Witnessing the Invisible: A Frontline Perspective on Trauma and Resilience

I work in trauma every single day, but hearing a veteran Israeli journalist share his frontline experiences was a stark reminder of just how deeply these invisible wounds run. What I know about psychological injury has not changed, but the magnitude of it.

Supporting the work of NATAL Israel’s Trauma and Resiliency Center in the United States gives one an eagle-eye view of what individuals are going through. You see how their families are adapting (or not), whether employers are being accommodating, and what it takes to scale mental health services for a population in the millions. NATAL handles helplines, one-on-one therapy, peer-to-peer programs, career development methodologies, surfing and yoga groups, focused help for women and youth, and even research into psychedelics. Each of those programs holds a unique story of a person we are making every effort to help achieve post-traumatic growth (PTG).

But then the other night, I went to hear a well known Israeli journalist speak at an intimate gathering at my local Chabad hosted by the Israeli-American Council (IAC) New Jersey. For more than 20 years, this journalist has reported from Israel’s front lines, bringing the realities of life under fire into millions of homes.

I expected to hear about life as a reporter. Instead, his talk was about what happens when the camera stops rolling.

For two hours, we heard his story, watched his videos, and saw his camera roll. Have you ever heard about events that you know are true, but still cannot bring yourself to believe? That was my experience that night. As someone who works on trauma every single day, his story made an impact that is difficult to put into words.

When the Camera Stops Rolling

I recognized the signs of his trauma almost immediately. The careful management of his diagnosis and his daily life. The sips of water, the grounding himself by tapping his fingers, the breathing exercises.

Ten years ago, he experienced his first trauma that led to PTSD. Then October 7th happened. While his family hid in their safe room, he went outside to report. These days, news broadcasts are a one-man operation from camera crew to lighting and producing, done entirely on a cell phone.

After finishing one of his live reports, he looked down and saw he had over 300 new WhatsApp messages. Each one was a desperate cry for help: “Please, come save me.”

One by one, he tried to reach back out, but no one answered. Finally, he managed to get through to a friend who said, “There is no one left to help.” Moments later, he heard the slaughter of his friend live over the phone. Not surprisingly, he suffered a massive panic attack.

The Invisible Wounds of a Nation

What are the lessons of this? How do we make sense of it all?

No matter how much we think we understand, there is always one more story. Unlike physical wounds that can be seen and treated, these psychological injuries remain largely invisible. We can never truly know what someone has gone through until they find the strength to share it.

When we talk about mental health and support loved ones working through these unimaginable experiences, they need to know that help exists. They need to know that while they may never get their old way of life back, there is still hope for a resilient future.

We also have no idea how much past trauma is buried just beneath the surface. The realization that national trauma and mental health needed to be systemically addressed in Israel first emerged after the Yom Kippur War, more than 50 years ago. Many of those soldiers and their families might have seemed to overcome their trauma, until October 7th caused those old emotions to come rushing back. We see a similar pattern historically. Many Holocaust survivors that were in camps as children did not manifest trauma symptoms until well into adulthood.

No one is immune. TV reporters, reserve soldiers, family members, bus drivers, police officers, doctors; the list continues indefinitely. He spoke about a local couple who, back in 2014, spent years hearing the distinct sound of digging under their house between 1:00 AM and 4:00 AM. When the IDF was finally called in, they discovered tunnels were being built. Because the story was censored by the government, the couple carried that terrifying reality alone. Their trauma is entirely different from everyone else’s.

Stepping Up to the Shared Burden

How many people will struggle with PTSD in the months and years ahead? As I mentioned in a previous post, “Trauma Is a Shared Burden — and a Society’s Responsibility,” the World Health Organization notes that roughly 70% of people globally will experience a potentially traumatic event in their lifetime. While typically only about 5.6% of people go on to develop chronic PTSD, those rates triple among populations experiencing war or violent conflict. But the truth is, we simply do not know when PTSD will surface, or who will find the internal resources to overcome it on their own.

What can be done? Having the proper tools to cope is absolutely critical, which means our institutions must be prepared. As State Comptroller Matanyahu Engelman starkly pointed out, Israel’s mental health system was already struggling to function before October 7th, and it essentially collapsed in the first days of the war.

There is now enormous pressure on philanthropies, particularly in the United States, to step up and directly fund Israel’s mental health infrastructure. Even in a climate of deep donor fatigue, because everyone is, admittedly, exhausted, we cannot afford to pull back. If the right tools are funded and kept in place, healing can win.

The Israeli journalist  is coping today by using the exact tools he learned in therapy. Some days are inevitably going to be harder than others, like the evening he spent in New Jersey reliving his worst nightmare for a room full of strangers. Jews throughout history have lived through catastrophic trauma and ultimately navigated a path toward post-traumatic growth. But to get there, we must first have the courage to listen to the stories, and the will to support the tellers.