In 1790, George Washington wrote to the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island with a vision that still defines the promise of America. The new nation, he wrote, “gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance,” and expects only that citizens comport themselves with integrity, charity, and shared purpose toward this “great experiment” in self-government.
Our first president’s statement was remarkable not just for its contradistinction to monarchies, but also for what it demands. Washington was not imagining a society without difference. He was describing one capable of holding difference together through civic responsibility, government restraint, and a shared commitment to the common good.
And yet, at this moment, those aspirations can feel distant, even unattainable. We live in a time marked by deep political polarization, declining trust in institutions, and global instability, from the ongoing war in Israel and the Middle East to broader uncertainty about the future of democracy itself. The distance between Washington’s vision and our lived reality can feel wide.
It is easy, in such a moment, to retreat and narrow our circles. It has become too common to engage only with those who already see the world as we do.
Not long ago, I experienced something that suggested that the distance between aspiration and reality may not be as wide as it seems.
When I bumped into my neighbor in the hallway of our New York City apartment building, she casually asked, “How are you?” It was the kind of question that usually functions as little more than a greeting.
I could have simply said, “Good,” and continued on my way. But that response would not have been honest, and she sensed it immediately. The rise in Antisemitism as much as the fraying of the social contract among my fellow Americans and New Yorkers have been in the forefront of my mind and soul. With a yarmulke on my head, my commitments are there for all my neighbors to see. Israel has come up in passing several times as we rode the elevator to our apartments on the 12th floor.
What followed from that moment of hesitation was a conversation, tentative at first. After all, we are essentially strangers despite the fact that we live just down the hall from one another. We do not see the world in the same way. Our backgrounds, politics, generations, religions, and even our sports loyalties could hardly be more different.
“How’s your family in Israel?” she asked with seemingly genuine concern.
“Good,” I replied, thinking about my cousins in their bomb shelters. “They are staying strong and doing their best to retain some sense of normalcy. How’s your family in Lebanon?”
“In Beirut, they say things are close to normal. Where is your family in Israel?”
Still deciding whether our questions were shots across the bow or extended olive branches, we talked about family near and far, the concerns we share for the world as it is, and even some ideas about what could help improve our larger local community.
At one point, the conversation began to feel like a Thanksgiving table when the focus shifts from food to politics. I considered ending it there, retreating politely to the safety of my own door, literally only a few feet away.
The exchange was not seamless, even clumsy at times, as we shared our perspectives.
But something unexpected happened. Instead of stepping away, we stayed. Instead of preparing our next argument, we listened. The questions we asked about family, faith, and hope indicated our investment in the encounter and, slowly, each other.
“I’m sending prayers to your family,” I offered before returning home.
“The same to you.”
Reflecting on that moment, a few truths become clear to me. Our greatest challenge may not be disagreement itself, but our diminishing capacity to remain in relationship across it. There are times when I would rather walk away because it is easier to stay within the comfort of agreement than to risk discomfort with difference.
Yet, democracy depends on more than shared beliefs. Our society must be built through shared habits of listening, curiosity, and a willingness to engage even when it would be easier not to.
Consistent with my approach of being exposed to viewpoints that differ from mine, every day in my prayers, I recommit to staying in challenging conversations a little longer. Not because I expect agreement, but because I believe something important happens just by being present to hear ideas and aspirations different from my own.
The democracy I envision is not one without conflict. It is one where conflict exists within a framework of mutual responsibility, where disagreement does not dissolve the bonds that hold us together. Rather, disagreement becomes an invitation to listen more deeply.
In her book Talking to Strangers: Anxieties of Citizenship since Brown v. Board of Education, Danielle S. Allen reminds us that “distrust can be overcome only when citizens find ways to generate mutual benefit despite differences of position, experience, and perspective. The discovery of such methods is the central project of democracy.”
At Civic Spirit, the organization I lead, we prepare the next generation to participate in and lead our democracy. We teach listening as a civic discipline. Through teacher training and student programming, we help young people engage in structured dialogue, practice intentional listening, and develop the capacity to turn hesitation into understanding, difference into connection, and strangers into something more.
Just as I experienced in that hallway with my neighbor.
When I finally returned home from taking out the trash just down the hall, much later than expected, my wife asked, “Where were you?”
With a renewed sense of possibility, I replied, “I was talking to a friend.”
Inspired by Joachim Prinz, who taught that “neighbor is not a geographic term, but a moral concept,” I am reminded that the work of democracy begins not in institutions, but in encounters with individuals. Our shared success depends on our willingness to stay listening and to see one another not as strangers, but as neighbors in the making.
And if we are willing to stay in the conversation just a little longer, we can become friends and partners in creating something greater than ourselves.