From 1945, to October 7, to February 21: Multilayered Trauma and the Path to Resilience

For Israelis, the events of October 7 were not just an attack—they were an existential shock. They echoed the brutal pogroms of past centuries and revealed the harsh reality of a nation surrounded by enemies. The pervasive feeling is one of vulnerability: “There is no security—anywhere.”

More Jews were murdered on October 7 than on any single day since the Holocaust, and the scale and brutality of the violence, along with the violent hostage-taking, make that day uniquely painful. It amplifies the heartbreak of thousands of families who lost or fear losing loved ones, joins a tragic history of Jewish massacres spanning centuries, and shatters the sense of physical safety within Israel’s borders—a cornerstone of Israeli identity.

These three layers of trauma make October 7 unlike any other day, not only for Israelis but for Jews around the world. The taking of hundreds of hostages, followed by the war that unfolded on our borders, shook the very foundation of our identity—a nation built on hope, resilience, and self-defense. The events of October 7 sent a message to Jews everywhere: “Never again” is over.

On a personal level, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably when the first hostages were released.

In those moments, my mind would flash back to the stories my mother shared about waiting for her father to return from deportation in 1945. She spent countless days at the Lutecia Hotel in Paris, where survivors of concentration camps were identified on lists, holding onto the hope that her father might be among them. She would go every day, showing his picture to survivors, hoping someone had seen him. One day, a survivor told her, “My dear girl, we didn’t look like this over there.” She waited and waited, but he never came back. The waiting, the hope, the prayers—so much longing, all in vain.

As I watched the families of hostages waiting in fear, hope, and uncertainty, something in me shifted. Without even realizing it, I was transported back to my mother’s waiting. My sobs came before my thoughts could catch up, taking me to a place of powerlessness and deep, painful injustice. My sobs were an echo of my mother’s silent, unbearable pain.

On February 8, 2025 when three emaciated hostages were released from Hamas captivity, a new wave of collective trauma washed over us. Their frail, skeletal bodies immediately evoked haunting images of concentration camp survivors discovered at the liberation of Auschwitz and other camps in 1945. The visceral shock of these images reverberated across social media, triggering a deep, generational pain.

And now, today, February 21, will be remembered as one of the darkest days. Our precious Kfir and Ariel Bibas, and Oded Lifshitz—were returned to us in coffins. It has now been confirmed that the 4th body awaiting identification was not Shiri Bibas. In addition to the immense sadness and loss we are experiencing as a people, we are stunned.

Processing these events, which are an individual and collective injury to the soul will take time and courage. And it is important to turn our attention to our children.

In the field of trauma, we know that grief can, in some ways, be passed down to our children—a burden that began long before us and continues still.

I think of Mark Wolynn’s book It Didn’t Start With You, which explores the transmission of trauma across generations. That title feels like a perfect encapsulation of what we are experiencing now: this trauma did not begin with us, yet it has become ours to bear. Though it is difficult to think about the future in this time of grief, we must find ways to break the cycle—to prevent this pain from being passed down to our children and grandchildren.

This trauma goes beyond the headlines. It reaches into the very heart of who we are, as individuals and as a community.

As someone who has spent decades studying trauma—both collective and intergenerational—I firmly believe that healing is possible and that hope can be restored. This journey is about building resilience, and it’s a mission I’ve devoted my life to. It’s what inspired me to create Emotionaid and to pioneer the field of emotional first response.

Today, I want to share with you the lessons I’ve learned along the way, as well as the insights and advice that have been invaluable in both my personal life and professional practice. Trauma can be healed, but it is both individual and collective. It is contagious in nature, promoting life-diminishing behaviors, black-and-white thinking, and societal polarization. We have no choice but to address it—or it will “deal” with us. Overcoming trauma ultimately builds both individual and collective resilience.

Despite the profound impact trauma can have on individuals and societies, healing is possible. By acknowledging and addressing trauma, we can break its cycle, foster understanding, and create pathways toward resilience. When we choose to face and overcome trauma, we not only heal ourselves but also strengthen our communities, building a more compassionate and unified future for all.

History has shown that even in the darkest of times, the Jewish people have found ways to endure, rebuild, and hope. As we grieve and process the pain of today, we must also remember that resilience is woven into our collective identity. Our ability to hold onto hope has carried us through the past and will guide us forward. Our ability to weather the storm is not just about survival—it shapes us into stronger, more resilient, and life-affirming people. As Lord Rabbi Sacks so beautifully said:

“The Jewish people kept hope alive, and hope kept the Jewish people alive.”

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Written with Emanuelle Girsowicz