I will mourn tomorrow

For the duration of this war, I have felt the many forces tugging at my heart this way and that. I think the many claims made on my emotions are based on a false premise that my capacity to feel, anybody’s capacity to feel, is unlimited. Emotions, we think, are ethereal and beyond a careful inventory. I feel otherwise and don’t think I am alone in my limitations.

Over 500 days of war with a truly malevolent enemy, thousands of deaths and countless injuries with their ripple effects provide for a limitless pool of images, news reports, and stories of both horror and heroics of biblical proportions. The annals of this historic event, in which we are still active participants, will be written for years and years to come. It is the job of poets and politicians, journalists and school teachers, Facebook and CNN to draw upon this endless stream, give it form and meaning, and feed it back to me in ways that serve somebody’s purpose. It is the job of ceremonies and radio stations, memorials, and hostage exchanges to shape events and draw our attention to certain aspects while obscuring others. Filling our hearts with certain emotions acts like a chemical inhibitor that precludes our ability to feel other things. I worry about what is being crowded out with too much mourning.

We do not know when the Bibas children, Kfir and Ariel, may God avenge their blood, were murdered. Perhaps on a day when other soldiers died in our collective bid to find and return them. Perhaps with other Gazans who died from direct or indirect IDF fire. The fact that their death looms so large, whereas we have moved past other deaths with relative ease, gives me pause. I reckon that my mention of enemy deaths triggered an emotional reaction in many readers, which serves to illustrate my point. Where we project our hearts and with whom we empathize is a choice with real ramifications. The thought of two beautiful red-haired children trapped in the infernal tunnels of Hamas, tortured by heartless, wicked people for an unknown number of days, rips a human heart to shreds. To imagine such brutality, such evil, active and successfully holding our children against the best efforts of our mighty army shatters our sense of security and questions the effectiveness of our leadership. The loss of these two children is infinite, and the horror of their lives could fill an ocean with tears. We cannot feel all the pain there is to feel. We must choose responsibly, and my choice is not to think those thoughts today.

The people of Israel will gather today for a much-needed collective cry. We have lost much, and there is a need to mourn. Still, I am concerned about the other feelings that also need public expression. Where and how will we come together and mark them? There are victories to celebrate – incomplete, no doubt, but so are our losses. If we can isolate the death of the Bibas children and let them stand for our collective losses, can we not isolate certain successes and let them stand for our collective wins? I agree there is an asymmetry between wins and losses. Every loss means something, whereas a partial victory can be hollow. But this very asymmetry can be exploited by our enemies in ways we must not allow.

Hamas can suffer crushing defeats, massive losses, and still celebrate, claiming victory. Israel can suffer far fewer losses, achieve significant military gains, and still bow its head in collective defeat. Mourn, if we choose, but let us not equate that with defeat, handing Hamas an unwarranted victory. Many in this emotional tug-o-war think certain feelings are good and fitting for our collective conscience, whereas others must be suppressed. Victory, hatred of an enemy, rage and retribution along with feelings of power, vindication, and nationalism, are all suspect by certain influential emotional gatekeepers. As I carefully shepherd my own emotional energy, making sure to make room for a full palette of necessary emotions in times of war, I have decided not to mourn today. Not today, but probably tomorrow.