“But war is something that cries,” wrote Tirza Atar in 1975, “and I cry in silence.”

We have known many wars since then, but none have been quite like this. 900 days of constant fighting across Gaza, Lebanon, and Iran. Thousands upon thousands of individuals’ spirits and lives have been shattered: victims of terror, the men and women of our combat units, and civilians who have endured endless barrages of missiles. While the numbers are staggering and the pain immense, we are fortunate that in the fifty years since Atar penned her poems, we no longer have to weep in the dark. We have begun to grieve and confront our distress openly, together. This openness serves a very vital purpose: it ensures that when a helping hand is finally offered, there is enough light for it to be found.

Israel is characterized by an extraordinary therapeutic infrastructure, a deep-rooted strength that spans the entire societal landscape. This foundation begins with government pillars like the Ministry of Defense and the National Insurance Institute, extends through specialized NGOs such as NATAL, and is anchored by the expertise of psychoanalytic institutes and academic departments. It is a vast ecosystem of public and private clinicians providing a full spectrum of care, ranging from crisis helplines and community interventions to the long-term occupational support of trauma survivors. The sheer variety of help available is almost impossible to quantify.

Within this vast ecosystem of care, it is becoming increasingly clear that its strength depends not only on the breadth of services available, but also on the resilience of those who provide them. Initiatives such as Teva’s “Support the Soul” program operate within this understanding, offering dedicated support to therapists themselves, including NATAL’s clinicians, through targeted training, practical tools, and professional guidance. These frameworks help therapists process and cope with the ongoing exposure to traumatic stories and events they encounter daily, reinforcing a simple but critical insight: sustainable care begins with the caregivers’ own resilience.

At its core, psychological support is defined by connection. It is the deep human bond between the seeker and the helper that matters most. Whether through an anonymous, 20-minute helpline call for someone seeking immediate relief or through long-term therapy, this personal relationship is the essence of the process. This is especially true for survivors of trauma, particularly when that trauma is national. Naturally, our focus often remains on those seeking aid; we conduct research, develop methods, and teach diverse approaches, all designed to alleviate the distress of those who turn to us for help.

What is less often discussed, less visible, less “in the light” is the experience of the helpers themselves. This is true in any context, but it is ten times more so, when dealing with trauma. We know well that any contact with trauma stirs difficult experiences in everyone involved. There are many terms for this, such “Vicarious Traumatization”, which attempt to explain how those who aid the suffering begin to feel intensifying distress, burnout, and accumulating psychological pain over time. One could say that trauma acts as a sort of center of gravity, a force that impacts anyone who draws near it. This begins with the traumatized individual and radiates through all those who reach out to help.

Why does this happen? What is the fundamental process underlying the difficult experiences that accumulate within the souls of those who assist trauma survivors? To understand this, we must return to our starting point: psychological aid is based first and foremost on a deep and personal human connection. By engaging with another’s suffering, the bond speaks directly to the parts of the soul that trauma has isolated or buried. It reawakens the presence of past trauma, allowing it to manifest through symptoms that steal sleep and drive social withdrawal, creating a newfound awareness of a lonely, intensifying anger. Through this deep mental contact, the helper also begins to confront difficulties, distress, and areas of pain within themselves. Though these feelings are triggered by the encounter with the individual, they draw from past experiences that have always lived within the helper’s own psyche.

Every person carries deep pains, life-altering experiences, and emotional wounds that are difficult to confront. It is the nature of trauma, and of the traumatic bond itself, to penetrate these areas, stimulating, activating, and reviving them. In a sense, the helper enters a ‘trauma field’ alongside the individual they are assisting, a space where powerful traumatic forces act upon both parties in the relationship. Over time, and through such deep contact with many traumatized individuals, the helper’s own soul begins to generate its own reactions. At times it may feel undermined or start to constrict. Cracks may emerge in old places that time had seemingly healed, and now they return to pulse, to live, and to burn within the soul once more.

And yet, within organizations that provide trauma care, there is not always sufficient awareness, attention, or space for the difficulties faced by the helpers themselves. It is not always easy to speak about them. But we fail deeply if, in the spirit of Atar’s words, the helpers themselves are left to ‘cry in the dark.’

Their own distress must also be brought into the light and given a voice. Whether through direct psychological support or group dialogue, there are many ways to sustain those who provide care. Every individual, organization, and clinic has the agency to decide which supportive methods to adopt or develop. But one reality remains undeniable: because these practitioners are exposed to profound suffering as their life’s work, they will inevitably carry painful experiences of their own.

If we neglect to acknowledge this or refuse to make space for it, we risk multiplying the number of those left ‘crying in the dark.’ This leads to cycles of shame and secrecy, the very elements that nourish trauma and disrupt the natural continuum of life, healing, and emotional fluidity. We must therefore bring the struggle of the helper into light, honoring it and teaching it, so that no one is left alone, especially not those who dedicate their entire lives, their strength, and their hearts to the service of others.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)