We are living in a highly charged time. This moment tilts toward uncertainty, provided that you’re willing to define uncertainty as a void that can be filled by hardship, possibility, and consequence.
In 2023, we absorbed a tragedy of unimaginable proportions. All of us will continue to pick up the shards of a shattered status quo (that we naively assumed would endure) for the remainder of our lifetimes. Last October, as the final 20 living hostages were liberated, we were witness to a blast of hope. Astonishingly, the plunge of Fly Dubai 1073 lifted our spirits thanks to the resourcefulness and character of the Jewish people. And soon, the very same Jewish people (as well as other citizens) of the most vibrant contemporary democracy in the Middle East, if not the world, will make their way to the polls.
As I write these words, after attending a medical conference in Boston, I find myself in New England, where autumn kindles the Berkshire hills in soothing hues of orange, yellow and brown. Even a devoted Jerusalemite like me can’t help but acknowledge that since emigrating from the USA, I ache for the blaze of color fall foliage captures in response to summer’s surrender.
During the downtime that vacation offers, I caught a performance by the great American author, David Sedaris, who read his work at the Colonial Theatre in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. No one synthesizes humor and sentimentality quite like Sedaris, and I have read all his books. However, until now, I had never heard him. Aside from his playful irreverence, I was struck by his self-deprecating candor. He acknowledged that even as a 70-year-old celebrity, he is still mistakenly assumed to be a woman during phone calls because of his high-pitched intonation. Indeed, Sedaris has a distinctive voice which, going forward, will affect the way I read his words. Yet, whether raspy or velvety, deliberative or cynical, conservative or countercultural, what voice is not unique?
I raise this question as elections approach in Israel and the USA. I have been fortunate to call both home, and there is a distinct difference in how these two great democracies conduct their voting system. I’m not referring to technical discrepancies such as the ability to mail in my ballot in the USA versus Israel’s insistence that I show up at the booth. Rather, there is a fundamental contrast in the cultures. In Hebrew, the literal translation of the word “vote” is “voice” (“kol”). After the results are counted from varying precincts across the USA, Americans might invoke the voice-vote slang “the people have spoken.” Yet, I believe that in the USA, the emphasis is often on vote as a derivative of the Latin term “votum,” which implies a solemn selection after considering the candidates. In other words, while Americans highlight choice, Israelis are underscoring voice.
In the age of AI, voice has emerged as a new kind of fingerprint. Voice is the least ambiguous and most intimate signature of who we are, at least in the perception of chatbots. Long ago, my research (as well as the studies of other colleagues) proved that, in contrast to popular conception, hope is not a passive process but rather an active way of pursuing objectives, including the goal of charting a national course.
But what happens if the ballots are counted and the national voice does not reflect my own? Are my hopes dashed when the candidate I supported does not prevail? I would argue that this is precisely when hope matters most. Hope is not a guarantee that events will unfold as we wish. Rather, hope is the capacity to continue to pursue meaningful goals, even when the pathway towards our destination seems uncertain or obstructed. A vote is an important expression of our voice, but hardly its final word. Indeed, we exercise that voice in our communities (where we have a sense of belonging) and in the public square (where we coexist with those who disagree with us). Democracy – and hope – provide us with the opportunity as well as the responsibility to remain engaged. By making a commitment to take an energetic role in society, we discover a sense of connection that continues to propel us forward.
Soon, I will join the millions of citizens who have the opportunity to make their voices heard in pursuing meaningful aspirations. Whether we cast a ballot or cast our voice, may we choose with courage and listen with care. In the aggregate, our collective voices will reflect who we are.
