Grief and Relief

Today, October 13, Erev Simchat Torah, is a day for watching videos of reunions and celebrating the return of our brothers. It is a day to hug each other, to feel our connection to Israel and Jews worldwide. A day to take a deep breath, to worry about the bodies still in Gaza, to be one people.

But I feel so much more than relief. I am, we are, profoundly sad as well. The last two years have marked such disruption, such loss, such isolation.  The world as we knew it is utterly different.

And now our task is to begin to heal. Healing is not simply hoping for a return to what was. It is not a sense of being part of the international community, nor is it non-Jewish friends working to repair the breach of the last 2 years. Healing is always forward motion. Always. It is integrating the experiences of the last few years, the increased tribalism, the deep wounds. It allows us to remain cautious in our relationships. In fact, we have learned much since 2023. And that learning is part of healing.

The trauma of October 7 stays with us. Both the individual trauma of those of us directly impacted by the assault and the communal trauma that impacts all of us. The pictures and videos, the emaciated hostages, the murders, the rapes. We should not expect to feel better, but to feel complex emotions. I am convinced that what separates humans from other mammals is our ability to hold two (or more) emotions at once. So I am thrilled to see those who are released from tunnels and torture, and I am deeply, irretriveably sad.

There is loss for those of us who believed that the United states and Israel were golden oases. There is loss in relationships with family and friends who may have reacted to the past two years differently than we have.

Healing is, at its core, the acceptance of a new reality. As we welcome our family home, we also understand that we must create space to hurt and to grow. Our old understandings of the world may be shattered, but we must still work to build relationships, to create and sustain peace.

What do we do now? We dance with the Torah, we reach out to people who are hurting, we are kind and patient with ourselves. We pause for complex emotions. We hug each other and we come together. We recognize that part of our exhaustion is continuing grief.  We put away our dog tags, our yellow ribbons and our pins. We feel pride.

Our hostages will spend the rest of their lives adjusting to a changed world. So must we.