A few days ago, I overheard the following conversation on the train between two 40-something people:
“Hey, how are things? What’s new?”
“Not much! Same old! How about you?”
“Yeah – same – just plodding along, you know.”
I wanted to scream out, “No! This is not the “same old.” This is not normality!”
In the last two weeks, we have commemorated the Shoah, the most horrific episode of inhumanity in history, we have gone through a Remembrance Day like no other, with hero soldiers losing their lives on a near daily basis, the losses and injured representing shattered families by the hundreds and thousands.
We have celebrated the most muted Independence Day in our history. US university campuses have prevented Jewish students from entering the premises. Our representative at the Eurovision Song Contest was confined to her hotel under police guard for her own safety, and our prime minister and others have been indicted by the International Criminal (kangaroo) Court for war crimes.This, my friend, is not normal.
People in the country become have adapted to prolonged exposure to suffering
What I overheard is an example of “compassion fatigue,” a term that describes the emotional and physical exhaustion that can result from prolonged exposure to suffering. This has become an increasingly relevant topic in the context of the ongoing war in Israel.
The initial shock of the horrific events on October 7, when some 1,200 people were massacred and over 200 hostages were taken by terrorists, left many unable to eat, sleep, or think straight. The pain of each soldier’s death or injury was deeply felt. We cried every time we heard the news, we accompanied every local funeral, we ran around volunteering, helping, comforting.
However, as the war has dragged on, this intense reaction has begun to wane for those not directly affected, transforming these tragedies into “old news.” This phenomenon raises important questions about human adaptability and our capacity for empathy in the face of ongoing suffering.
Humans have an incredible ability to adapt to new situations, a trait that has been crucial for survival throughout history. This adaptability allows us to continue functioning in the face of constant stress or danger. However, the cost of this resilience can be a diminished sensitivity to the suffering of others.
When we are constantly exposed to images and stories of war, famine, disaster, or other human tragedies, there is a risk that we become desensitized, experiencing what is known as compassion fatigue.
This emotional numbing can lead to a decreased capacity to empathize with those who are suffering, making it harder for us to respond with the compassion and support that is needed. And, yes, it is really still needed. There remains work to do with the injured, the bereaved, the displaced, those struggling whilst their partners are serving on reserve duty.
THE INITIAL shock and horror were overwhelming, but as the conflict continues, it becomes harder to maintain that level of emotional intensity.
This is not because the suffering has lessened, but because our minds and bodies can only sustain such a high level of stress and empathy for so long before needing to protect themselves. This protective mechanism is understandable, but it poses a significant moral and ethical challenge. If we allow ourselves to become too desensitized, we risk losing a fundamental part of our humanity: the ability to feel deeply for others and to be moved to action by their pain.
There is a profound teaching in the Jewish tradition that can help us understand the importance of maintaining our capacity for compassion. Observing Passover at the Seder, there is a commandment to “see oneself as if one actually was a slave to Pharaoh in Egypt and we ourselves were actually redeemed.”
This commandment is not just a historical remembrance, but a call to empathy. It asks us to place ourselves in the shoes of those who suffered, to feel their pain and their joy as if it were our own. This practice of empathy is essential for truly appreciating the significance of liberation and redemption.
Before recent events, I never fully understood what this commandment meant. However, in the face of the ongoing war and the stories of immense suffering, its meaning has become clear.
To truly appreciate the suffering and the eventual joy of others, we must actively engage in empathy.
We must strive to understand their pain and not succumb to compassion fatigue. This means continuing to care, to cry, and to feel the pain of others, even when it becomes difficult to do so. By maintaining our sensitivity, we keep our humanity intact and prepare ourselves to join in the celebration of victory and joy when it finally arrives.
The Talmud Bavli (Taanit 30b) teaches, “Whoever mourns for the loss of Jerusalem will merit to celebrate its rebuilding.” This teaching underscores the idea that empathy and compassion are not just passive emotions but active practices that connect us to others and to the larger human experience.
By allowing ourselves to feel the pain of loss, we also open ourselves to the profound joy of rebuilding and renewal. This balance between mourning and celebration is a key aspect of maintaining our humanity in the face of ongoing conflict and suffering.
Compassion fatigue can lead to a sense of detachment and apathy, making it harder to respond to the needs of others. However, by recognizing this risk and actively working against it, we can maintain our capacity for compassion.
This might involve taking breaks from distressing news, engaging in self-care, and finding more innovative ways to support those who are suffering in tangible ways. It also means reminding ourselves of the importance of empathy and the profound impact it can have on our own lives and the lives of others.
The ongoing war serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of maintaining our empathy in the face of prolonged suffering. It challenges us to stay connected to the pain of others and to continue to care deeply, even when it becomes difficult.
By doing so, this not only helps those who are suffering, but also enriches our own lives. This way, we honor the humanity of those who suffer and prepare ourselves to share in their joy when peace and rebuilding finally come.
The writer is a rabbi and physician living in Ramat Poleg, Netanya, and a cofounder of Techelet-Inspiring Judaism.