Today, let’s just grieve

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Image: Mourners gather for the burial of killed US-Israeli hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin in Jerusalem on September 2, 2024 (Getty Images)

As the country mourns the unbearable loss of the six innocent hostages and hundreds of thousands of people take to the street to demand a ceasefire deal, I have a different proposal.

Today, let’s just grieve.

Rather than rush to act, rather than cast blame, make political demands or unfathomable military predictions, today, let’s just grieve. And most importantly, let’s do it together.

Let’s hold nationwide vigils in mourning – without a call to action.
Let’s stand together and allow ourselves to feel this pain – without making political demands.

Let’s stand with the bereaved families – without politicizing anyone’s pain. And let’s just grieve.

Rather than rush past the unbearable pain of our present reality, let’s dig deep to find the moral courage to feel what this present moment is calling for: profound, collective mourning.

Bad policies are often the result of rushed, ill-informed, warped perceptions of reality. Right now it seems like we’re being presented with an absolutely impossible choice: the lives of the hostages – or the security of the nation.

I suggest a very brief alternative: taking a collective breath and giving ourselves permission to just be here, just for today. In this tender, humble, vulnerable place of collective mourning, we’ll find strength, resilience, and unity.

And maybe tomorrow, we just might be able to imagine a path forward. The path always emerges.

As a recent immigrant to Israel, one of the hardest parts about entering society has been acutely feeling the divisions: the finger-pointing, blaming, and vitriol. Whether it be directed at the left or right, Orthodox or secular, government or politicians, I’m pained by the endless blame for the state of the nation. I don’t pretend to know the full history that led us to this current reality, but I know one thing: these cycles must end.

We must all take collective responsibility to walk forward together. We must do the difficult work of sitting with our pain, acknowledging it, and not letting ourselves weaponize it and hurt others. We must find the moral courage to work together, to listen to each other, to find consensus.

I hear the sounds of anger in the air and understand there is deep rage that seeks to find an outlet. I know that behind this anger is deep, excruciating pain.

Perhaps, rather than immediately connecting our pain and rage to military or political strategies, we spend a moment with it. This grief must be felt. Perhaps we give it a voice, through prayer, music, song. Perhaps this period calls for more time checking in with our friends and families, and hugging those close to us.

At a time of such profound collective suffering, let’s spend more time holding memorials for our lost brothers and sisters, and supporting the families of the bereaved.

Critics might say there isn’t time for such a thing during an active conflict, that we must march on. I’d counter by saying one of the most powerful things we can do right now is unify.

Almost one year ago, I boarded a one-way flight from Chicago to Israel, on a journey to make Aaliyah by myself and become a part of this nation. I previously spent the last 15 years living and working in Africa, Latin America, and Washington, D.C., engaged in deeply rewarding global humanitarian work that opened my eyes and ultimately led me back to my Jewish roots.

During COVID I quit my job, came to Israel to study Torah for 10 months, embarked on a path of tshuva, and realigned to a career of peacework. I’ve spent this past year obtaining a master’s degree in Peace and Conflict Management at the University of Haifa, listening and learning how best I can serve my new country.

I’m a pragmatic idealist, but I’m not naive. I’ve seen the horrors of war first-hand and spent years interviewing refugees and survivors of some of the world’s worst atrocities. I’ve also witnessed societies rebuild and seen the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit. And nowhere do I feel this inspiring, profound resilient spirit more than in Eretz Yisrael.

I don’t pretend to prescribe solutions for an end to the war, but I believe in this nation. I know it’s full of healers, helpers, faith leaders, artists, musicians, and others with deep wisdom who can help us in these impossible times. Let’s turn to them for support. Let’s turn to each other.

The nation is depleted and exhausted. But I truly believe turning to each other in collective grieving will help us find resolve, resilience, strength, unity, and a way forward.

So today, let’s just grieve.