It’s personal: Why Bibas murders rock us to our core

Two little redheaded brothers and their terrified mother is an image ingrained on our minds since 7 October 2023. Amid the devastating return of the bodies of Ariel, Kfir and Shiri Bibas and the news of their brutal murders, we’re mourning a family we didn’t know but embraced as our own.

As the Bibas family bury a baby, a four-year-old and their loving mother, we examine why we’ve been so deeply affected by their story.

“Until the forensics came through, the Bibas family asked the world not to declare Shiri, Kfir and Ariel as dead,” wrote Rabba Adina Roth. In her parsha reflection, written as the Bibas boys’ bodies were identified on 21 February, she contemplated the impact of this request.

“By refusing to allow for the possibility of death, the Bibas family gave us a great gift. We all held onto their life. We got to know Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir. We fell in love with them. Strangely, in refusing to allow for the possibility of their death, the family extended their lives in our collective imagination and allowed us to resist the murderous Hamas impulse. Hamas wanted us to despair. But we wore orange, we drew beautiful images of the family, we spread their message around the world. Their extended life helped us voice outrage, demand justice and feel love.”

Yet with this love came devastation. The powerful bond that exists within our Jewish community makes another family’s sorrow feel personal, says South African psychologist Dr Hanan Bushkin. Confirmation of the Bibas deaths shattered hope and left many grappling with a heightened sense of grief and vulnerability.

“Our hearts naturally react,” he says. “We picture ourselves in their place, sharing the same hopes and fears, which triggers a real wave of distress. In this way, the sadness becomes communal, reflecting our collective concern and urge to stand together in the face of sorrow.”

“The profound emotional response is a striking example of vicarious trauma, or secondary traumatic stress,” says specialist wellness counsellor Jody Eiser. “When we engage deeply with [the Bibas family’s] suffering, whether through news reports, social media or personal connection, we don’t just acknowledge their pain, we begin to feel it. Human empathy allows us to internalise others’ experiences even when we haven’t personally endured them.

“Our brains process these stories in ways similar to direct trauma. The more we expose ourselves to distressing details such as prolonged captivity, the suffering of the children and the family’s devastating loss, the more deeply these narratives imprint on us,” Eiser says.

The sometimes-overwhelming sense of powerlessness that vicarious trauma brings can lead to frustration, despair and existential questioning, she says. “This is why self-care and community support are essential for those who engage with traumatic stories. It’s crucial to balance engagement with moments of rest and connection.”

“Seeking out supportive conversations, setting limits on exposure to distressing content and finding ways to contribute meaningfully, whether through awareness, action or solidarity, can help process these emotions in a healthy way.” Both Bushkin and Eiser suggest seeking professional support if the sadness becomes too heavy or you’re having trouble navigating complex emotions.

The Bibas story has resonated particularly strongly with Sivan Lapidus, a Johannesburg-based mother of two. “From the moment I heard the story, it shook me,” she says. As a Jew, she says, part of the shock was realising that the Bibas family’s only crime was being Jewish, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Being the mother of two boys similar in age, I couldn’t unsee myself and my boys in the photos and videos of them,” says Lapidus. “For 15 months, I’ve looked at my own boys and seen flashes of the Bibas boys. I’ve found myself holding my boys a little tighter, a little longer, and being a little more patient.

“My youngest even has curly red hair, similar to Ariel. Every time I watched my son running away, his uncut red hair flowing behind him, I would see that video of Ariel running in his Batman cape.

“Day to day life has to go on,” Lapidus says. “But I carry around a deep sense of sadness and pain that I can’t seem to shake. It manifests itself in a sort of feeling of heaviness and exhaustion.”

She protects herself where possible. “I chose not to watch the release of the bodies. I saw photos after the fact, which was more than enough.” Expressing herself on social media is also effective in lightening the load, Lapidus says.

Wendy Kahn, the national director of the South African Jewish Board of Deputies (SAJBD), recalls regularly wearing an Ariel Bibas shirt as she raised awareness of the children impacted by the massacre of 7 October. “In February 2024, I visited the Bibas home in Nir Oz, and saw the toys outside their burned home,” she says.

Kahn was also in Israel, at Hostages Square, when the bodies were released. “We all felt that the Bibas family were part of our family,” she said in video recorded as the mourner’s Kaddish was recited at the square. “This is everybody’s Kaddish.”

Danny Mofsowitz, a mother and the chairperson of the SAJBD’s Gauteng Council, reflects how Shiri wrapped her babies in a protective embrace when they were taken by gun-wielding terrorists. “As mothers, we all recognised that instinctive, lioness-like protection of a mother for her babies.”

Not only are we devastated by their loss, but South African Jews have the added pain of feeling betrayed by our government, she says. “Yet, we’ve also had enormous support from South Africans who have recognised our pain and comforted us.”

With tragedy comes renewed faith, Mofsowitz says. “There’s enormous strength that has been built from generations of Jews’ surviving those who want to destroy us. Our generation has been reminded of this.”