The Psychological Complexity

As a psychotherapist, I spend my days exploring the intricate landscapes of the human mind – the anxieties, the griefs, the tangled loyalties. And in recent times, a particular kind of internal conflict has presented itself with increasing frequency in my practice, and indeed, in my own life: the profound psychological complexity faced by many secular American Jews.

We find ourselves walking a precarious tightrope. On one side, a deep-seated, often visceral, connection to the idea of Israel – a haven, a historical homeland, a “never again” made manifest after millennia of persecution culminating in the Holocaust. This isn’t necessarily about religious prophecy for many secular Jews; it’s about survival, identity, and a place in the world.

On the other side of that tightrope lies the undeniable, painful awareness of the how. We know the history of Israel’s founding is complicated, fraught, and involved the displacement and suffering of the Palestinian people – the Nakba. We see the ongoing occupation, the settlements, the checkpoints. And we see the devastating human cost, a cost borne disproportionately by Palestinians over the decades.

The Cognitive Dissonance is Real

This is where the psychological knot tightens. How do you hold these two seemingly contradictory truths?

1. Israel has a right to exist, and its security is paramount for many Jews, a bulwark against a history of vulnerability.
2. The Palestinian people have endured immense loss, displacement, and continue to suffer, and they too deserve self-determination, dignity, and safety.

For the secular American Jew, this isn’t just an intellectual exercise; it’s an emotional and existential one. We’re often raised with stories of resilience, of fighting for justice, of “Tikkun Olam” (repairing the world). To then grapple with the reality that the pursuit of safety for one group has resulted in profound suffering for another creates a deep sense of cognitive dissonance. This internal conflict can manifest as:

• Anxiety and Guilt: A persistent unease, a feeling of complicity, or a fear of being “on the wrong side of history.”
• Identity Confusion: “If I criticize Israel, am I betraying my heritage? If I don’t, am I abandoning my moral compass?”
• Grief: Mourning the loss of a simpler narrative, grieving for all innocent lives lost, and perhaps grieving for an ideal of Israel that feels increasingly tarnished.
• Moral Injury: The distress experienced when one’s actions, or the actions of a group one identifies with, transgress deeply held moral beliefs.

Navigating the “And”: The Burden of Nuance

The secular American Jew often tries to navigate this by embracing the “and.” We support Israel’s right to exist and we advocate for Palestinian rights. We condemn Hamas’s terrorism and we decry the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. We mourn Israeli victims and we mourn Palestinian victims.

This “both/and” position is psychologically taxing. It requires holding immense complexity in a world that increasingly demands black-and-white, good-versus-evil narratives. It means constantly explaining, qualifying, and feeling misunderstood from multiple directions.

The External Pressure Cooker: Anti-Semitism, Anti-Israel Sentiment, and Dismissal

This internal struggle is massively amplified by external pressures:

1. Rising Anti-Semitism: The ancient hatred rears its ugly head, often conflating Jewish people worldwide with the actions of the Israeli government. Suddenly, your identity itself feels targeted, and the need for a safe Jewish state can feel terrifyingly immediate, even if you disagree with its government’s policies.
2. Anti-Israeli Sentiment: Legitimate criticism of Israeli government policy is vital. However, when this slides into calls for the destruction of Israel, or the denial of Jewish historical connection to the land, it triggers that same existential dread. It feels like a rejection not just of a state, but of Jewish safety and self-determination.
3. Dismissal of Israeli Victims: Perhaps one of the most psychologically jarring experiences is when the pain and trauma of Israeli victims are ignored, minimized, or even justified. When attacks on Israelis are met with silence, “whataboutism,” or even celebration by some, it creates a profound sense of invalidation and isolation. It can feel like your grief, your community’s fear, doesn’t matter, or worse, is deserved. This is particularly acute when the world seems quick (and right) to mourn Palestinian losses but struggles to extend that same empathy to Israelis.

This creates a chilling effect. The fear of being labeled an apologist for atrocities if you express concern for Israel, or an anti-Semite if you voice strong criticism, can lead to self-censorship and a retreat from difficult conversations.

The Path Through: Holding Complexity with Compassion

So, how do secular American Jews navigate this? There’s no easy answer, but here are some psychological anchors:

• Embrace Nuance: Resist the pull towards simplistic narratives. Accept that multiple truths can exist simultaneously.
• Seek Connection, Not Agreement: Engage in conversations with those who hold different views, not to convert them, but to understand. This is incredibly hard but vital.
• Self-Compassion: Acknowledge that this is an incredibly difficult position. It’s okay to feel confused, angry, sad, or conflicted.
• Focus on Shared Humanity: Center the experiences of innocent people on all sides. Empathy is a powerful antidote to dehumanization.
• Set Boundaries: It’s okay to disengage from conversations that are purely hateful or unproductive. Protect your mental well-being.
• Distinguish Governments from People: Remember that criticizing the Israeli government is not the same as being anti-Jewish, just as criticizing Hamas is not the same as being anti-Palestinian.

The psychological stress is undeniable. It’s the stress of holding grief for “both sides” while often feeling like you belong to neither, or are betrayed by all. It’s the burden of carrying a complex history and a fraught present. But it’s also, perhaps, a testament to a deep-seated desire for justice and peace, however elusive they may seem. Our tightrope walk is a difficult one, but the pursuit of balance, empathy, and understanding remains a worthy, if painful, endeavor.

Ross Grossman is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFT). The views expressed here are his own, informed by his professional experience and personal reflections.