Fallout

Out in the western desert when the wind picks up, it’s common to see “dust devils.” These are whirlwinds of dust that form when pockets of hot air rise through cooler air above it, forming an updraft. When the solar heat is strong, a small dust devil is created, which swirls through the hot sands as it races across the desert floor. They are like small tornadoes, crossing the expanse at a rapid pace until the wind settles down. Then the dusty sand sinks to the ground and settles back into place. That is probably what we mean when we use the expression “when the dust settles.”

In the Jewish world, we have different forms of tornadoes. They are called traumatic tragedies. When hateful political heat is strong, it arises in our midst as it travels across the communal expanse, creating fear, causing harm, and doing damage… until the dust settles and until the next one begins.

With trauma, however, the dust may settle, but it takes a great amount of time. Often known as the “ripple effect of trauma,” the danger may be over in that particular location, but the repercussions are felt in the community and the larger Jewish community for much longer. In the Jewish world, everyone is related to someone who went through that tragedy. Everybody knows someone affected. Take the horror of the Sydney massacre. We all have some personal connection to that community, either directly or indirectly. I talked with colleagues about what had happened and what was rippling there. Some of them said, “It will blow over.” It did not blow over.

As the community begins its search for healing and readjusting, the dust has not yet settled. Nor should it. There are those still shaken by the horrors they saw. There are those beset with the loss of a loved one who was murdered. There are those who ran, those who hid, and those who protected others: all of them were caught in the frenzied whirlwind and now wrestle with the aftereffects. Some find themselves torn open, raw, forced to deal with memories of past trauma that this attack triggered. I explain to my patients that there is an area in the brain that I liken to a neighborhood, a very bad neighborhood, where all the “residents” are the traumatic experiences that cluster there in remote memory. Each time a new crisis occurs, the whole neighborhood wakes up and starts banging on the basement door of consciousness, making emotional noise and attempting to reinvade the thoughts, emotions, and body senses. That is the aftershock of trauma. When a new event happens, all of the old traumatic symptoms and many of the actual memories join in the frenzy and the mental chaos. In short, the dust never really settles.

This is the fallout of trauma. Those of us who are not directly affected return to our lives. This is appropriate and healthy. As I have written in earlier articles in this column, Routine, Schedule, and Structure are the foundations for mental hygiene and we have very good reason to get back into our “RSS” in the aftermath of trauma. But for those who have survived a tragedy, witnessed it, or were “secondary witnesses” because they know someone who was a victim, survivor, or a primary witness, the fallout lingers.

Anxiety, worry, sadness, indignation, and anger can be part of that fallout. And they probably should be, too. When Jewish people anywhere have been caught in a whirlwind of tragedy, who can be cold enough to simply let the dust settle? n

Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis Services. To contact Chai Lifeline’s 24-hour crisis helpline, call 855-3-CRISIS or email [email protected]. Learn more at ChaiLifeline.org/crisis.