The Hatzalah psychotrauma unit: “Essentially, our first encounter is with people in shock”

Photo: Flash90

In the two weeks since the Iranian onslaught against Israel, we’ve all seen how thousands of people miraculously staggered out of the rubble dazed yet unscathed, while their homes came crashing down around them, and we think, “Thank G-d it wasn’t my house.” Because really, how does anyone have the emotional capacity to face the next day after such devastation?

We’ve all seen the horrifying images of utter devastation after an Iranian missile attack. Entire buildings wrecked, roofs and walls collapsed, outer facings of apartment complexed ripped away. And if you live in Israel, once you emerge from your secure space with the all-clear signal after hearing the too-close-for-comfort blasts and realize your home is actually in one piece, you breathe a grateful, almost desperate sigh of relief. “Thank G-d it wasn’t my house. I could never cope with such a catastrophe.”

But thousands of Israelis haven’t had that luxury. Over 10,000 are currently homeless, forced to leave their destroyed or damaged homes and living in hotels arranged by their local municipalities. And while there have been 24 deaths and several dozen casualties in moderate to serious condition, the numbers are nature-defying — every one of those sites logically should have been a mass-casualty event.

Yet when those thousands over the past week miraculously staggered out of the rubble dazed yet unscathed, they looked behind them only to see their entire material world crumbled, blasted apart within seconds by a ballistic missile. How do people have the emotional capacity to put one foot in front of the other and move on to the next stage, to the next day, after such devastation?

“All of us have untapped reserves of resilience,” says Uriel Belams, a longtime Hatzalah member and care provider with the organization’s psychotrauma unit, which affords psychological first aid in the initial minutes following an attack or traumatic event. “The greatest service we can provide at this time is helping the survivors to access them.”

He says that his initial encounter with someone who’s home has been destroyed is about breaking the traumatic event into containable sections.

“Essentially, our first encounter is with people who are in shock,” says Belams, whose immediate goal is emotional stabilization when there are so many pieces vying for space in the person’s psyche. “There’s the shock and the confusion, there is the actual explosion, there are the few seconds of utter destruction, there is the pain and horror, there is the realization that all this person’s possessions are gone, and there’s an overwhelm of total helplessness — Where will I sleep tonight, what will I do tomorrow, where can I sit now for five minutes, where can my kids get some water, where are my glasses? Where are my shoes? And there might also be physical pain or injury.”

In facing all this helplessness and feeling of paralysis, Belams says his goal — and that of the dozens of trained professionals who make up the psychotrauma unit — is to help the survivors access small pieces of their own inner strength.

In his private life, Uriel Belams, 45, is an educational consultant, therapist, and advisor in a high school for challenged youth. He also works with the Ministry of Education creating protocols to help prepare institutions for emergency scenarios.

“But nothing,” he admits, “really prepares you for this.”