Navigating Moral Health in a Traumatized World
A Plea for Compassion in the Israel-Palestine Conflict
In a landscape often clouded by moral ambivalence, the escalating conflict between Israel and Palestine serves as a pressing invitation for our collective attention and reflection. This crucible of human struggle and dignity challenges the very quality of our Moral Health—our capacity to engage with complex moral landscapes while holding space for nuance, trauma, empathy, and compassion. The aim of this Substack is to unwaveringly stand in support of the shared humanity that connects us all.
There can be no moral justification for acts of cruelty. As a nurse, I pray for everyone to return home safely and a sustained peace.
There can be no moral justification for acts of cruelty. As a nurse, I pray for everyone to return home safely and a sustained peace.
As we embrace this emerging paradigm, we're called to unravel the complex layers of historical, social, and personal trauma that have profoundly influenced the lives of both Israelis and Palestinians. This undertaking necessitates a deep dive into not only shared histories of violence but also the multi-generational impacts these realities have had on communities. To truly advance our understanding, we must also critically examine our own perspectives, including the intricacies of our own identities, ancestral paths, and individual traumas. All too often, we navigate this terrain through a haze of partial media truths, shaped by our own unresolved trauma, and compounded by the bombardment of fast-paced propaganda.
To truly advance our understanding, we must also critically examine our own perspectives, including the intricacies of our own identities, ancestral paths, and individual traumas.
Sifting through these myriad influences is not just an intellectual exercise, but a moral imperative. It's a conscious effort to rise above our own biases and predispositions to arrive at a more nuanced and holistic understanding of a deeply sensitive issue. This discernment aligns perfectly with the pursuit of Moral Health—our shared quest for ethical clarity in a world saturated with violence, uncertainty, and grey areas. As we grapple with the complexities of mental, emotional, and moral well-being, creating space for comprehensive empathy and understanding has never been more crucial.
This demands more than detached analysis. It calls for active, non-dual engagement with the human dimensions of the conflict. As Robert Reich insightfully remarked, "The atrocities committed by Hamas were unmitigated evil. Say it clearly. But there is nothing morally justifiable in the retaliatory airstrikes on Gaza killing 1,800 Palestinians, including hundreds of children." A strictly binary stance oversimplifies this multifaceted tragedy. Our mission pushes us to embrace the dignity of both Palestinians and Israelis without collapsing into relativism or endorsing violence.
"The atrocities committed by Hamas were unmitigated evil. Say it clearly. But there is nothing morally justifiable in the retaliatory airstrikes on Gaza killing 1,800 Palestinians, including hundreds of children."
This complexity is highlighted by
, who reminds us this conflict is steeped in generational "grief and funerals and the fear that the worst of the past will repeat itself into the future." The profound trauma makes moral clarity an elusive, iterative process requiring deep grappling with suffering on all sides.In trying to understand people during this crisis, it's crucial to recognize how mental states color perspectives. Our brains shift into "fight or flight" mode, making it more challenging for us to think clearly and experience empathy and compassion. Specifically, the area of our brain responsible for complex thinking, the prefrontal cortex, becomes less active. In contrast, the emotional and aggressive center of our brain, the amygdala, takes the driver's seat. This shift in brain activity complicates our ability to understand nuanced issues and feel compassion for others. Therefore, it underscores the importance of approaching one another with grace amidst the impossible realities of war.
Ó Tuama reminds us that the journey towards processing and finding words for any of this is both continuous and iterative—the guiding principle is “I’ll keep trying, failing, trying, failing, trying better, failing better.” This poignant insight acknowledges the reality that we are all works in progress. Nobody claims that resolving such a complex and deeply-rooted conflict is straightforward; there's far too much grief and trauma involved for anyone to get this "right." But what we can do is remain committed to staying connected, doing self-inventories, and considering the full scope of human experience that informs these tensions.
“I’ll keep trying, failing, trying, failing, trying better, failing better.”
This iterative process is deeply human, as we all shift between states of expansion and contraction. It's important to acknowledge that this moment, filled with acute stress or trauma, is absolutely triggering the body's fight-or-flight response. For people facing horrors, generational trauma, living in conflict zones, or with impacted loved ones, their capacity for nuance and empathy may understandably be limited until their acute stress subsides and safety is restored. And even in times of relative stability, we each find ourselves moving back and forth between openness and reactivity.
As we strive to comprehend diverse perspectives, it's crucial to acknowledge how past trauma can sometimes hinder the ability to think compassionately. For those of us fortunate enough to be in a state of physical and mental safety, our aim should be to cultivate a mindset that draws us closer to others. When society urges us to pick a side, perhaps the most radical act we can take is to foster connection, empathy, and understanding between those very sides.
When society urges us to pick a side, perhaps the most radical act we can take is to foster connection, empathy, and understanding between those very sides.
Bridging divides takes more courage than deepening them. This ethos aligns deeply with Pádraig Ó Tuama's wisdom about the 'unbearable work of bearing together.' Unity is not a theoretical aspiration but a lifeline for our collective humanity. When grief and tragedy are shouldered in isolation, the fabric of our shared human experience starts to fray. The crucial act of staying connected safeguards against a darker fate, the possibility of becoming architects of each other's destruction.
Amid such high stakes, Nicholas Wolterstorff’s definition of love1 becomes an urgent call—to "burn with the incandescent compassion for the world, to feel the grief of the world without being destroyed by it." This expansive love transcends barriers, urging us beyond ingrained fears. It serves as our moral compass, expanding our capacity to see shared humanity even with longtime enemies. In intractable conflicts, this love offers the only path beyond cycles of violence.
"burn with the incandescent compassion for the world, to feel the grief of the world without being destroyed by it."
This compassionate lens is essential for true justice—not just punitive but transformative. Justice should foster difficult dialogues, uplift marginalized voices, and promote reconciliation without erasing the past. This aligns with the Jewish concept of "tikkun olam"—repairing the world.
As we grapple with these immense challenges, let us never forget that the stakes are not theoretical; they are painfully, tragically real. There is an actual war happening as we speak, affecting real people with devastating consequences. Lives are being lost, families shattered, and communities wrecked beyond imagination. This isn't a theoretical discourse or a thought experiment; it's a life-and-death struggle happening in real-time, affecting children, parents, and grandparents who are very much like our own.
In this fractured world, Baldwin's assertion resonates: "The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality." should serve as our moral lodestar. No border, no ideology, no historical feud can devalue the intrinsic worth of a human life. Every child in Israel, Palestine, or any corner of the earth is a part of our global family. Nicholas Kristof amplifies this collective responsibility, urging us: "If we owe a moral responsibility to Israeli children, then we owe the same moral responsibility to Palestinian children. Their lives have equal weight. If you care about human life only in Israel or only in Gaza, then you don't actually care about human life."
"If we owe a moral responsibility to Israeli children, then we owe the same moral responsibility to Palestinian children. Their lives have equal weight. If you care about human life only in Israel or only in Gaza, then you don't actually care about human life."
In an era where no unifying figures like Gandhi or Mandela loom on the horizon to shepherd us through, the burden of moral leadership is distributed among us, democratized. Let’s lean into those difficult conversations, give space to marginalized voices, and take steps, however small, toward repairing the fractured world we share. If there's one takeaway from this, it's to move toward connection, compassion, and empathy, even in the face of horror. Because, in the end, the responsibility to cut off that "chain of hate," as Martin Luther King Jr. puts it, doesn't fall on the shoulders of the 'other.' It falls squarely on our own.
Thank you, dear friends. But remember, don't just take my word for it; seek silence, listen to yourself.
Michelle & Moral Health
Reflect. Write. Transform: Narrative Medicine
Pause.
Take a moment to breathe. To be fully present.
How are your identities, life experiences, ancestral pasts, and personal traumas shaping your current perspective? Are they clouding your judgment, or perhaps gifting you with a special lens through which to perceive these complexities?
Take three minutes to reflect and write.
A special shoutout to my dear friend Sarah Capers at Harvard Divinity School for sharing this insightful quote with me over the weekend. The quote is from Carrie Doehring's book, "The Practice of Pastoral Care: A Postmodern Approach."
The quotes you’ve included are incredibly poignant. I am currently struggling to not let my grief destroy and incapacitate me. And if we can’t care for the children of everywhere/ anywhere, than we have absolutely failed. Thank you for writing. ❤️