Where has all the nuance gone?

Navigating conversations about the Middle East is challenging, especially in a world where so much of our understanding of history is shaped by personal perspectives and cultural biases. From our earliest experiences, we inherit narratives that influence how we interpret events and conflicts around us. Growing up in a Jewish community, I’ve naturally absorbed a specific view of history—one I’ve both questioned and reexamined to understand more fully. However, even with this awareness, I still struggle to comprehend the fervent acceptance of opposing narratives by others, particularly among young Americans. As they confront new perspectives on global issues, many are quick to embrace them, often without critical examination. In this piece, I explore how recognizing our inherent biases and striving for balance can guide us toward a more empathetic and informed dialogue.

We have to recognize that any retelling of history is inherently biased, shaped by the writer’s viewpoint. Achieving pure objectivity is nearly impossible; history isn’t a science. When one version of events is shared, countless others go untold.

Understanding this makes it clear why debates over the Middle East are often challenging. Each person comes armed with their own perspective, bolstered by a version of history that aligns with their beliefs. Raised in a Jewish home, educated in Jewish day school, I know that my foundation naturally leans toward a Jewish interpretation of history. I’ve tried to explore beyond that perspective, questioning and challenging, yet I still carry an inherent bias in support of a Jewish narrative.

Growing up within the Jewish community, I’ve witnessed countless efforts to understand history with balance and compassion. Jewish scholars have written and re-examined the last century and a half, seeking accountability and recognizing both successes and mistakes. While no narrative speaks for everyone, I have seen many thoughtful, nuanced approaches that examine the Middle East conflict carefully.

But even if my views were one-sided, I would still ask those on the “other side” of the debate:

If all history is inherently biased, why are you so quick to accept the opposing narrative?

As a Jewish person, my support for a particular version of history makes a certain amount of sense. But I’m perplexed by American college students who readily absorb and support a story about the conflict that diverges from the history they grew up with. Of course, I understand that part of this willingness may come from the feeling of betrayal—discovering that what they were taught isn’t the whole picture. This new narrative feels revelatory, empowering them to protest and reject the systems they feel deceived by. They are angry about the state of the world they’ve inherited, about climate destruction, colonialism, and social injustices. Exposed now to a perspective that doesn’t center American or capitalist interests, they absorb it readily, seeing it as more "truthful."

The problem is that history isn’t a binary—good versus bad, right versus wrong. Just because American actions have been wrong doesn’t mean other actors in the world are blameless. Viewing one side as inherently just and the other as solely wrong is a trap, ignoring the complexity and flaws in both narratives. Vilifying one side risks blindly supporting the other without recognizing its issues.

I understand and respect the compassion for Palestinians and other innocent civilians caught in conflicts across Lebanon and Yemen. This sympathy is rooted in a desire for peace, for a world where people don’t live in fear of losing their homes or lives. However, it’s simplistic to place all the blame on Israel while disregarding the motivations and actions of other regional powers. To ignore the destructive roles of groups like Hamas, Hezbollah, and the IRGC, whose values are misaligned with the freedoms many of us hold dear, is to be willfully blind to the broader picture. The narrative has been rewritten so thoroughly that groups widely known as terrorist organizations now enjoy support as if they were champions of justice.

This same generation is quick to condemn historical figures like Jefferson or Franklin, “canceling” them for moral failings, yet they seem ready to ignore the troubling beliefs and actions of organizations that advocate violence and suppress freedoms. Why the selective morality?

Let’s say every criticism of Israel were valid, many of which I agree with and find troubling. Still, the values and freedoms upheld by Israeli society are more aligned with those familiar to us than anything else in the region. Israel has free speech, LGBTQ rights, elected government, freedom to protest, and personal freedoms in work, marriage, and education. It’s true that mandatory military service shapes Israelis’ perspectives, perhaps instilling nationalism in some, but just as many are peace advocates. It’s a mix that mirrors the ideological split in many democracies.

Striving for Balance

The goal is balance. If I feel myself losing compassion for people who’ve lost their homes, it’s time to realign with my values. And if I find myself justifying violence or ignoring instances of aggression from within the Jewish community, that too requires reflection and balance.

This search for balance is what will ultimately help us foster peace. Instead of entrenching in polarized narratives, we need to hold space for multiple truths, acknowledging each side’s pain and aspirations. By fostering a compassionate, well-rounded understanding, we can nurture a future where empathy guides action, and where diverse voices contribute to a lasting peace.