When I try to look back at the past two years, it is hard to find points of light within the great darkness that was forced upon us on the morning of Saturday, October 7.
It is impossible, and I do not try, to find the “good” within my family’s personal tragedy. What happened truly happened, but it should never have happened. And what happened changed our lives forever.
For 484 days, until Yarden was returned, the only certainty we had was the last message he sent me that morning:
“They’re coming into my house.”
That long period was frightening, painful and, above all, paralyzing.
In order not to sink into fear and helplessness, I found myself pulled into action already that very Saturday. At first, it was almost an automatic response, a survival instinct. But very quickly, I understood that action was my lifeline.
It helped me continue to exist, continue to hope, continue to function.
Action gave me back a sense of control within a reality that was completely out of control. It allowed me to discover strengths and abilities within myself that I did not know existed. Action, even amid immense noise, made me feel that my voice mattered and was being heard.
As an occupational therapist by profession, I know how much meaning is created through action. Through doing, we discover what motivates us, what strengthens us and what gives us a sense of value. Action for myself, for those I love, for another person.
That was true for me as well.
The actions I took as part of the struggle to bring my family members home, and to free all the hostages, brought meaning. Not only because I wanted to see them return, but because I found myself part of an entire community acting together.
I became part of a struggle bigger than myself, a struggle for justice, morality and truth.
Within that community, I found partners in purpose, but also, and most importantly, partners in pain, difficulty and the shared journey of coping.
Darkness is threatening. It makes us feel small and powerless.
But remaining in darkness can also sharpen the senses. It forces us to examine who we are, what matters to us, who helps us and who harms us. Within the darkness, the boundaries of what is good for me and what is not also become clearer.
Because of this, darkness can also bring learning and growth. Not the kind we asked for or wanted, but growth that happens despite everything.
The past two years were not a tunnel with a point of light waiting at the end. They were more like a long slalom slide, with sections that were darker or less dark. A journey no one would choose, but one that was forced upon us.
And within all of this, the only advice I can share is to look for action.
It does not have to be big. A small action that allows you to feel that your voice is heard, that you are making an impact, that you are doing something for yourself or for another person.
Sometimes, one small action can be the difference between sinking and continuing to breathe.
“We came to embrace the darkness.”
An annual project of the MOSHE Movement, Words That Make a Difference, whose goal is to raise awareness of suicide prevention through community engagement