A month after our synagogue was attacked, the hardest part has been everything that came after

JTA – It has been a month since 12 March and there is a story unfolding at Temple Israel in Michigan, United States, that most people would not be aware of. 

It’s not the headlines or the immediate aftermath; it’s the quiet, complicated reality of daily life that followed for our families, our faculty, staff, and clergy. We are living it every day. 

For many parents, the preschool’s closure – from the moment our building was rammed by a truck on the afternoon of 12 March through our anticipated reopening off-site in the coming days – has meant scrambling to figure out something no one planned for: a full month of unexpected childcare. 

Yes, spring break – aligned with the Passover holiday – was already on the calendar. But that still left weeks of disruption layered on top of already busy lives. It hasn’t been easy. 

And yet amid that challenge, something beautiful has happened. Businesses and community members stepped up. Play dates and functions were organised across the metro Detroit area. Families found ways to gather, to support one another, to create moments of community even when nothing felt normal. 

As our clergy have shared multiple times since the attack, Temple Israel doesn’t exist only within walls; it lives in how we show up for each other. 

Our faculty members are feeling it, too. They want closure to the school year. They want to be with their pupils for those final weeks of the school year, the moments that matter, that bring meaning and completion. 

The faculty and staff of our preschool have been hard at work in recent weeks to finish the year in a different space, outside of the comfort and familiarity that makes Temple Israel feel like home. It will feel different. Some classes will be sharing spaces. The routines for anyone in touch with our school will not be the same. There’s no way around that. 

Behind the scenes, our staff is carrying a burden that many don’t fully realise, and is a story in itself, which our leadership has made efforts to share on why Temple Israel, beyond its physical space, is not operating as it would have before 12 March. 

More than half of our team was in the building that day. They aren’t just employees navigating logistics; they are individuals processing trauma. The very people we rely on to keep everything running are, themselves, deeply affected. 

While some have jumped at the work to keep their minds occupied, others struggle with the thought of interacting with other people or wrestling with the idea of how working in a different space will feel. 

Temple Israel was where they felt safest. It was where they understood the rhythm of daily life. 

Much like our preschool faculty and children, our clergy and staff are making their way to a temporary facility that, as necessary as it is, doesn’t hold that same sense of grounding. Knowing that it is “temporary” as we anxiously wait to return to our “home”, it never will be. 

Along the way, we have done what is important by putting people first. We have done surveys of our staff, we have held listening circles, and we have been together to help one another piece together our collective stories. 

We have brought in experts who are familiar with working with victims of mass violence, and are providing additional tools to our lay leaders, faculty, staff, and clergy. 

We are checking in. We are trying to meet people where they are, knowing that everyone, regardless of their role and where they were on 12 March, is in a different place. 

There isn’t a single solution or a one-size-fits-all path forward. Just the ongoing work of care, flexibility, and compassion. 

This is the part of the story that doesn’t make headlines. 

Insurance can help replace things. It cannot heal people. The real impact of 12 March is showing up in car pools and calendar juggling, in anxious moments and difficult decisions, in resilience and exhaustion all at once. There is no doubt this is a heavy load and there is no playbook for it. 

I have told the faculty and staff we are not going to be perfect; that we as a community are going to do our best to move forward while still carrying what happened with us. 

And maybe that’s the story worth telling. Not just what happened that day, but what it means to live through the days after – and to keep showing up anyway. 

• The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the SA Jewish Report, JTA, or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.