When Collective Grief Ignites Personal Healing

From October 7 and Carmel Gat to My Grandmother’s Legacy of Love 

The Weight of Unresolved Grief

When I was a kid, my grandmother was my light, my soul, and my caretaker—full of life, warmth, and wisdom. We were estranged for eight years, not by either of our choice. Years later, I learned how deeply that estrangement had affected her, just as it did me. When we reconnected, I was too young and too angsty to express the pain of our separation with words, and she passed away shortly thereafter, before we had the chance to fully mend our bond. The grief I carry from her loss is deep, unresolved, and lingers in my heart. Every day, I hold onto her rosiness, emotional depth, intellect, and her strength in kindness and sensitivity, hoping to live a life that honors her memory.

Before we were separated, my grandmother and I shared many adventures that shaped who I am. Even as a young child, I was drawn to arts, culture, and the humanities, which my grandmother nurtured and loved herself. Our connection was unique, not only because she was dynamic, rosy, joyful, and intellectual—making every day an adventure and a learning moment—but also because of how deeply she engaged with me. Her soulfulness and wisdom made each experience with her feel meaningful and extraordinary. We explored the city together, touring architecture and design, talking about deep philosophical ideas. We had “our Tree,” a mulberry tree, where we would sit and discuss life, connecting over nature, beauty, and aesthetics. We’d revel in flowers, even drinking nectar from them, and frolic and dance in parks. Running across the lawn with her, pretending to fly, gave me a sense of joy and freedom that still brings tears to my eyes.

Even when we reconnected years later, that sense of joy and connection was still present. Instead of speaking directly about our estrangement, we conveyed our pain and longing through deep hugs—expressing what words could not. Though I wish we had the chance to fully talk about it, those moments of reconnection carried deep meaning. Now, with maturity, I realize that I could have expressed my grief more fully, but by then, it was too late. Losing my grandmother was abrupt and painful, not once but twice. First, we were separated by estrangement when I was 8 years old. Then, when I was 20, she was taken by a sudden and aggressive disease before I had the maturity to articulate the depth of our earlier loss. This unresolved grief is something I’ve carried ever since.

A Deep Wound for the Jewish People

For me, the events of October 7 have left me with a profound sense of loss—a feeling that goes beyond words. It’s a heaviness in the chest, a tightening in the throat, and a quiet, persistent sadness that doesn’t seem to lift. And I know I’m not alone in this. Many of us in the Jewish community feel it too. This is not just grief for the lives taken or the violence of that day—it’s the weight of knowing that as a people, we are once again under threat.

Our collective identity as Jews has always carried the undercurrent of danger, and when something as horrific as the October 7 attacks happens, it reopens those wounds. The recent news of the six hostages—Carmel Gat, Eden Yerushalmi, Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Alexander Lobanov, Ori Danino, and Almog Sarusi—brutally murdered, is another layer of that grief. Their brutal murder after surviving months of terror is a scar on our collective heart. Their deaths, so close to home, bring back the same raw emotions we felt on October 7. This pain stacks upon all the other losses we carry from our personal lives, from the loss of a parent or a dear friend to the pet who felt like part of us. It’s as if every loss comes rushing back to the surface, triggered by the intensity of the national tragedy.

Among the names of the victims, one stood out to me—Carmel Gat. Her story of strength and resilience in captivity stirred something deep inside me. Much like my grandmother, who nurtured and protected me during my childhood, Carmel nurtured those around her during the darkest of times. Her role in captivity was more than survival—it was one of protection and care. Her loss, and the loss of so many others, prompted me to reflect on how grief from the present can awaken memories of past losses.

Carmel Gat: A Nurturer in Darkness

Carmel wasn’t just a hostage—she became a nurturer, a protector for those around her, especially the children. Even in captivity, Carmel found ways to care for others. She led yoga sessions, teaching the children to breathe through their fear. She created spaces of calm, showing them how to focus on their breath and hold onto hope when everything seemed hopeless.

Survivors recalled how Carmel “kept the children’s spirits alive” despite the terror that surrounded them. Her ability to guide, protect, and nurture, even in the darkest moments, was a testament to her character. As an occupational therapist, she had always been someone who gave of herself to help others, and in captivity, that didn’t change. She became the emotional anchor for the children, helping them find moments of peace in the midst of unimaginable chaos.

Carmel’s brother described her as “the light in any room she entered,” and during captivity, she became the light that guided those children through their fear. In her role as a nurturer, she offered a lifeline to those who were most vulnerable. Carmel’s quiet strength and care reminded me of the same qualities I saw in my grandmother—the ability to bring calm and offer wisdom even in the face of great pain.

This sense of connection deepened further for me, as I had rented a room from Carmel’s sister-in-law, Yarden, who was also held hostage. Knowing their surroundings, living in the same spaces, made this tragedy personal and immediate. Carmel’s story was no longer just a distant tragedy—it was woven into the very fabric of places and people I had known intimately, making her loss feel all the more real.

Both Carmel and my grandmother embodied the Jewish mamaleh spirit—that nurturing, wise, protective figure who offers love and strength to those around her. There’s a Yiddish saying, “God couldn’t be everywhere, so he created mothers.” These women were like guiding stars, shining in times of darkness, offering hope, wisdom, and care when it was most needed. And when their light goes out, it leaves a void not only in our personal lives but in the world around us.

Grieving Beyond the Present Circumstance and How Loss Reveals the Depth of All Loss

Research shows that when we grieve nurturing figures—whether personal loved ones or public figures—it often triggers a cascade of grief for all the nurturers we’ve lost. Dr. Katherine Shear, an expert in grief psychology, explains that collective mourning, especially for those who symbolize care and protection, can trigger personal grief for past losses. This is grief projection, where new losses stir up unresolved grief from our past.

In moments of profound loss, I invite you to reflect on what this national grief is awakening in you. Who have you lost that this tragedy is bringing back to the forefront of your mind? Take a moment to remember them—not just the pain of their absence, but the joy they brought into your life.

For me, it’s my grandmother. I remember our adventures together, the wisdom she shared, and the love she gave freely. She showed me how to navigate the world with curiosity and care, just as Carmel guided those around her through captivity. These memories bring both sadness and comfort, reminding me of the love and care that continue to live on.

Take time to revisit a memory that brings you comfort. Feel the presence of the person you lost, not just their absence. This act of remembrance can help ground us, offering a way to carry forward the love they shared.

As we remember, let’s reflect more deeply. The grief we feel may be stirring something larger, something deeper. It may be opening up wounds that have never fully healed. All grief opens the door for all grief. What we mourn today may reflect the unresolved losses we’ve carried for years.

Take a moment to consider what other griefs might be surfacing. Perhaps it’s the loss of a parent, a friend, or even a part of yourself. Grief, by its nature, brings up what we’ve hidden away, offering us a chance to confront the pain we thought was buried.

Healing Through Meaning: A Path Forward

Our task is not just to grieve this loss but to use it as an opportunity to heal deeper wounds. As Dr. Shear and grief researchers have found, when we allow ourselves to face these layers of grief, we open the door to meaningful healing.

For me, revisiting the memory of my grandmother through the lens of Carmel’s loss has been transformative. It has allowed me to reconnect with the love and care that my grandmother gave me, while also acknowledging the pain of our unresolved relationship. In honoring Carmel’s legacy and the nurturing spirit she embodied, I am also honoring my grandmother’s memory—and in that, I find healing.

An Invitation to My Fellow Grievers

So, to my fellow grievers, I implore you—don’t shy away from the pain that this national tragedy has stirred in you. Let it be a guide back to the roots of your personal grief. Ask yourself: What loss am I really mourning right now?

And then, let that question lead you toward healing. Because in mourning, we don’t just lose; we also reconnect with the love, the strength, and the guidance that those we’ve lost once gave us. Grief can be a burden, yes.

But it can also be a bridge to deeper understanding and healing—if we allow it to be.