The Original Act of Grief Support and Why We Need It Today (2024)

Whether lighting the twinkling lights of an evergreen tree, or the candles of a kinara or menorah, “light” is an important symbol of faith. But this December, many who observe Chanukah—the Festival of Lights—were fearful to do so. With antisemitism and expressions of hatred toward Jews up an estimated 400% from one year ago, the concern is real.

Less recognizable, but equally valid is the grief.

“For me as a Jew, I’m grieving the loss of safety I thought my family and I could count on in the United States,” author, activist, and entrepreneur Romi Neustadt told me. “I always knew how deep antisemitism was, but we didn’t anticipate what happened on October 7, or that such a horrific attack on Israel would unleash a tsunami of hate in the U.S. and around the world.”

Though Neustadt articulately named her experience as grief, it’s easy for many to misidentify it, if not miss entirely. After all, there have been no deaths in Neustadt's biological family, and no loved ones have been injured or killed. Yet that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been badly wounded and isn’t grieving.

Grief is a normal and natural response to loss, including loss that isn’t marked by a death.

A wide set of research shows that non-death losses, including losses of self, safety, and belief, can activate grief. Unfortunately, recognizing and naming this in ourselves and others can be difficult, and without societal norms to engage, it may even feel pointless. But it isn’t.

Dan Siegel, a psychiatry professor at UCLA, writes in his book The Whole-Brain Child that to manage big emotions, we must “name it to tame it.” This exercise, he explains, “initiates a physical response that signals the brain to send soothing neurotransmitters to the amygdala and the brain's emotional centers. This calms the body and mind, and helps people feel more in control.” This is important for all grievers but may be especially important for those whose grief is ambiguous or disenfranchised.

But naming grief is only the first step. As with most things, the more we practice, the better we get. This applies not just to our ability to identify and name grief, but to what we do with that knowledge.

Like love, grief is not meant to be hidden, but to be witnessed.

As a non-Jew, listening to Neustadt’s story, I realized that medicine for grief is buried in an ancient Judaic tradition she was describing. Not only that, but I was in a way actually “administering” this medicine. So can you.

I was familiar with the term shiva, but I was only peripherally aware of its meaning. Shiva is a Hebrew word meaning "seven" that refers to the seven days of formalized mourning by the immediate family of a deceased. During the period of shiva, mourners remain at home and are visited by others to give their condolences and provide comfort. The process dates back to biblical times and allows for the individual to express their sorrow and discuss their loss, their pain, and their loved ones.

Witnessing grief and suffering can be uncomfortable, but also transformative.

Regardless of the loss, here are a few simple strategies to keep in mind as you bear witness to someone’s grief:

1. Listen without judgment. Everyone grieves differently—some need to talk and others do not—so be prepared to listen with your heart. Sit in silence if that is preferred, and when stories are shared, practice active and compassionate listening. Direct your attention to the grieving, listen without challenging their experience, and remember to pack your patience; grief presents in nuanced ways, including in brain functionality (e.g., memory and comprehension).
2. Refrain from hijacking. It’s normal to use a story as a tool to connect with others, but unless explicitly requested, telling your story, or relaying that of another, rarely does much to support fresh grief. In addition, talking about your past losses and grief experiences risks placing an undue burden on the person that you’re supporting; essentially turning the tables and putting them in the unnecessary position of supporting you. This is different than grieving together or sharing grief from the same loss, which can be helpful, so be mindful of the subtle difference.
3. Mind minimizing. Whether borne from a desire to connect with the griever, escape our own discomfort, or just due to a lack of personal awareness, minimizing is common—but largely unhelpful—for grievers. For example, any sentence that begins with “At least" offers little to ease a griever’s ache. Neither is it helpful to draw a comparison to someone else’s loss or illustrate ways their situation could have been “worse.”

How grief manifests in the body

Some common physical manifestations of the bereaved are more obvious than others. For example, loss of appetite, changes in weight, fatigue, emotional outbursts, and depression are recognizable symptoms. Less noticeable, though equally indicative, may be sleep issues, confusion, inflammation, restlessness, anxiety, and isolation, to name a few. Learning to spot these physical indicators, either directly (e.g., dark under-eye circles and orneriness may signal sleep problems), or indirectly (e.g., noting unusual behavior like social withdrawal), can better prompt us toward support.

Neustadt told me, “Bearing witness isn’t only about listening or showing up for people we know and love. It’s also done by witnessing wordless stories. For example, Jewish or not, we can bear witness by noticing and acknowledging unspoken grief through someone’s body language, changes in their appearance and mood, and the look in their eyes. We can witness grief immediately and long after its onset.”

A show of love through light

This holiday season – and beyond – I’m committing to doing just that. Not only for my loved ones but for those like Neustadt who face increased antisemitism and grieving in fear. That’s why, in addition to lighting my Christmas tree this December, I also lit the candles of my very first menorah. I hoped that like the act of shiva, my action would signal, “I see you, I see your grief." According to Project Menorah, a grassroots effort encouraging non-Jews to support their Jewish friends and neighbors, thousands of other households did the same.

In the sum of such acts, perhaps we not only help others to feel less alone, but we help ourselves feel more connected, too; not just to our friends and neighbors, but to our global community.

In this way, I see bearing witness in a new light, as not only an important act of humanity but an important act for humanity.

This season and beyond, I hope you do too.