As antisemitism in America becomes more normalized and emboldened, Jewish communal responses have coalesced around two primary impulses: look outward or turn inward. The outward-facing approach employs debate and advocacy to shape the opinions and policies of the world around us. The inward-facing response centers investment in Jewish learning, institutions and the rhythms of Jewish community.

Both of these impulses are reasonable, but neither together nor alone are they sufficient. In conversations with 30 Jewish undergraduates, conducted as a researcher-practitioner partnership between the Bronfman Fellowship and the Collaborative for Applied Studies in Jewish Education at the George Washington University, I encountered a third path — one that lives in the tension between outward engagement and inward investment, embracing uncertainty in a way that feels distinctly Jewish. They call it “bridge-building.” 

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What do these students mean by bridge-building? At a cursory glance, their encounters across lines of difference resemble familiar activities — campaigning, advocating and debating — that present competing perspectives in pursuit of a clear objective. But bridge-building is not about the end goal; rather, it’s about a sustained way of moving through the world and relating to others. At its core, bridge-building seeks genuine understanding across differences without the intention to change anyone’s mind.

These are conversations that happen between classes, in the dining halls or in the dormitories as students from different backgrounds form friendships and learn more about one another’s perspectives. Tamar, a rising college junior, described her ideal bridge-building encounters as “totally accidental,” something that happens just by throwing a group of students together: 

“I want it to be natural. I want it to be: You’re having a conversation with someone in the dining hall. Someone else sits down and joins. Maybe none of the people in that group agree with each other and they all leave still not agreeing with each other, but just with a little bit more understanding of why someone believes what they believe.”

These students, open to unfamiliar and oftentimes uncomfortable viewpoints, do not just happen to be Jewish. Their drive to seek and embrace nuance is rooted in a firm sense of self and a commitment to living and learning Jewishly. The Talmud is peppered with unresolved debates that end with a simple directive: teiku — let it stand. As rabbinic scholars thousands of years ago argued over the intricacies of legal practice, they sometimes agreed to let a question remain unanswered, prioritizing relationships and truth-seeking over simplified answers that flatten nuance and satisfy no one. 

As Merav, who grew up in a family of rabbis, put it: 

“So much of what it means to be Jewish is to disagree with people and to argue with people. Literally. That’s what it is to study text–just to watch rabbis… who existed hundreds and hundreds of years ago argue with each other… You learn how to argue from a very young age and do so in a way that’s respectful and intense and honest, and that’s engaging in Judaism actively… That just really taught me what it means to continue showing up even when you disagree with people.”

These undergraduates embody the teiku ethos when they are tapped by university leadership to facilitate collaborations between Jewish and non-Jewish students, when they host Shabbat meals for friends across the denominational spectrum and when they deepen their friendships through uncomfortable conversations. These Jewish bridge-builders do not have to choose between an inward or outward focus. They do both, simultaneously investing in their particularistic Jewish networks and in their broader university communities by cultivating relationships across difference and grappling with uncertainty.

The Jewish community’s pull toward a clear inward or outward direction makes sense. Against a backdrop of heightened threat, straightforward policy positions and rousing solidarity rallies provide a sense of comfort. But this binary belies our complex reality. The world, especially for American Jews, is too complicated for neat solutions, and approaches that attempt to resolve that complexity without fully confronting it fall short. Bridge-builders offer a model for how institutions can support Jewish communities in navigating our increasingly messy world, teaching us to sit with contradiction in ways that are relational, meaningful, and authentically responsive to the tensions around us. 

To be sure, accepting uncertainty is hard. Harder still is balancing an inward commitment to Jewish thriving with an outward engagement in American civic life. In a moment when trust is fragile and reliable partners can be difficult to identify, this approach can feel risky, and the instinct to turn inward or respond forcefully outward can seem necessary for survival.  But choosing one path over the other has not only proved ineffective – it is unrealistic. This kind of work is a marathon, not a sprint in pursuit of quick solutions. Bridge-building asks us to support institutional cultures that cultivate relationships across difference and that allow space for complexity to be fully acknowledged for what it is. 

Instead of trying to resolve uncertainty, let’s let it stand. It is, after all, a very Jewish thing to do.

Elana Riback Rand is an applied researcher and consultant focusing on identity, belonging and organizational culture in Jewish educational and communal life.