I had a small gathering of people over this past Motzei Shabbat in effort to learn Torah as we grappled with the ongoing events and entered a new week. Our discussion ultimately expanded beyond the texts, and one friend shared her reflection that the attitude among the community over Shabbat felt somber. While this makes sense—we are grieving tremendously—she felt that at least over Shabbat we might have been able to come together differently; so many soldiers sent videos from their bases on Friday afternoon, encouraging us with smiles and warmth to engage with Shabbat, light candles, sing and be together. We received messages to have hope and lean into our strength. And then when Shabbat started for us, there was a somber feeling in the air.

This led to the question: what are we “allowed” to feel right now?

The answer to this question is yet another question: what do we actually feel to begin with?

Connecting to our emotional experiences in a balanced way is rare; people tend to avoid, flood or place pressure on themselves surrounding emotional reactions. We think we “should” feel a certain way, rather than actually asking ourselves what we’re experiencing. In the midst of this heartbreak, many of us have grappled with how to react and take care of ourselves.

We are broken by the events in Israel and this brokenness can lead to numbness, disconnection, depressive feelings and panic. We “doom scroll” and want to talk only about Israel while also feeling raw—wishing we could think about anything else. Many of us keep coming back to particular stories or images while also trying to balance our everyday responsibilities which can feel mundane at this time.

And this is our experience from the U.S.; we cannot truly fathom what it is like in Israel. The fear and heartbreak, the longing. I was thinking about this, juxtaposed to that reflection surrounding Shabbat and brought up these points to Uri Pilichowski—whom I have known most of my life. Uri is a rabbi, educator and activist among many other roles, and when I reached out about all this he replied, “America is flying Israeli flags at half-mast, here we’re flying our flags high.” He noted the way there is a sense of drivenness in Israel that many of us may not be feeling here.

I think many of us feel lost. Are we allowed to focus on that feeling we get when we’re all packing up duffels to ship to Israel? Can we engage in distractions—but isn’t that a privilege? How can we continue with life with a semblance of normalcy while our brothers and sisters are suffering in Israel and also while threats increase in America?

The answer that I have witnessed is unity.

We each have our collective emotional experiences; the way each of us copes cannot be compared to one another. There will be overlap and in this we can feel a sense of support. But one person may need to turn off social media while another may need to post religiously. One person may turn to television or movies while another may have difficulty focusing. It is about asking ourselves what we need to do to best take care of ourselves and to know that there is not one right answer.

What we can recognize, though, is that while now may not be a time for celebration it can be a time for solidarity. We can lean into that uplifting feeling we see when we view videos of soldiers dancing with Sifrei Torah or sing “Acheinu” together at a shul event. This can come from a classroom learning Torah or a small group of individuals discussing what it is like to be part of this community.

There is no doubt that we are grieving. And amid the grief we can—and truly must—come together to feel the strength that makes us Am Yisrael.

Just as grief can include honoring an individual’s legacy, so too we can honor the legacy not only of the individuals, but of our nation as survivors. It is the familiar theme of a dialectic—holding two truths at once. We can feel both gutted and also look to one another for hope. You are allowed to feel and react in whatever way comes naturally. You may also recognize that there is a balance; if you tend to avoid, for instance, you may want to be mindful as the folks around you may not be in a place of being able or wanting to do so. You can feel the emotions represented in the half-mast flag while engaging in the community with our flags flying high to the sky; not ignoring the pain, but coming together in comfort.

I hope you can find that comfort and also prioritize how you take care of yourself at this time. Turn to the community. Am Yisrael Chai.

Temimah Zucker, LCSW works in New York and New Jersey with individuals ages 18 and older who are struggling with mental health concerns, and specializes in working with those looking to heal their relationships between their bodies and souls. Zucker is an adjunct professor at the Wurzweiler School of Social Work, an advocate and public speaker concerning eating disorder awareness, and a Metro-New York consultant at Monte Nido. To learn more or to reach her, visit www.temimah.com.