It is no secret that we in America live different lives than you. You get groceries by going to a few different mekolet’s (small stores) for your necessities. We order online from our local store’s website. The groceries either show up on our front porch, or we click a few buttons on the app when we pull into the parking lot, and the order is brought out to our car.

You pay more for gas than we do. Your kids serve in the army. You likely have smaller homes/apartments, and back yards, if any. You have unlimited Kosher food options. You can go to get kosher cheese quesadillas whenever you want. We cant.

But overall, we have a tremendous amount in common. We have a shared eternal heritage, and a shared destiny. Our communities are both comprised of dedicated hardworking individuals who try to support our families and communities. Our similarities far outweigh our differences. We are truly one People— one nation, on opposite sides of the world.

However, I don’t think I can ever recall a time in my life in which our lives have been so vastly different— our daily experience so many light years apart.

A few days ago — about two weeks before Passover— I took a day off from work and went skiing with my wife. While I was doing that, many of you had a day off from work also— but instead of skiing you were taking refuge in a bomb shelter.

We both are dealing with antisemitism. We primarily deal with it in the form of mean comments. The other day, as my two oldest boys were walking to synagogue a car full of people called out to them to “Stop the Genocide!” You deal with antisemitism in the form of a psychopathic regime launching ballistic missiles the size of school busses at your homes and apartment buildings.

We both have worries. I am worried about why there is not more snow in the mountains and if I can get in another ski day. You are worried about making it in time to the bomb shelter with your large family.

I am annoyed my kids got let out from school 3 whole days before Passover. Your kids have been out of school for a full month, since the war began.

I get a little agitated when one of my small children wakes up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, mysteriously needing my assistance. “Are you not potty trained? Can you not go yourself?” I mutter to them, as I groggily come to their aid.

You also are awoken in the middle of the night— but not by a kid who needs to use the bathroom, but by a siren warning you your life is endangered and you need to wake up your entire family— babies and small children included— while you make a run for it to the nearest bomb shelter— getting soaking wet in the relentless rain in the process.

We clean for Passover, every so often taking luxurious breaks to recharge before we clean more.

You clean for Passover, every so often taking mandatory breaks as you hear explosions nearby.

Our lives are continuing as usual.

Your lives have come to a screeching halt, not unlike they did during the outbreak of COVID in 2020.

But this time, it feels like you are at it alone— no one— not even your loving family members abroad have any inkling of what you are going through.

And for that, I am sorry.

I don’t really have a good explanation or excuse.

After October 7th, American Jews felt like we were punched in the gut. The trauma from the massacre left a hole in all of our hearts. 200+ of our Israeli brethren being taking hostage left us feeling a void that we carried with us every day until the last hostage was returned.

After this war with Iran started, many of us felt a euphoric sense of hope that this evil regime would be toppled once and for all. We held onto the optimistic belief that the Persian People would be freed, and that the threat that you face every day would be drastically reduced.

Through nothing less than open miracles, it appears to us that this damage has been minimal— and the Almighty has spared us many potential catastrophes. We are busy with our lives here, so we suffice to think it’s enough to send the occasional message on WhatsApp checking in.

We don’t understand what you are going through.

G-d willing we will try harder.

Rabbi Daniel Wolfe recently became the Director for JewPro, the Young Adult Division of the Jewish Experience of Denver, Colorado. For the last three years prior, he was a campus rabbi at SUNY Albany for Aish New York. He holds a BA From Brandeis University, double majoring in Politics and Near Eastern and Judaic Studies. He enjoys writing, and maintains an active blog.