Living in a globalized world means that our actions are increasingly interconnected, which is never more apparent than during US elections.

Trump's victory earlier this week will have an effect on Canada, the US, and Jews worldwide, and not a good one.

As we awoke (or perhaps went to sleep to) the results, the feeling of dread, of our hearts sinking, of concern for what will transpire over the next four years exemplified our universalism - we were worried for ourselves of course, but for others as well - American women whose reproductive rights are in jeopardy, immigrants and asylum seekers, Ukranians, Palestinians, and so many others who are increasingly vulnerable under a second Trump presidency.

But the divisions and tensions made more apparent than ever during the election campaign and in the discourse following the results are an equally perfect example of particularism.

Many were quick to criticize Palestinian, Muslim, and Arab-Americans who refused to vote for Harris given what they saw as the Biden administration's uncritical support of Israel's war in Gaza which has killed tens of thousands of innocent Palestinians.

A protest vote or the decision not to vote was widely derided by many other communities including the Jewish community, pointing out that such an action is a de facto vote for Trump, and a Trump presidency puts so many other minorities in grave danger in the US and around the world.

But can any of us truly say how we would respond, how we would vote if we spent over a year watching our people brutally massacred while the leader of the free world talked tough but seldom followed it up with action? While we can be ashamed of pictures of IDF soldiers dressing up in the clothes of women and children whose homes they've demolished, or be heartbroken for parents who weep for their dead children after an airstrike, can we truly understand what it must feel like for Palestinians watching this unfold half a world away, powerless to stop it?

The struggle between the universal and particular is a common theme in our Jewish traditions and practice - we see this in our holidays, such as Passover when we reflect on the particularity of our escape from bondage in Egypt while also applying the universality of the story to all oppressed people in the world - that we cannot be truly free until we are all free.

While many believe the answer is not only binary, but simple - either a full embrace of the universal or the particular - this US election should serve as an example of just how fraught this struggle is, and how it is not cleanly cut across political or ideological lines.

After all, the rejection of the particular and embrace of the universal is commonly seen among Left-progressives, and yet, it was many of those same progressives who fight for Palestinian freedom who therefore voted from a particularist perspective.

Conversely, much of the pre-election discourse was predicting that Jews would shift to the Republicans, disappointed by what many saw as Biden's critique of Israel at a time of war and fearful of rising Antisemitism which they largely felt the administration did not do enough to address. And yet, early exit polls showed majority support for Democrats from the American Jewish community, as is historically the case.

Despite very real fears of Antisemitism and very strong feelings toward Israel, American Jews, often perceived as more particularist, voted from their universalism.

Neither particularism nor universalism is inherently better or more virtuous than the other. Rather, we more often see our particularism show up when we are vulnerable or scared, and see our universalism show up when we feel secure and use our social or political capital for the benefit of others.

The emotions of both vulnerability and security are incredibly strong and it is no wonder they can deeply affect our behaviours and decisions.

The answer therefore is never to scold, demean, or diminish an appeal to either the particular or universal but rather to attempt to understand, empathize, and find the humanity underlying one's decisions.

We see this struggle play out most prominently in Hillel the Elder's questions: "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?"

Not only do these questions grapple with the particular versus the universal, but "If not now, when?" implores us not to dwell too long on the question and to instead take action.

As we enter a time that feels scary, uncertain, and dangerous for so many of us, taking action will feel paralyzing, and there will be no shortage of critiques of many of the actions of not only our adversaries but our allies or would-be allies. 

The best way to not end up paralyzed by fear and instead to take action will not be in making the "right" decision, it will instead be in challenging ourselves to understand someone else's "wrong" decision.

Our desire for universalism should be driven by understanding another's particularism, and vice versa. It will not be by picking one or abandoning the other that we will succeed in creating a better world but rather, by holding onto both.