The terrorist attack at Bondi Beach hit us all hard, and along the way taught me an important lesson about the power of pause, particularly when dealing with grief.
It was surreal. We were at a wedding, when suddenly word spread of an attack in Sydney. Many of us were suddenly glued to our phones, watching as new details emerged. It was still fuzzy. Victims were being named, and I recognised some of them. I didn’t want to believe it. ‘We can’t be sure yet, let’s wait until things are confirmed,’ I told myself.
A few of us left the wedding, and went home to keep monitoring what was happening. It was awful as confirmation of the extent of the tragedy emerged. I found myself still holding hope. Later, as we lit the Chanukah candles, we all lost it and broke down in tears.
Tears were not enough; I needed an outlet for the emotion. Writing is often therapeutic for me, so I quickly wrote a post on my Times of Israel blog. My wife said “don’t swear”, but I needed to. It was raw and angry — exactly what the moment called for.
Over the coming days, the magnitude of the attack sank in. We were deeply sad, grieving the loss. The global Jewish community is deeply interconnected; most people are just two or three degrees of separation from anyone else. This is especially the case with the Chabad community.
Our grief went beyond the 15 murdered individuals. What did this have to say about the country we grew up in and loved? This was especially relevant to descendants of the many Holocaust survivors, whom Australia welcomed after the war and who rebuilt their lives in “the lucky country”.
I developed some ideas about what was happening – the story behind the story – and decided to pitch it to The Spectator. This wasn’t a personal rant on a blog. This was a major platform. It needed to be deeply considered. Fortunately, they accepted the pitch and the subsequent article, which spoke to Australia’s multiculturalism.
Reflecting on these two writing experiences – both a response to trauma but each very different – led to further insight. First, we react. Then we pause and reflect. Only then can we respond.
The Jewish approach to mourning embodies this approach, and reflects deep wisdom on the human psyche and how we process grief. The practice of “sitting shiva” forces us to stay home for a week after the burial of a close relative and allow space for our emotions. Talking to visitors is both exhausting and therapeutic. After shiva completes, the ritual of “getting up” signals the progression to the next stage of grieving.
When stimulus of any kind hits us, we react. And before we respond, we pause. The pause might be a fraction of a second, or week, or longer.
In a world where we are bombarded with stimulus – particularly from our mobile phones and social media platforms – pause becomes even more important. It’s an essential tool to help us navigate a complex world.
Read my full article on the Spectator.
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