Grief, Memory, and the Unfathomable: Shiri, Ariel and Kfir Bibas

The Bibas family, and especially Ariel and Kfir Bibas, have been deeply present in our hearts, minds, and social media in recent days. They had already become a powerful symbol after October 7th — objects of our prayers and hopes.

Accepting their deaths was incredibly difficult. Until the last moment, we clung to hope, grasping at even the smallest shred of doubt. When their bodies were finally returned and identified, reality set in. Now, we are submerged in grief, disbelief, and horror as reports from pathology reveal the unimaginable suffering they endured. It will take time, courage, and resilience for the people of Israel and the Jewish people as a whole to process this profound trauma.

Giving a Face to Pain: The Process of Trauma Metabolization

Some have asked why Ariel and Kfir are so central to our collective mourning. They were not the only children massacred. As a trauma expert, I’d like to offer some explanation :  grief—especially traumatic grief—is processed step by step. In addition, we need images, meaning or other anchors to allow the process to start.

In the first step of grief, we are overwhelmed and disoriented. Our minds can only grasp what is tangible, yet here we are, confronting the unfathomable. Trauma leaves an injury that permeates every level of our being—body, mind, and soul. Our bodies ache, sleep becomes elusive, thoughts circle endlessly around unanswerable questions, and our spirit bears a wound too deep for words.

In such moments, we instinctively search for something to hold onto—images, fragments of memory—that help us navigate the darkness. We seek something we can recognize, something universal, something that helps us make sense of the senseless. Ariel and Kfir, alongside their mother, Shiri, have crystallized into that image because we saw them in the video when they were captured, and we have followed them since. They have become our children, our nephews, our grandchildren. In their innocence, they have given form to our sorrow, anchoring our grief in something we can see and feel.

In an emotional storm, certain figures emerge as anchors. Ariel and Kfir Bibas embody this collective pain, giving form to trauma that would otherwise remain a formless cloud of anxiety and shock. Their recognizable image allows the mind to avoid slipping into an impalpable void and instead begin to process the loss.

The Mind in Shock: How We Process Trauma

The human psyche is designed in such a way that it needs time to process shock. When we are exposed to extreme trauma—an overwhelming flood of harrowing stories and images—the heart breaks, and the mind wavers. Faced with such immense pain, we often do not know where to begin in order to grasp it.

Two natural reactions emerge: either we dissociate to avoid feeling the pain, or we cling to powerful images to give it a tangible form. The defensive instinctive reactions of trauma response—flight, fight, freeze—illustrate these mechanisms. When we flee or fight, the body remains in motion, seeking an outlet for the anguish. But when the pain becomes too intense, or is perceived as inescapable, we freeze. Immobilized, until movement is restored, we tend to dissociate, and the mind disconnects temporarily, waiting for the moment when it can reconnect to reality.

From Darkness to Light: Honoring Their Memory

Recovering their bodies, despite the horror, marks the beginning of closure. It is an essential step in the grieving process, a first step toward metabolizing the trauma. Because what we must hope for is precisely this: not to remain paralyzed in powerlessness, but to initiate a movement toward awareness and action.

Movement is life. In the face of horror, we must reaffirm life, taking initiatives to honor their memory. This is how we transform pain into something that, beyond mourning, guides us toward a future where memory becomes a blessing.

Just as movement keeps us from being trapped in sorrow, symbols of light help us find our way through the darkness. In moments of grief, we seek gestures—small but profound—that ground us, that remind us of resilience, of hope.

Here are few suggestions I’d like to share with you:

• Lighting a candle is an act of memory and connection, a way to reach for whatever brings light, whatever creates warmth in the darkness.
• Think of acts of kindness you could commit to, in memory of the Bibas family
• In this spirit, at Emotionaid, we pledge, as an organization, to help as many traumatized children as possible in the affected communities of Southern Israel, and beyond. Our hope is to guide them through their healing journey, and help them build resilience, which will stay with them, for life.

Together, let’s ensure that out of grief, something life-affirming emerges—a commitment to rebuild, to nurture, and reclaim our future… A little light can dispel darkness. 

Written with Emanuelle Girsowiczs