From Trauma to Empathy: Why Stepping Back Can Bring Us Closer
 

The Distance Between Pain and Compassion

In moments of war, terror, or personal attack, empathy for “the other side” is rarely our first impulse. Trauma narrows the mind’s focus to survival, not understanding. An Israeli journalist recently explained that after the Hamas attacks of October 7, 2023, many in Israel remain in a state of raw, unprocessed grief. This isn’t coldness—it’s the reality that compassion often requires distance, time, and safety.

Israeli author Etgar Keret calls this a kind of “moral numbness.” Even as civilian deaths mount in Gaza, many Israelis feel unable to fully engage emotionally. That’s not unique to Israel. It’s human nature. When wounds are fresh, empathy struggles to breathe.

I think of one Israeli mother who hasn’t allowed her children to sleep in their own rooms since October 7. And of a Palestinian father in Khan Younis who walks his children past bombed-out buildings on their way to school. Both parents carry the same exhaustion, the same haunting uncertainty. Both love fiercely, and both might understandably struggle to see the other’s pain while their own wounds remain open.
Reflection pause: When was the last time you felt too hurt to see someone else’s perspective? How long did it take before you could listen again?
 

Polarization at Home

We see similar patterns in America’s culture wars. Conversations about gender, race, and identity often demand empathy in one direction while ignoring the need for reciprocity. The struggles of young men—falling behind in school, facing emotional isolation, and experiencing rising mortality—rarely get sustained attention in public discourse.

Richard Reeves, in Of Boys and Men, and in conversations with Scott Galloway, points out that these changes hit working-class and minority men hardest. Yet acknowledging these challenges can be framed as undermining women’s rights—a false choice that weakens everyone.

I’ve had moments myself when someone raised an issue that initially made me defensive. Only later, after the heat had passed, could I see the truth in their words. Real empathy means holding multiple truths at once. Pain isn’t a competition.
Reflection pause: Can you name one issue where you can hold space for two seemingly opposing truths at the same time?
 

The Algorithm Problem

If you feel more anxious or angry after scrolling through social media, it’s not an accident. Platforms are designed to reward outrage and certainty, not humility or curiosity. Posts that say “I’m still thinking about this” get buried. Nuance is punished; tribalism is rewarded.

Picture yourself late at night, scrolling through your feed. You see a post from someone you know—maybe even a neighbor—expressing a view you find infuriating. The algorithm has made sure you see it because it knows outrage will keep you engaged. But if you ran into that same neighbor at the grocery store, you’d probably talk about the weather or your kids’ schools. The online you and the in-person you live in different worlds.

Over time, our feeds teach us to value moral performance over thoughtful engagement. In this climate, empathy isn’t just neglected—it’s actively discouraged.
 

The Anatomy of Empathy

Empathy isn’t magic—it’s a process, and like any skill, it can be learned and strengthened:
1. Recognition – Noticing suffering, even when it’s uncomfortable.
2. Distance – Gaining enough emotional space to respond rather than react.
3. Curiosity – Asking why someone feels or acts a certain way.
4. Connection – Finding even a small overlap in shared humanity.
5. Action – Letting understanding shape your choices.

When we understand empathy as a series of steps, we see that it’s not about agreeing with everyone—it’s about refusing to stop at caricature or contempt.
 

Why This Matters for Democracy

Democracy is still a rare experiment in human history. For most of the past several thousand years, power belonged to monarchs, emperors, or ruling elites—not everyday citizens. Our system depends on citizens who can think critically, weigh competing interests, and make decisions beyond short-term self-interest.

Complex problems—immigration, war, climate change—don’t have clean answers. They require a public willing to tolerate discomfort, embrace complexity, and resist the pull of simple slogans. When our public conversation is driven by algorithms and reduced to moral performance, democracy itself begins to erode.
 

A Call to Reflection

This month, try stepping back before you engage. Give yourself—and others—the space to grieve and to process. Approach conversations with curiosity, not just certainty. Remember that empathy often comes after the heat of the moment, not during it.

Personally, I try to read sources I disagree with. I take a day before responding to stories that make me angry. I listen longer than I talk—though not always successfully. These small acts keep me from becoming the worst version of myself online.

We can’t bridge every divide today. But we can refuse to let algorithms dictate the limits of our compassion. We can remember that democracy depends on our willingness to understand people we don’t agree with—before it’s too late.