October 7, 2023, is already a defining moment for Israelis and Jews around the world. The scale of the trauma—with lives lost, communities shattered, and hostages still waiting to come home—is ongoing. But how we choose to frame this event will determine its long-term impact on our collective identity. Will it be a wound that defines us, or a point from which we rise?
Growing up, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. Most of my grandparents were kicked out of the countries they had lived in for generations—expelled, displaced, and forced to leave behind the lives they had built. Their exile wasn’t just a family story; it became a part of me. It was central to how I saw myself—homeless, in a way, even when I had a roof over my head. That sense of homelessness, of needing a place where I could truly feel secure, is what ultimately led me to move to Israel. Here, for the first time, I felt that Jews had a home.
This personal experience is an example of what psychologists call event centrality: when a life event becomes a core part of your identity, shaping your thoughts, decisions, and emotional landscape. Sometimes, that centrality pushes us toward growth—as it did for me—but other times, it can trap individuals and communities in cycles of trauma. October 7 has the potential to become one of those defining moments. The question is, how do we ensure that it doesn’t limit who we are and who we can become?
To answer that, we need to learn from history—from past traumas, collective experiences, and psychological research. We need to be intentional about how we frame this event and the stories we tell ourselves and our children.
Understanding Event Centrality: A Psychological Perspective
Research on event centrality, especially by Berntsen and Rubin (2006), shows that when a traumatic event becomes deeply embedded in someone’s identity, it increases the risk of long-term psychological distress, including PTSD. The more central the event, the harder it is to move beyond it. But this isn’t just an individual issue; it can happen at the collective level too. Entire communities can be shaped by how they frame a shared trauma.
I recently discussed this with Prof. Milton Wainberg, Professor of Clinical Psychiatry at Columbia University/New York State Psychiatric Institute, who has studied trauma and its long-term effects. He emphasized how centrality shapes intergenerational risks: “If your life is about the Holocaust, even if you don’t have PTSD, depression, or anxiety, it absolutely has an impact on the children developing risk for depression, anxiety, and PTSD.” He added, “Right now, what’s going on is event centrality, obviously, for millions of people.”
The trauma of October 7 is ongoing—we cannot ignore the fact that hostages remain captive and families live in uncertainty. This continuous exposure to conflict and security threats are impacting the population’s ability to show resilient responses. This amplifies the risk of event centrality embedding itself deeply in the national psyche. If we allow this event to dominate our identity, we risk framing ourselves as a people defined by victimhood and fear, rather than strength and resilience.
Lessons from Historical Traumas
The Holocaust is perhaps the most significant example of event centrality within the Jewish collective identity. Its lessons, its pain, and its warnings have shaped countless decisions—from policies on immigration to the way Israel approaches security. But there’s also a risk: when trauma becomes too central, it can narrow the narrative. Instead of being a people who survived and rebuilt, we risk becoming a people defined by what we lost.
The key lesson here is balance. We must honor memory, but we also need to highlight the stories of resilience, rebuilding, of culture and creativity, of life flourishing again. That balance is what ensures that trauma doesn’t suffocate growth.
The Yom Kippur War in 1973 was another turning point for Israel’s national psyche. Overnight, a sense of invincibility was replaced with vulnerability. Songs like “ילדי החורף 1973” ("Children of the Winter of 1973") captured that emotional shift, reflecting a generation growing up in the shadow of war. We see echoes of that today, with songs like “ילדי החרף 2023” emerging in response to October 7. These cultural narratives are powerful—they can shape how an entire generation sees its place in the world. But we need to be careful. Are we reinforcing fear and trauma, or are we telling stories that emphasize resilience, agency, and hope?
In the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide, the country faced a choice: remain trapped in grief and division, or build a narrative of reconciliation and growth. Through national efforts focused on economic development, education, and unity, Rwanda has managed to shift its identity from one of trauma to one of recovery. This doesn’t mean forgetting the past—far from it. But it shows the importance of how a nation frames its trauma. Rwanda’s approach reminds us that recovery is possible when narratives focus on healing and rebuilding.
How to Frame October 7 for a Resilient Future
We need to be intentional about how we frame October 7 in our collective memory. If we’re not, we risk over-centralizing it, making it a permanent source of fear and division.
A study by Gilboa Schechtman et al. (November 2024) examined the psychological impact of the October 7 attacks on Israel, focusing on how event centrality influences long-term distress.
They found that event centrality at three months (T1) strongly predicted distress at seven months (T2), even after controlling for initial distress, suggesting that when traumatic events become central to one’s identity, they may lead to sustained or worsening symptoms over time. High event centrality was associated with maladaptive coping mechanisms, such as rumination and avoidance, which can worsen distress and delay recovery.
The study highlights the importance of narrative-based interventions to help individuals reframe traumatic events, reducing their centrality and preventing them from becoming core aspects of identity, thereby promoting long-term healing. The way we talk about October 7 in the media, in schools, and in our communities will shape its centrality.
Instead of focusing solely on victimhood, we need to highlight stories of heroism, community solidarity, and rebuilding. We should tell the stories of people who saved lives, of communities that came together to support survivors, and of the resilience that defines us. “Psychotherapies and psychoeducation don’t just heal individuals—they can break the cycle of trauma transmission, preventing its impact from reaching future generations. Hope and resilience are powerful buffers—when survivors and their offspring develop these strengths, they can reduce the intergenerational effects of trauma.” explains Prof. Wainberg.
For teenagers and young adults, October 7 will likely be a defining event. But we have a choice in how we educate them about it. Instead of instilling fear, we can focus on teaching them about resilience, problem-solving, and collective responsibility. Programs that emphasize national service, innovation, and community rebuilding can help ensure that they see this moment as a call to action, not a lifelong wound.
We also need to integrate trauma recovery into our national strategy, ensuring that mental health services are accessible and effective. But recovery isn’t just about therapy—it’s about creating environments where people feel safe, supported, and empowered to move forward.
Prof. Wainberg highlighted the urgency of addressing this: “As time passes by, if we don’t do that, our children and grandchildren will be suffering, and it’s not the mental illness of their parents or grandparents—it’s theirs.” He emphasized that how we view the event on a daily basis matters: “There’s an element of how we view it in our lives on a regular basis as determining us, and that is the problem in transmission.”
Conclusion: Building a Future Beyond Trauma
We can’t choose the events that define our history, but we can choose how we respond. Growing up, I felt defined by my family’s displacement. It shaped me, but it didn’t have to limit me. Moving to Israel taught me that identity can be built on something more than trauma—on belonging, on building, on hope.
October 7 will always be part of our story. But it doesn’t have to define us. If we focus on resilience, on the stories of people who rose to the occasion, and on the communities that rebuilt stronger, we can ensure that this moment becomes a chapter in a story of growth, not an ending. Let’s make sure that when future generations look back, they see a people who were hurt—but who healed, who built, and who thrived.
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