Since October 7, Jewish and interfaith couples are fighting about schools, safety, and whether to stay — arguments that are really conversations with the past. Naming that is the first step. Knowing what to do next is the second.

It is late. The kitchen is dim. Two mugs of tea have gone cold, and the phone lies face-down between you, still glowing faintly with the alert neither of you wants to read aloud. The person you love is sitting only a few feet away, yet the distance feels enormous. You are both speaking, but neither of you feels met. One of you is trying harder to be understood. The other is trying harder not to be overwhelmed.

There are moments when a couple is no longer arguing about what is happening in the world. They are arguing with history — with what the present moment has awakened inside each of them.

Since October 7, many Jewish and interfaith couples have found themselves facing questions that reach far beyond politics. Is it safe to stay? Are our children safe? Should we speak publicly or remain quiet? Why does your response feel so different from mine?

Writing recently in these pages, London couples psychotherapist Debbie Isaacs described what those questions look like from inside the consulting room: inherited Holocaust fears surfacing in second and third generations, conflicts over identity and belonging, disagreements about whether to remain in the United Kingdom, and Jewish partners feeling profoundly alone when their fears are minimized by the person closest to them.

Her observations match what we see in our work at PAIRS Foundation. And they point to something essential about intimate relationships: when survival instincts take over, even loving partners lose sight of each other. One becomes urgent, vigilant, insistent. The other becomes skeptical, quiet, or emotionally distant. Both believe they are responding to the facts. Yet the visible argument is only a small part of what is happening.

The argument is rarely the whole argument

A couple may appear to be debating whether to move, where to send their children to school, or how much news to consume. Underneath, the conversation sounds more like this: Will you protect me? Do you believe me? Do I belong here? Will my fear overwhelm our family? Am I allowed to respond differently from you?

Those questions leave us exposed, so couples argue about the decision instead. A conversation about changing schools becomes a contest over whether one partner is paranoid or naïve. A conversation about leaving — whether for Israel or somewhere else — becomes a test of whether one partner truly understands Jewish fear. A disagreement about the news........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)