By Miranda Alperstein
Twenty children and six adults.
I repeated these numbers in my head for two weeks after the tragedy that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School on Dec. 14. I hoped that at some moment, I would suddenly understand the full weight of that loss. I would feel empathy for the family of those who died on that day. My eyes welled up as I watched news coverage of the event; I was moved to see the nation come together in grief.
But I never found that moment of comprehension, and I was plagued by guilt. I tried to imagine myself in various situations a mother, a sister, a friend of a victim but I still could not relate.
The public turned its attention to gun control, and the nation became divided once again. The issue was now a political one, and I forgot about my inability to comprehend the tragedy. I tried instead to wrap my mind around the complex issues of the Second Amendment, effectiveness of a ban, and where government can intervene.
Just around the time that President Obama proposed his plan for universal background checks and a ban on military-style assault weapons and high-capacity magazines, I watched a fictional episode of “The West Wing” made in 1999 that followed the White House’s efforts to pass almost identical legislation. It dawned on me how prevalent in our history the issue of gun control is, and I was reminded of the catalyst of these policy debates: the shooting at Sandy Hook.
When I was in eighth grade, my class took a trip to Washington, D.C., and, of course, one of our stops was the Holocaust Museum. My family is Jewish and I went in prepared to be moved profoundly by images and stories preserved in the museum’s exhibits. Yet I found the experience more informative than emotional. As I passed a particularly jarring display of the shoes of Holocaust victims, I wondered, why can’t I feel how I am supposed to feel? Why am I not crying?
Months later, as I sat in my bed reading “The Diary of Anne Frank,” I made one small step towards “comprehension.” I related to Anne; her voice was honest and her experience was so real that I could finally empathize. For just a moment, I imagined millions of stories like Anne Frank’s and I understood. And while that moment of understanding was brief, it left me reassured. Appreciating tragedy is incredibly difficult.
Twenty children and six adults.
Six million Jews.
I can continue to repeat those numbers in my head, but I know I cannot force an emotional reaction. I am just 17, and I am incredibly lucky that in my short life, I have not experienced the kind of loss that allows me to personally relate to tragedy. But I can still appreciate the awfulness of what happened in Newtown, Connecticut.
I know I can never presume to understand someone else’s loss, and an effort to search for that understanding can only result in a confusing mix of genuine and fabricated emotion. I cannot wait for that “moment of comprehension,” since who knows if it’ll ever come? I must instead move forward, forming idea and opinions of how to improve the system to prevent tragedies like the one at Sandy Hook.
Miranda Alperstein is a senior at Princeton High School.