The ancient Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times,” has never felt more prophetic than in these feverish days before the election. I’m drowning in a digital deluge—podcasts, op-eds, breathless articles, late-night monologues, and round-the-clock coverage swirling into an information maelstrom that’s left my mind reeling. I’m suffering from what I can only describe as a pre-election hangover, complete with blurred vision, a churning stomach, and a newfound phobia of news app notifications. My mental hard drive is maxed out, refusing to process any more data points.
I exercised my democratic right weeks ago, casting my mail-in ballot with the same certainty I’ve felt in every election since my first vote in 1972. While the referendum questions demanded careful consideration, my candidate choices were crystal clear. Throughout my voting life, I’ve maintained an unwavering vision of America’s essence and its potential trajectory. The candidates earning my support have consistently embodied the values I hold dear both as an American and as a Jew. These values are ineluctably tied together.
Let’s be honest—defeat stings. I still remember the sharp disappointment of losing to Diane Snow in that 1962 Student Council election, just as I recall the gut punch of watching George McGovern fall to Richard Nixon in ’72. But in a democracy, the freedom to choose our leaders comes with an implicit contract: winners and losers alike must honor the people’s voice. We can’t retroactively alter the rules or manipulate the results when they don’t align with our hopes.
This principle haunts me now as we approach an election balanced on a knife’s edge. A nation unable to reach a consensus on electoral outcomes courts disaster. Such discord isn’t merely divisive—it’s combustible, a spark that could ignite something far more dangerous than political disagreement.
These “interesting times” would have been unimaginable to my younger self – to all Americans just two decades ago. Storm clouds mass on the horizon, and while I’ve weathered my share of political thunderstorms, I’m deeply troubled by what might catch fire in the lightning strikes: free speech, constitutional rights, the very notion of truth itself.
To those who haven’t yet voted: this is your moment. Exercise this sacred democratic right that, for Jews and other minorities, remains a relatively recent historical privilege. Never take it for granted.
I’ll be watching the results roll in, prepared to accept my fellow citizens’ decision, whether it favors my chosen candidate or not. My deepest hope is that all Americans will do the same, honoring this cornerstone of our democratic experiment.
After all, interesting times don’t have to become dangerous ones—not if we remember what binds us together as a nation is stronger than what pulls us apart.
Before Shabbat 