Every night for the past 300 days, I am grateful that my 2- and 4-year-old sons have gone to sleep safely in our home. 

In Judaism, we count upward — think of the Omer, counting the days between Passover and Shavuot beginning at one and up to 49 — the slow ascension a beautiful reminder that each day matters. But the counting upward we do now is a daily reminder that the incomprehensible suffering of our hostages in Gaza and their families must end. 

Day 240. Courtesy/Ari Sirner

Although my husband Ari and I err on the side of honesty with our inquisitive 4-year-old Rafi, we decided to shield him from the horrors Hamas inflicted on Oct. 7 and every day since. Early that first dark morning, when he said, “Mommy, why are you crying?” I lied and said I stubbed my toe. 

Ari and I were completely delusional, because it didn’t take long for Rafi to ask questions we were woefully unprepared for. 

I thought we were doing a great job of only discussing the war after the kids fell asleep and reading updates behind closed bathroom doors (not that the latter ever worked, considering I haven’t gone to the bathroom alone in years). What we forgot is that Rafi leaves us every day for preschool or camp, experiencing a world that we are not able to curate for him. We did not consider that Rafi had tons of questions and was ready to burst. 

On day 137, Rafi asked why there was a baby picture on a highchair at his preschool. How was I supposed to explain the plight of Kfir Bibas to him? Without letting me respond, he asked, “Did the wicked people steal people?” I quickly said, “There are people in Israel who need our help right now.” He again pressed if people were “stolen.” I lied and said, “No, honey.”

I knew I made the wrong parenting choice for my kid who is always truth-seeking, and I realized that Rafi already knew people were stolen and was looking to me for answers. So Ari and I took on a new approach inspired by Sivan Zakai, who writes that research confirms that talking to kids about difficult current events doesn’t traumatize them: “It makes them more equipped to deal with a world in which that is happening. Our gut reaction is to wrap our children in bubble wrap…but it does more harm than good.” 

On day 140, the following Shabbat afternoon, I told Rafi over a game of Monopoly that I was wrong about our previous conversation. Yes, some people were stolen. He questioned me more, on Kfir’s photo with Ariel Bibas. I said they represent all people in Israel who need our help, and that they are brothers.

“Two brothers, like our family,” Rafi said. My heart could barely take his observation.

Rafi asked where this was happening, so I explained where Gaza is, far from our home in the Philadelphia suburbs. He also wanted to be sure the wicked people live far from Atlanta and Altoona, Penn., which he considers as his second homes because his grandparents live there. 

“Where did the wicked guys put these people?” he asked. I told him they are in apartments, leaving out that they are also deep underground in terror tunnels without light or air.

Since day 137, the questions have continued. His use of the word “wicked” has only ever been used to refer to Haman and Hamas, he so strongly equates the Purim story to what is happening in the world. He wants to know the names of the wicked people. I never thought I would be discussing Yahya Sinwar with my preschooler, but these are unprecedented times in life and in parenthood. 

Every day, Ari and I figure out how best to respond to questions for which there are no good answers. When Rafi asks why people were taken, how do we explain something so unfathomable that evil exists in the world? Rafi asks about God and what happens after you die. I don’t have clear answers for myself about death, yet I am talking to Rafi about what he thinks happens to good people versus wicked people when they “go to the sky.”

A family from Israel came to our neighborhood after Oct. 7 and the son was in Rafi’s class for a few months. A classmate told Rafi there was a fire in Israel, so the moms and kids left. He asked if they were like the fires in Canada, and used Play-Doh to recreate the fires he imagined happening in Israel. When I went to Israel in March with 60 Hillel colleagues, including 16 young Israel engagement IACT campus professionals, Rafi wanted to make sure I visited his friend, who had returned home, to “tell him ‘Rafi says hi.’” 

When Ari and I go out or travel for work, Rafi asks, “Are you going to help Israel?” I commend my child for his empathy and curiosity. I am also heartbroken that such heaviness sits within him. I turn his questions into a chance to relay positivity about Israel and the Jewish people. We sing “Am Yisrael Chai” and discuss the heroes in Israel who saved their friends, family, and strangers’ lives. He sees Israeli flags and hostage signs on lawns and says, “They are our friends.” A few weeks ago, after seeing hostage posters at his camp, Rafi asked, “Mommy and Abba, do those friends in Israel still need our help?”

My family and I think daily of our hostages and pray they come home safely and as soon as possible. This is not normal, and we cannot allow ourselves to become numb to the atrocities they continue to endure. As Eden Golan sings, we should all still be “wet from this October rain.” I can’t wait for the day when I can tell Rafi that all the stolen people have been returned to their families and can sleep safely in their homes.

Rachel Hollander Sirner is the senior director of IACT at Hillel International. She previously served as the associate executive director of Penn Hillel, dedicating over a decade to supporting thousands of college students.