The Balance Between Vulnerability and Resilience

There are days when I don’t think I can handle any more pain. This has been a year of too much. Too much pain. Too much heartbreak. Too much betrayal. Too much suffering. Too much death. This year since October 7th, this year since the brutal massacre that took place within our borders, this year of war, this year of global indifference and condemnation of the terrorism that has taken over our lives, this year of over 100 hostages being held in subhuman conditions. It has all been too much.

There is a question I tend to wrestle with in moments of pain: would it hurt this much if I hadn’t opened myself up to being vulnerable? Vulnerability leaves us exposed not just to love and connection, but also to betrayal, ridicule, and heartbreak. In a world teeming with uncertainty—whether it’s personal heartbreak, societal injustice, or terrorism and war —it’s tempting to build a fortress around ourselves, a shell impervious to hurt. But is it even possible to protect ourselves from evil or heartbreak or betrayal?

We have all felt the sting of vulnerability. The betrayal of a trusted friend. The deceit of an authority figure. The ache of a broken heart. This year, pain seems to have touched us all—universally, nationally, and personally. The pain of war. The grief of loss. The bewildering betrayal of institutions we once trusted. In response, it’s only natural to want to shield ourselves. To build walls thick enough to keep the world out and preserve what’s left of our fragile selves.

As comforting as this shell may seem, it’s not without its consequences. When we close ourselves off to pain, we also close ourselves off to joy, connection, and growth. A fortress may protect, but it also isolates. In that isolation, we risk losing the very things that make our lives meaningful and human.

Much has been said about resilience. It’s become a buzzword, a catch-all solution to life’s hardships. And while resilience—our ability to bounce back from adversity—is undeniably important, it does not make us invincible. It does not prevent pain; rather it equips us to move through it and deal with it in the best way possible. Resilience does not make us less vulnerable. It teaches us to live with vulnerability with more grace?

The truth is, no matter how much we try to shield ourselves, we can never fully control the events that hurt us. We can’t stop a loved one from leaving or dying. We can’t prevent a friend from betraying us. We can’t single-handedly halt wars or eliminate terrorism or repair broken systems. Pain is part of the human experience. Vulnerability is the price we pay for our humanity.

And, yet, there are times when we turn off the radio or news in hope of preventing ourselves from feeling even more pain. We just can’t fathom hearing about one more death of one more soldier or hostage. How do we bear the anguish of knowing that for over 440 days, more than 100 hostages have been held and tortured in subhuman conditions? How do we live and go on knowing that over 800 of our soldiers have been killed?

How do we go on without building a shell, without erecting walls to protect ourselves from this relentless, overwhelming pain?

There is no simple answer. Vulnerability does not mean passively absorbing the world’s grief. It means allowing ourselves to feel deeply while finding ways to channel that depth into action, compassion, and connection. Even when it hurts, even when it seems unbearable. Vulnerability, after all, is what makes us human—and what keeps us connected to one another.

As Madeleine L’Engle once wrote, “When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability.”

We can’t choose the events that happen to us individually or nationally. We have no control over the  evil, tragedies or betrayals that may befall us. But we do have the choice to stay human, to continue caring, to continue fighting for a better world—for a “tikun olam.” By giving up our vulnerability, we would be giving up our humanity as well. And that is a sacrifice too great to make.