Have you ever wondered what it is like to walk around in a country where the air itself carries fear?

In Israel these days, there is a collective emotional climate that lives between people. It is not only the ordinary anxieties that individuals carry in their private lives. It is something shared, something atmospheric. A tension that moves through streets, through homes, through conversations in grocery stores and playgrounds.

It is the feeling of listening for sirens.

It is the question that quietly repeats itself in the mind: Where are my children? Where are my parents? Are the people I love safe?

It is the habit of checking the news not for information, but for reassurance — scanning names and places to confirm that no one you know was hurt.

And yet, life continues.

There are mornings when you stand at the door of your home debating whether to go to work. You calculate the distance. Twenty minutes. Should you go?

Perhaps you go because you need to feel normal again. Perhaps you go because you have been inside too many days in a row. Perhaps you go because maintaining a rhythm of work feels like a small act of dignity in the midst of chaos.

The road is quieter than usual. Your thoughts move between ordinary tasks and quiet worry.

Then the siren begins.

A long rising sound that changes the atmosphere instantly.

Cars slow. Drivers pull over. Doors open.

You step out of the car and lie flat on the ground beside the highway.

The woman in the car in front of you does the same.

You do not know her. You may never meet her again.

But in that moment, you look at each other.

The siren echoes across the empty road, and there is a silent exchange in the thick air between you:

I see you. I know you are afraid. I am here too.

For a brief moment, two strangers become witnesses to each other’s humanity.

And perhaps, without realizing it, this is the same quiet human act that takes place whenever one person holds space for another’s experience.

The Human Need to Be Witnessed

There is something profoundly essential about witnessing.

In many ways, human beings exist through the act of being seen.

We witness in order to exist, and we exist through witnessing.

Our bodies do not live in isolation. They exist in relationship, in proximity, in the shared space of human presence. We are constantly receiving and reflecting one another through subtle gestures — a nod, a glance, a breath, a quiet acknowledgment.

This idea of witnessing is also deeply embedded in the art-making

When a person creates art — whether through drawing, movement, music, or writing — the act itself is meaningful. But something transformative happens when another person witnesses that expression.

The witness does not analyze or judge.

The witness receives.

They hold space for what has emerged, allowing the image, movement, or story to exist without interruption.

In that moment, the person who created the work experiences something deeply regulating: My experience has been seen. My expression has been received.

The artwork becomes a bridge between inner experience and shared human presence.

In many ways, the role of the witness in expressive arts therapy reflects the same quiet recognition that occurs between strangers during difficult moments in life: the simple acknowledgment that another human being is here, experiencing something real.

Witnessing in Everyday Life

Witnessing is not limited to therapy rooms or art studios.

It lives in ordinary gestures.

A friend placing a hand on your shoulder. Someone making you a cup of tea. A quiet smile exchanged across a room.

In relationships we witness each other constantly — sometimes through words, sometimes through silence.

Even in our digital world, much of what we do reflects this same longing.

We post messages on Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, or LinkedIn not only to share information, but to be seen.

Each response, each comment, each small reaction becomes a form of witnessing.

I see you. I heard what you shared. Your voice exists in this world.

Behind every post is a human desire that is far older than technology: the need to know that one’s life matters in the eyes of another.

When Witnessing Disappears

When witnessing is absent, suffering grows.

To feel unseen is to feel erased.

It creates a quiet loneliness — a sense that one’s experiences exist without reflection, without recognition, without resonance in the world.

In psychological terms, witnessing helps regulate the nervous system. It signals safety, belonging, and connection.

Without it, people begin to feel invisible.

And invisibility is one of the deepest forms of human pain.

Witnessing in a Time of War

War changes the nature of witnessing.

Suddenly the act of seeing one another becomes an anchor.

Strangers look at each other more often. Conversations become deeper, even with people we have just met. Small gestures carry larger meaning.

When people suddenly find themselves running together toward a bomb shelter during a siren, something unspoken occurs.

No words are necessary.

Two human beings are simply present in the same moment of vulnerability.

They are witnesses to each other’s fear, courage, and survival.

And perhaps this is one of the quiet strengths that emerges during collective trauma.

When external conditions become uncertain, human beings instinctively begin to witness each other more carefully.

A glance becomes reassurance. A shared silence becomes companionship. A simple presence becomes medicine.

But witnessing does not only come from others.

Part of the healing process — especially in expressive arts work — involves learning to witness ourselves.

To sit with our own emotions without immediately trying to fix them.

To observe what arises in our bodies, our memories, our images.

In art making we practice this gently.

A line appears on paper. A color spreads across the page. A movement unfolds through the body.

And instead of rushing forward, we pause.

We allow the experience to exist.

Through this process, individuals begin to develop an inner witness — a compassionate presence inside themselves that can hold their emotions without becoming overwhelmed.

This internal witness becomes an important resource during difficult times.

To Witness Is to Stay Human

In times of war, fear can easily dominate the landscape of daily life.

But the act of witnessing keeps something essential alive.

It reminds us that even in moments of uncertainty, human beings continue to see one another.

A stranger on the highway. A friend making tea. A therapist holding space for a client’s artwork. A quiet nod between two people who understand more than words can say.

These moments may seem small.

Yet they are the threads that hold humanity together.

To witness another person is to acknowledge their existence.

And in doing so, we remind ourselves of our own.

The Quiet Power of Witnessing

Perhaps this is why expressive arts practices place such importance on witnessing. When we create — through image, movement, sound, or words — we are not only expressing something internal. We are allowing our inner world to become visible, to take form in a way that can be received.

In times of uncertainty, this act becomes even more meaningful. When we pause to witness another person’s expression, we are doing more than observing. We are affirming their existence, their experience, their humanity.

And perhaps this is one of the most profound forms of resilience available to us.

Not heroic acts. Not grand solutions.

But the simple, courageous act of staying present with one another.

And in doing so, to remember that even in the midst of fear, we are still deeply, irrevocably human.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)