The recent terrorist attack on the No. 2 bus from the Kosel
is being referred to as the "attack on children," due to the
many children killed, injured or orphaned in the bloody
attack.
The truth is that every terrorist attack can be considered an
attack on children because whenever someone dies or is
killed, the children involved suffer the most. Adults are
generally able to contend with death because of their mature
outlooks, and because they understand that life on earth
eventually ends. Sometimes, tragically, earlier than
expected.
Children who have lost a loved one feel exactly the same as
adults. However, since adults are more experienced at coping
with calamity and misfortune, the impact of their shock and
bereavement is far less concentrated than that of the child.
Moreover, the child's small heart is more vulnerable than the
adult's, and more likely to shatter into thousands of tiny
pieces.
Unlike adults, children also find it difficult to absorb the
fact that someone they spoke to, played with or saw, at times
only moments before the disaster, is gone forever. The
compound effects of the loss, the sorrow and the shock are
too much for a child to endure, while the tools for coping
with them are not his to access.
However, despite their maturity and experience, many adults
find it difficult to help children contend with death. As a
result, they often send a freshly orphaned child back to
school during the week of shiva, so that he won't see
adults crying, and thus, not cry himself.
Quite often at a funeral, adults advise the orphans, "Don't
cry; everything will be alright."
I don't understand why a child shouldn't cry at the
funeral of a parent or during the week of mourning, or in any
situation in which his heart aches. What is clear, though, is
that the reactions of such adults stem from the anxiety which
grips them when a child cries.
Some adults also feel that a child shouldn't participate in a
relative's funeral because the impressions of that occasion
will leave indelible marks on his psyche.
Others feel that if no one discusses the death with the
child, he won't grieve, won't have to contend with the pain,
and might even not cry.
But the point is: Failing to speak with a child about the
death is like forsaking him at the most difficult time in his
life. It is like burying one's head in the sand instead of
tackling the problem. Many adults believe that "the less a
child sees, hears and knows, the better. His pain will surely
pass. He will forget."
*
One morning, when I was a fourth-grade student, a classmate
agitatedly announced that Eliyahu Vaknin had been killed the
day before in a car accident.
Eliyahu Vaknin z'l, the son of the chief rabbi of the
Maalot settlement, was my bench-mate in school. Until then, I
had never encountered the phenomenon of death, and that
sudden announcement hit me like a thunderbolt.
During those days, unnatural deaths were relatively rare in
our circles, perhaps because the chareidi community was much
smaller than it is now. For us, the death of a friend, who
only the day before had talked and laughed with us in his
gentle manner, was difficult to comprehend. But no adults
thought of discussing the loss with us. Of course, we spoke
about it among ourselves in whispers, yet no one dared
display signs of sorrow, fear or bewilderment. But just
because no one displayed them doesn't mean that they didn't
exist. Quite the contrary, they apparently were very intense,
precisely because we couldn't vent them and had to cope with
them by ourselves.
All of the explanations of death and of how to cope with it
are found in the Torah. Even leading psychologists admit that
the mourning process, as delineated by the Halocha,
constitutes the best method of grappling with death.
The funeral, the Kaddish, the shiva, the
shloshim and the yahrzeit all help the mourner
cope with the parting, the pain, the confusion and the fear.
He is not alone, but in the company of family and friends.
During the week of mourning, he sits in the center of the
room on a low chair, his lapel torn, and knows that he is a
mourner. Everyone who visits him speaks about the manner of
the death. They also praise the deceased, illustrating
thereby that even though the body has stopped functioning,
the spirit is still with us.
And the children? Instead of depriving them of this important
healing process, we should encourage them to avail themselves
of it, because they will benefit from it, perhaps even more
than adults.
Adults should discuss the calamity with the child, because
such talk alleviates his anxiety. Adults must help the child
assimilate the information which has accumulated in his mind,
but which he cannot systematize.
The child must be told the facts. He should be told that the
deceased is no longer with us because Hashem, the Father of
all orphans, has taken his soul to a better world, a world of
Truth.
A child must also be allowed to ask questions which we must
answer frankly, without adding gruesome details which might
frighten him. If he was present during the attack or
accident, we should let him speak about the horrors he
witnessed, and not stop him if he cries, because crying
relieves emotional stress.
The child must know that he won't be abandoned and that there
are authoritative figures who have remained stable, despite
the disaster. Such figures sharpen the child's sense of
security and strengthen his self confidence.
We are living in difficult times. A father buries his son,
while a thirteen-year-old boy is his family's sole
representative at the funeral of his one-year-old brother.
Thousands of children experience losses of either relatives
or friends; thousands of children have witnessed scenes which
even adults cannot absorb.
Let us assume responsibility and learn how to help children
cope with death, so that we won't forfeit more than we have
already lost.
May Hashem call a halt to all our woes.
