In recent days it seems everyone is talking about it: On social media, in studios, in hallway conversations, the question comes up again and again: Is it allowed to complain during a war? There are those who say: "Of course not. Get a grip! The home front must be strong and show patience toward the army and the political leadership." In contrast, there are those who say: "Of course yes. It’s hard for us too. And it’s already been two and a half years of war. How much more can we take?" And the discourse, as often happens, tends to solidify into two camps, and specifically into the two political camps of a torn people.
But reality, like the psyche, is always complex and full of contradictions.
Here come several insights from research on stress and psychological and community resilience. First, there is no single correct way to cope with stress. There are enormous differences between people in their coping styles, and what is effective for one person will not necessarily be effective for another. There are those who rely on discipline, on functioning, on "holding the line." And there are those who need to talk in order to endure.
Individual differences are not a problem to be solved. They are a condition for resilience. Because someone who does not act according to their nature will not endure under extreme conditions.
Complaining itself is also not a single phenomenon. Sometimes it really does break things down: It drags into despair, infects others with a sense of helplessness, fuels a discourse of victim-blaming, provides momentary release but leaves emptiness afterward. The literature on emotional regulation teaches that such release does not necessarily ease things. In fact, it tends to deepen distress.
But there is also another kind of complaining: A person says: "It’s hard for me," and at the same time remains in the situation and functions as best as they can. They are afraid, but they do not fall apart. They share, not to escape reality, but to remain within it, only less alone. This is no longer complaining that crumbles. This is complaining that connects. And when examining what predicts long-term coping, again and again we return to the same point: The ability to name what one feels, to hold it within a relationship, and to continue acting.
This is also where the responsibility of leadership comes in. It is completely legitimate for leadership to convey to the public an expectation of resilience – not one that silences difficulty or differing opinions, but resilience that supports continuity of functioning: That systems will work, that life will continue, that we will not stop. But if that is the whole story, we miss half the picture, because national resilience is not only the ability to keep functioning. It is also the ability to hold those who struggle to function.
Leadership does not only demand endurance, it also creates the conditions for endurance: Clear and reasonable guidelines for life on the home front (for example: Whether or not to send children to school), accessible mental health services, community support, and above all a public language that does not confuse solidarity with silencing. Solidarity is not "don’t complain." It is "there is room for your difficulty here as well." Perhaps that is the heart of the matter: The voice that says "it’s hard for me" is not a deviation from the national effort. It is part of it.
So to complain or not? This question, which is now occupying everyone, turns out to be inaccurate. The real question is how to allow multiple ways of being strong, how to express pain without dismantling hope, and how to remain human even when reality is not? Because in the end, a nation is measured not only by its ability and willingness to fight but also by its ability to feel, to express difficulty, to adhere to a reasonable daily routine in the face of risk, and above all to remain together.
Prof. Golan Shahar is a clinical and medical psychologist, a stress researcher, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev and the Yale University School of Medicine in the USA