Posted on November 10, 2024
“I feel like we are all pawns on a chessboard, paying the price for our leaders.”
My name is Yarden Mendelson, Amitim 2003. I live in Mitzpeh Adi, a quarter of an hour from Haifa. I’m a mother of four, and work as a clinical psychologist. My husband is a faculty member at the Technion Institute.
Treatment During War
When the war began, I accompanied families of hostages on advocacy missions overseas, in their campaign for international support. One of those families has stayed in touch with me and I still work with them today. I later joined a pool of therapists for the Ministry of Defense, which occasionally refers post-traumatic patients to me, and I’m also treating a relative of a hostage who is still in Gaza.
When I think about my work with this patient, I feel it would be best described as livui (ליווי) – “to accompany.” The professional term is “to bear witness,” which is also a very significant part of treating trauma. I can also describe this process as “walking alongside her” on her journey. It’s particularly interesting because part of what’s happening now in these therapy sessions is that the “fourth wall” (the imaginary barrier that keeps the therapist and patient’s relationship isolated from external distractions or disruptions) has collapsed. Not just collapsed… It has shattered. We’re experiencing a shared reality that is constantly present in the therapeutic space, and cannot be ignored. In this case, for example, we – the relative of the hostage and I – both live in the North, and we’re both experiencing the shelling from Lebanon. It can be confusing because on the one hand we are “in the same boat,” but on the other hand, our experiences are certainly different. So, this matter of “accompanying” is different from “regular” therapy. I’m there with her while her trauma is still unfolding, and in a way I truly am walking alongside her. In many respects, this is happening now in all therapies, even with patients who didn’t come to me because of the war. We’ve all been living this war for over a year now. And the work of psychologists during this time seemingly hasn’t changed: It’s to treat those who suffer. There is now just so much more suffering.
Citizens Are Taking Action, But Where Is the State?
For years, the psychology framework in the country has been in a dire state of inadequacy and has not been able to handle the load. Now there are many more mental health challenges – trauma, anxiety, depression – yet there is no adequate response from the state to provide support.
After October 7th, many psychologists began volunteering at evacuation hotels and in communities close to the conflict. Numerous initiatives, organizations, and treatment programs emerged to address the effects of the traumatic events – for survivors of the Nova Music Festival, for evacuees, for families, for soldiers. For example, in the first days of the war, about 400 psychoanalysts, some of the most prominent in the country, organized to create a support system for the families of hostages. They committed to providing treatment to anyone who needed it, for as long as it was required. This was a system set up voluntarily by citizens; the state had no part in it.
The state also failed to follow up on the Nova survivors, neglecting to check in on them and see how they were doing. Then they wonder why, a year later, survivors are committing suicide.
At the beginning of the war, we cried out: “Bring in therapists! Double the number of psychologist positions in the public service!” Nothing. There is a severe lack of initiative from the state and in my eyes, this inadequate response is proof of the state’s moral bankruptcy.
Who Am I Advocating for?
Two years ago, we returned from a relocation in California. We arrived during the final days of the Bennett–Lapid Government, known here as “The Government of Change”, but even then, in light of the government’s dissolution and the call for elections, I was concerned that the hope brought by a new government was fading. Three weeks later, Bibi was elected Prime Minister again. And though I had been the one insisting we return to Israel, it was at this point, before the judicial overhaul and the war, that I told my husband — perhaps we should think again.
Not too long ago, I was a social activist — I led a social battle for public mental health services and was somewhat active in the resistance to the overhaul, though not on the same scale. I feel my activism is waning. I am doing something, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nowadays, the war finds me with fatigue and a lack of optimism. I feel like we are all pawns on a chessboard, paying the price for our leaders. I’m still advocating for the Israeli people, but no longer for the “official” Israel. Not for the Israeli leadership. And this is part of the incredibly difficult split that’s happening right now.
The Price
I look at the horrors happening in Gaza. I’m a “bleeding heart leftist,” but I’m also one of those leftists who won’t apologize for our existence. The tens of thousands of casualties in Gaza — I’m not taking responsibility for most of them. That is, I think terrible things are happening there, and I have no doubt that there are specific instances of war crimes. In something this big and intense, it’s clear to me that there are failures along the way. Still, I have a lot of faith in the IDF and in the righteousness of the way it operates. So for the most part, I don’t apologize. Those we’ve killed because Hamas used them as human shields — that’s not on me, that’s on Hamas. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s horrific. Horrific.
I think this is part of the desire to leave: I don’t want to be in such a complex place. I don’t want this for my children. How much longer can we sanctify complexity? Resilience in the face of trauma? It’s a kind of Israeli ethos that I also grew up with, and I’m not throwing it away, but I’m not sure I want to live it. Strength comes at a price. I’m a very strong person, but there’s a cost to that, and I’m not sure I want to keep paying it.
Facing the Truth
I look at the Israeli population. I was in Tel Aviv at a protest calling for a deal to return the hostages. As we were leaving, a group of people passed by and began shouting at us that we were occupying the army and police and that because of us, we’re not winning in Gaza right now. We started talking. It turned out they were evacuees from the north — people who had been evacuated from their home for a year now, because of an unending war. To them, we, the protesters who criticize the government and demand accountability — we are the problem. We spoke with them for about half an hour. We agreed on the facts, but then we got to the interpretation of those facts, and the gaps in our perception of reality… it’s incomprehensible. There were years when, as an activist, people told me, “Go become a Knesset member,” but now it feels futile. How can I be a Knesset member? When you’re operating in a world of “no truth,” how can you change reality?
In the end, it’s an inability to face the truth. As a psychologist, I can understand the mechanisms behind this. But as a citizen and a mother, I can’t close my eyes and say everything will be okay. And if I look the truth in the eye for a moment, I can advocate for Israel until tomorrow, but in reality, I’m advocating for some theoretical Israel, for what I want Israel to be.
Leaving
Come July, I’m getting on a plane. I don’t know where to yet, but I’m on that plane. I have a lot of guilt about it. After all, I’m a Zionist! I’m a patriot! For the past 10-15 years, when various friends of mine left the country, I was angry with them. I would tell them — you’re weakening us! You’re diminishing the chances of things getting better here! And now it’s me. And to be leaving now, during such a low point… it’s not the time! The patient is flatlining! But I don’t see a way out of this.
I think about my patient, the relative of the hostage. When we started therapy, it was just after the first deal; there was already talk of a second deal, and we felt that it would all end soon. Today, there’s no sense that it will end, and the thought of leaving before her loved one returns — and I’m afraid that’s what is likely to happen— is something I find very hard to cope with.
There’s also guilt about not having done enough. An activist like me, I could have fixed the world, right?
Remembering There Is Good
What we do in all trauma interventions, in the face of the terrible rupture, is to remember that there is also good. I remind myself that in response to October 7th, there were countless people in Israel and across the Jewish world who rallied in incredible ways. So in the face of this great despair, I remind myself to see how much kindness exists in people. The evil is systemic, but ultimately, the good is found between individuals, and that’s where I find strength.
