective future.

The question we must all ask ourselves, as honestly as possible, is deceptively simple but deeply challenging: How do I know whether I am part of the problem or part of the solution?

Years ago, while lecturing in America during the Obama administration, I proposed a litmus test: If you cannot name three positive aspects of the opposing political perspective, there is a high probability that, regardless of whether your position is factually correct, you are contributing to the problem rather than helping solve it.

This insight traces back to the Garden of Eden. According to Maimonides’ interpretation of Genesis, humanity’s original sin was essentially subjectivity, confusing what feels good with what is good, and what feels bad with what is bad. Once trapped in this subjective bubble, we convince ourselves that those we dislike do only wrong, while those we admire do only right. The human mind becomes an exceptional attorney, skillfully marshaling evidence to support our predetermined conclusions while dismissing contradictory facts.

This pattern repeats across contexts: in marriages heading toward divorce, in fragmenting communities, and in nations tearing themselves apart politically. If you cannot engage in self-criticism while acknowledging something positive about your opponents, you usually have become part of the destructive cycle.

After proposing this test during my American lecture, an audience member immediately responded, “I completely agree, I wish the Democrats understood that.” I just paused, and after letting her statement sink in, I responded, “Okay, can you say three good things about Barack Obama?” And she said, “Sure.” I said, “Go on.” And she paused, for a long while until she finally said, “He’s a good family man.” I said, “No, can you tell me anything about his policies or his politics?” She was stuck. I told her, “I’m not blaming you, but the statistical likelihood that all the good is on one side and all the problems are on the other side is statistically zero.” The same holds true for us here in Israel, and in every polarized society. The statistical probability that all wisdom and virtue reside on one side of a complex political divide — while all error and vice occupy the other — is effectively zero.

Israel’s situation demands this same honest self-reflection. Our judicial reform debates have exposed deep fault lines in Israeli society, with each side viewing the other through lenses clouded by fear and anger. These emotions, while natural, distort our perception and impair our judgment.

The healing of our nation begins with individual responsibility. We must learn to see the world through the eyes of other — not necessarily to agree with them, but to understand why reasonable, ethical people might hold views diametrically opposed to our own. Often, we discover that others share our fundamental concerns, but approach them from different angles.

Half the country did not suddenly decide to embrace evil. Whether left-wing or right-wing, our leaders’ rhetoric responds to and amplifies genuine worries felt by large segments of the population. If you cannot recognize the legitimacy of concerns on both sides, you are contributing to our national discord rather than its resolution.

The Torah teaches us that before we can repair the world, we must first repair ourselves. Israel’s healing will emerge first through individual transformation, then through small community dialogues, and only then will our national leadership respond to this grassroots change. Our leaders reflect our divisions because we, the people, remain divided.

This approach requires tremendous courage. It means questioning our certainties, acknowledging our biases, and recognizing that wisdom rarely belongs exclusively to any single perspective. It means being willing to say, “Perhaps I don’t have all the answers. Perhaps I need to listen more and judge less.”

The path forward for Israel requires us to move beyond seeing political opponents as enemies and instead recognize them as partners in a shared national project, even when we profoundly disagree. Our strength has always come from our diversity of thought and our capacity for vigorous debate within a framework of mutual respect and common purpose.

The solution to Israel’s discord runs through each of us individually as well as collectively. It begins when we look in the mirror and acknowledge our own contributions to the problem. It continues as we build bridges across divides, listen with genuine curiosity rather than waiting to respond, and seek understanding before demanding agreement.

Only then can we transform this period of conflict into an opportunity for growth and emerge as a stronger, more united Israel, not through imposed uniformity of thought, but through a richer, more nuanced appreciation of our shared destiny and diverse perspectives.

Rabbi Daniel Rowe currently serves as the Educational Visionary of Aish, a global Jewish educational institution, and resides in Jerusalem. He is originally from Manchester, UK, and is writing several books as well as his doctoral thesis on the Philosophy of Mathematics. Rabbi Rowe studied for almost a decade in Israel in various Talmudic institutes. Rabbi Rowe is known for his ability to tackle difficult topics and has numerous videos and articles online. He is an expert on Jewish and Muslim history and has given several talks on the subject of the Judeo-Muslim dynamic and interactions in the modern world.