Holding heartbreak in a post 10/7 world

If you follow me on social media you know that I have this thing that I keep saying over and over. So it seems appropriate that I start my first substack with these same words.

My politics are as follows. No family should have to bury a child lost to violence. No family in any community, any religion. And if we could all start from that shared core value maybe we could cut through some of the conflict and acrimony and actually show up for the work of protecting each other’s kids. Maybe.

This core value is not exactly a new thing for me. I’ve been in violence prevention and intervention my entire adult life. First as an advocate for survivors of domestic and sexual violence and now as the leader of a state coalition against gun violence. My entire existence has been dedicated to making sure parents don’t have to bury their children and children don’t have to bury their parents. But never have I thought as much about our shared responsibility to put aside our differences in service to the safety of each other’s children as I have since October 7th.

The post-10/7 conversation has been shocking in its lack of nuance. The idea of being able to hold multiple truths is something held by way too few people. I posted something on my social media shortly after 10/7 that it’s okay to be heartbroken for multiple groups. That idea almost seems quaint by now. But why? Why can’t we hold grief for people on both sides of a conflict, acknowledge each other’s trauma, even tolerate listening to multiple narratives? Why can’t we affirm each other’s humanity, even those who are very different from us? Why can’t we SEE each other?

I was horrified when I saw videos of people tearing down posters with images of hostages. I was horrified this past week when posters of hostages were vandalized in a town not too far from where I live. I’ve been horrified when I see my Jewish community demanding unequivocal support of Israel’s actions without naming the profound harm that is being caused to Gaza’s civilians. I continue to be horrified when I see the Jewish community aligning with people like John Hagee, who causes harm to so many communities, simply because he professes support for Israel. Christian Zionist support, but that is for another post.

As we sink into an increasingly binary conversation about Israel/Palestine, as we retreat into our corners, and as messy dialogues about Israel and Gaza in spaces like college campuses are increasingly shut down, my anxiety about our ability to move forward rises exponentially. I have a plea, an entreaty really. We all need to get much more comfortable with feeling uncomfortable. Our inability to do so is a root cause of so much of the division and strife we are witnessing in this country.

Acknowledging someone else’s trauma doesn’t lessen your own. We’ve got a whole lot of people in this country who are so committed to their narrative that anything that challenges it, that pushes back in any way, is seen as not just uncomfortable but inherently threatening. We respond with defensiveness, and it leaves no room for anyone to have a narrative that doesn’t fully validate ours. We grip our stories so tightly that we cannot hear anyone else’s.

Holding heartbreak for the people of Gaza doesn’t diminish the trauma of October 7th. It is an irrefutable fact that October 7th was deeply traumatic. When we see the trauma of others, it doesn’t take away from that at all. I think we have to open our hearts enough to let in the pain of other communities as we hold our own.

Seeing the suffering of others doesn’t make ours invisible.

No parent should bury a child lost to violence. No parent anywhere, in any community. As we mourn the losses, fear for the future of our community, I hope we will also see the pain of others and hold their children dear as well.