On Aftershocks

In Jewish tradition, 30 days marks a turning point in mourning. Certain customs that are observed after the loss of a loved one – parent, spouse, sibling, child – cease. This is not to say that grief does not continue, but only that the searing intensity of the initial impact subsides as surviving relatives accommodate to the new reality. And, yet, many events, interactions, or occasions even long after a loss can trigger a sense of sorrow and emptiness. Emotional aftershocks, as it were, following the devastating tectonic shift of family structure.

It has been a month since October 7. In geology, aftershocks are usually successively less intense than the antecedent event. But since October 7, there have been numerous aftershocks, and I cannot say that their intensity is diminishing. They may be of different nature, to be sure: The callousness of those who tear down posters of hostages does not equate to the actual kidnappings. Yet it carries a whiff of the worst of what has emerged since the attacks of October 7 – the “othering” of victims, the denial of their circumstances, an unbelievable ignorance of history and a stunning lack of compassion. As one Facebook meme recently observed, “Imagine if your child was kidnapped and the world criticized you for trying to get them back.”

Our attention spans are short these days. So, we need to force our memories to recall the initial shock. Was it the scores of Hamas terrorists who invaded and rampaged through a music festival – the equivalent of a massacre at Coachella? Or was it number of murdered that did not seem to stop increasing, leaving us to wonder, “Is it really possible that 1,300 were killed in a single day?”

And after the initial shock of the numbers struck, then the growing reports of rape. And then the reports of the first responders who found dismembered bodies. And then the forensic investigators who performed CT scans on charred jumbled masses only to discern two spinal columns – an adult and a child, locked in a final embrace. Or soot in the trachea, indicating that the victims had been burned alive.

And then more reverberating aftershocks – victim blaming. “This is the fault of the occupation.” Except that Israel withdrew from Gaza 18 years ago. Everything: Military. Civilians. Even our graves. We exhumed our dead and handed the keys over to Gaza, which barely a year later elected Hamas.

And to be sure, good people have stood up and stood with Israel.

While others chant, “Gas the Jews.”

And then other images that prompted one wry observer to say last weekend, “Don’t forget to turn your clocks back to 1938 Germany.”

Anti-Semitic graffiti on ice cream shops. Jewish students barricaded in a university library. Presidents of our country’s once-leading universities feckless. Spineless. Mealy-mouthed in their inability to condemn raw terror.

And then perhaps one of the most chilling aftershocks: The persistent parade of people, especially young people, who tear down posters bearing the faces of the kidnapped. Not soldiers. Not policemen. Not border patrol.

Civilians. Children. Grandparents. Mothers. Fathers.

It’s not a production of misinformation or “fake news.” Hamas videotaped their brutality on GoPro. Dashcams captured footage. Security cameras recorded the horror.

And Israel has shown it to the press, who have reported on it.

And yet common human decency seems to have vanished to the winds. The videos of people tearing down images of the hostages are legion. Their ignorance (willful ignorance, which is even worse) is stunning. Their lack of compassion, dismaying. And the aftershock realizing that many of these people are the supposed college-educated, forward-bound future leaders of the United States, devoid of historic knowledge, mechanically prone to repeating sound bites, unable to abide by even the lowest standards of human decency.

In a recent CNN broadcast, a parent of a child abducted into Gaza asked the anchors, “Do you have children?” They replied, “Yes.” He then asked, “Do you know where they slept last night?” They replied, almost hesitantly, “Yes.” And then he said, “I don’t. Would you like to come into my universe?”

You see, that’s not even an aftershock. That is a persistent tremor.

There is no lack of evidence of what occurred on October 7. And there is likewise no lack of resolve to ensure that it happens Never Again. But in between then, and the future, we need to contend with the now. And now is the time to stand. To speak. To ensure that the silence of good people does not enable evil to strike again.

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