In the weeks following October 7 I led a number of online support groups. I felt a call to do something, anything, with the tools at my possession, and thus met with women in Israel, local individuals from the community, parents from my daughters’ schools and with Jewish mental health professionals. One of the common themes among all these groups was guilt—a survivor’s guilt, in a way. People verbalized feelings of guilt when looking at their children, when showering, when trying to go about their days. This guilt was confounded and felt even more complicated for the many participants who spoke about working in secular environments with feelings of isolation, anger and despair mixed in for all.
When I think about this time of year— a time of reflection, of a call to “wake up” as signified by the shofar, a time of repentance—I think of guilt. Because technically, sitting in our guilt as we approach and then enter Yom HaKippurim is encouraged; we are meant to seek out teshuva for all we have done wrong. But these are two very different kinds of guilt.
Guilt is intended when we have done wrong, and intended to do wrong. When we know we are lying and do it anyway, when we have that tiny voice that reminds us “this is not right!” but we proceed. Then yes, guilt is appropriate. And healthy! Guilt is what can, for so many, allow for the ability to grow, repent, apologize, and then act differently in the future.
Guilt is not for those who feel helpless, or soak in the pain of others. We can empathize, we can feel deep, almost guttural sadness in those moments—but we have done nothing wrong.
This can be easier said than done, of course. But sometimes that very active reminder of, “I’ve done nothing wrong; this situation is terrible and I feel immense pain” can actually allow for grief. Grief is an experience that we all have regularly, though we often think grief specifically surrounds death or loss. Grief can actually be felt around any change. But for so many, that feeling of grief immediately translates into guilt.
When we label our feelings as guilt, we send automatic messages to ourselves that we are in the wrong, building on a belief system and perhaps negative internal dialogue. But when we recognize the grief, we can move away from judgments and understand pain, leaning into the grieving process and how complicated this can be. So many of us shy away from doing so because guilt feels easier to tolerate. But in grief, there can also be gratitude.
Once we are able to grieve, we are typically able to march forward. Not move on, but move forward. Some of us may create a ritual around grieving, while others may experience the seven stages: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, acceptance (Kubler-Ross, Kessler.) And within these stages we can also create space for gratitude. Isn’t that the direction so many of us feel moved toward—a sense of gratitude?
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve expressed pain or frustration and the response has been, “Well, at least it wasn’t as bad as X.” True, true, but also very unhelpful at the moment. Because during a process of grief we also need to feel the pain. This may not be true for all—sometimes a push toward gratitude can be helpful. But oftentimes, we need to feel first.
As we reflect on our past year and the year to come—on our personal lives, on our lives as a community and as the Jewish nation—I invite you to break down these concepts of guilt, grief, and gratitude for yourself:
What do you know you’ve done wrong, with intention, that you can do teshuva for?
What situations might you find yourself in that can lead to wrongdoing?
What are you grieving at this time?
How have you practiced grieving?
From there, you can experience growth. Resist the unnecessary cruel internal dialogue. Reflect, be honest with yourself. Identify the ways you are connected and disconnected from yourself. It is so easy for us to disconnect from ourselves and our relationships—sometimes as a means of coping, sometimes based on our busy lives. But in the past year some of our greatest moments have been when we rose up together. Rise up, connect and grow. Shana Tova.
Temimah Zucker, LCSW, works in New York and New Jersey with individuals ages 18 and older who are struggling with mental health concerns, and she specializes in working with those looking to heal their relationships between their bodies and souls. Zucker is an advocate and public speaker concerning eating disorder awareness and a metro New York consultant at Monte Nido. She is honored to now serve on the board of Atzmi. To learn more or to reach her, visit www.temimah.com.
