“How do you embrace darkness?” I was asked this question, and my first thought was: who would want to embrace darkness? It is frightening. It overwhelms. It is full of monsters. I know that monsters can also appear in the light, when human beings commit horrifying acts.
On October 7, at 6:29 a.m., darkness burst into our lives. Terror, killing and destruction brought immense death, fear and grief everywhere. When terror strikes, we are all affected. We became more sensitive. At times filled with terror, at times burning with rage and pain. At times even glowing from the pain that peeled away so many layers, masks and protections. At times also filled with a kind of gratitude we had not known before, the kind that appears when nothing can be taken for granted.
But how do we grope our way through the dark? How will we know when we will encounter pain, when fear, when gratitude, and when we might shine? When will we feel simple, ordinary joy? We will not know. We will have to reach a hand forward. To try, again and again, to believe that even if it is unbearable and impossibly hard right now, it does not mean it will always be this way. It only means that this is how it is now.
I lost so much: a father, a brother, a mother. The world shattered into countless fragments. I lost friends, a kibbutz, my childhood home. I lost trust in so many things, in the idea that someone is watching over us, that someone cares. People around me lost everything, and still they insist, like me, on searching for the what, the why and the how, on trying to make this place better. We all deserve that, so deeply.
How do you find light when everything is dark? You look for it. Sometimes it appears gently and unexpectedly, in a ray of sunlight that lands just right, in a green leaf that reminds us that nature always strives to grow and that even it has seasons of shedding and renewal, in a word or a kind gaze that sees the good in us.
Sometimes I had to make an effort to actively search for light: to take myself for a walk, to dance, to go into the water, to connect with another person, with a group or with a purpose, to remind myself that I am not alone, that reality can be changed, inside and out, even if it is not perfect. There is no perfect.
And when I had no strength, when there was no strength to search, what did I do? I let go and leaned. I floated. I let someone else carry the weight with me for a moment. I held on to what exists. Everyone has something. Someone. I told myself, and kept reminding myself: this is how it is now. It will not always be this way.
2 View gallery
Carmit Palti Katzir holds a hostage poster of her brother Elad, who was killed in captivity, next to the grave of her father, who was murdered on October 7
These past two years have shown me how much in this world is not in our control. That there is evil. That unfair things happen. That the good do not always win, and the good do not always survive. And alongside these hard truths, I also know that this is not the whole truth. That there is also good. That there is choice. That there are good people in the world who filled me, and us, with love and goodness, whether they are still here or not.
I am not alone, and I am not helpless. I can lift my gaze. I can step outside myself and act for someone or something that matters to me. I can express my voice in the world. I can sing solo, in a group or in public. I can protect my humanity and increase goodness in the world.
I can pull out a small emergency kit from within myself and give myself first aid: a magnifying glass, to find and recognize even the smallest grains of good and enlarge them; a flashlight, to illuminate them and focus my gaze; tweezers, to carefully choose what I let in and what I leave out. There are moments that require tweezers, a flashlight and a magnifying glass.
In the inferno of the past two years, I used to wish people, “May you never know how much strength you have.” Today, I wish something different: that we truly will not need to know how strong we are, not because we are not strong, but because reality will not take us to such painful places. That we will know strength exists within us without having to test how much. That we will know pain, anger, longing and grief exist within us, and that over time more feelings will join them, and the balance will shift.
How do I know? Because everything changes. Because this is how it is now.
By Carmit Palti Katzir, social worker and member of Kibbutz Nir Oz. Daughter of Rami Katzir, murdered on October 7; Hanna Katzir, who was kidnapped, released and later died; and sister of Elad Katzir, who was kidnapped alive and murdered in captivity.
We Came to Embrace the Darkness is an annual project of the MOSHE Movement – Words that Make a Difference, whose purpose is to raise awareness for suicide prevention through the community.