14/11/2016 06:41 GMT | Updated 14/11/2017 05:12 GMT

On Condolences And Faith In A Time Of Hatred

Reflections from Wednesday morning, November 10th

A few months ago, I watched as my British friends were shattered -- disbelief. The crumbling of a union that took decades to build. A crumbling based on fear and racism. I think it was seeing Brexit happen from up close that made me much more skeptical in a Clinton victory than my friends and family back home.

A few nights ago I started making calls to Democrats Abroad. One out of two people I spoke with hadn't received a ballot or hadn't turned it in. That's when I knew the polls were off. That the reality of a Trump presidency was imminent.

And now the tables are turned. It's nine AM and I've received condolences from from next door, from Italy, Germany, England. Australia. The world is grieving. And we all ask. What's next?

Hope and Hatred

As a Jew, I come from a long history of faith, faith in the midst of hatred. As the descendant of people who have been historically discriminated against, exiled, and slaughtered, I know that we must act. I know that we must act for ourselves, and for those who can not.

We do this because we can. But we also do this because we must, because the ethical imperative of Tikkun Olam is something that runs through our DNA. We were raised to understand intrinsically that they could have been us.

I may not be the one most targetted by the policies that will unfold in the US, that are unfolding elsewhere. I am privileged. I am white. I am educated. I have a stable income. I have a US passport. But it is precisely because I have this privilege that I know I must fight.

Because we know that being a refugee, being on the other side of hatred -- it is nothing more than an accident of birth. Because we are all refugees.

So I accept your consolences. And like you, with you, I will gather my strength. Collectively, we will make it to the other side.