Losing a Brother, Finding a Family

I recently joined a group of young adults bereaved by terrorism who traveled with OneFamily to Sri Lanka for a deeply therapeutic experience. All of the participants have lost a loved one to terrorism, and this trip provided more than just a break from daily life. It offered a vital space for healing, connection, and renewal. The participants, slowly but surely, formed a new community of peers who truly understand each other’s pain and will stand by one another as they navigate grief. I myself am a survivor of terrorism, and it was an honor to be part of this experience. Here are my reflections on the intense and meaningful journey.

What does it mean to lose a brother?

To lose a piece of your heart that grew and flourished with you. That brother who annoyed you as a child and made you angry. That brother who stood behind you in synagogue, tugged on your tallit, and made you laugh. That sister who called you in the middle of the day just to check in, but you didn’t answer, and you never called back, because you were always too busy. That sister who always made sure to leave you one last slice of pizza in the fridge after dinner when you weren’t home…

That brother who one day, quietly and humbly, packed his things, walked out the door, and never returned.

Darkness.

Questions with no answers.

He’ll never see my children? Maybe he’ll still reply to my WhatsApp? Should I delete his number from my phone? When was the last time I told him I loved him, if I ever did?

That haunting line on my screen: “Last seen at 10:08.” Frozen in time. Never to change.

How do I move forward from here?

Why didn’t I answer him? Why wasn’t I there when she needed me to reach out and save her? What were his last thoughts? Did she suffer? Please, come to me in a dream and tell me you didn’t suffer. Why didn’t I hug you that day when I randomly ran into you in the neighborhood?

I envy your friends, my brother. Maybe they were closer to you than I was.

The longing is suffocating and relentless. How do I overcome it? How do I zoom out and deal with the guilt?

They sit together at night, listening to the wind and the crashing waves, with guitars and songs. Laughing and crying. Talking and sharing.

Only here, in this group of peers, can they feel normal. Here, they are not different. Here, they can receive a hug from someone who won’t judge them. Here, they can return to a safe place. Here, they can reveal a secret:

“My brother, even if I never said it or didn’t say it enough, know this:
I love you. And I want to shout it so the whole world can hear!”

But the scream is silent. It turns inward.

Each of them lost a brother or sister. With no warning. With no tools to process the unimaginable. A knock on the door, and from that moment on, only a desperate wish to wake up from a nightmare.

But it’s not a nightmare. It’s a new reality. A reality they must learn to live with. They must learn quickly before they fall, like a baby just beginning to stand on its own two feet.

They are in the midst of a journey, fighting a relentless, merciless enemy that never tires and never gives up. A war against grief and the trauma of loss that has settled at their doorstep.

This is not a vacation. This is a journey.

A journey of survival. A journey that saves lives. A journey that allows them to take a deep breath. A journey that changes and reshapes them.

On the first day of the journey and on the last, they are different people. You can see it. You can feel it. A new gaze. A more genuine smile. Eyes that sparkle, because eyes never lie.

We return home, each carrying a new set of tools.

We return home, each with many new brothers and sisters for life.

We return home, and even if just for a moment, we stopped and breathed. We hugged and connected. We held each other up. We learned to stand tall, to feel the ground beneath our feet.

And that alone would have been enough.

We return home, ready to live this new life, with a new family.

OneFamily.