But Why Were They Even There?
One might think that living in a certain place is more dangerous, or that there are people who dare fate. But risk is not blame. As long as people are harmed because of their identity or religion, and not because we chose to jump into a sea teeming with sharks, there is no justification for blaming the victim. Unless the victim is “me.”
Imagine a person who fell victim to an internet scam. For example, me: I ordered an “elliptical” for my wife at three in the morning from an internet company whose name rhymes with a synonym for fraud. After the scam was uncovered, my wife claimed that I should have known in advance. I simply needed to be more careful. In psychology, this is called victim blaming. Although in my case, it is probably a tragic mistake, so the victim is indeed at fault. Blaming a person for internet fraud is not the same as blaming a victim of a violent crime. But the same mechanism also operates when it comes to life itself.
As in the terrible attack on a farm in Gilead last week. A man left his home and did not return. He was not the representative of any side in a dispute, not a representative of government policy, and not a symbol. He was a human being, someone chose to murder. And it is worth focusing on this for a moment, before we rush to explain.
Because instead of condemning the criminal act of terror, there will be those who ask, “But why were they even there?” Apparently, a simple question shifts the center of gravity from a pathetic terrorist to the person who was murdered. Not because the one asking necessarily justifies the killing — the vast majority do not justify it. Rather because our brain has a very hard time accepting a reality in which innocent people are harmed, and it has no reason that could reassure it. Psychology calls this belief in a just world. We want to believe that there is justice in the world. That good people get good things. That whoever behaves properly will be protected. And when someone is harmed, we “seal the deal” with the belief that they had a part in it. Otherwise, it means it could happen to us too. If we don’t go alone to a dark place, if we don’t click the link, if we don’t drive on that road, if we don’t live there. That thought is comforting. Only it has one problem: it is not really true.
As written in the Book of Ecclesiastes: “There is a vanity that is done upon the earth, that there are righteous people who are treated as the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked people who are treated as the deeds of the righteous.” The world does not distribute suffering according to justice. It does not punish only those who made a mistake, and it does not grant immunity to those who acted “correctly.” My grandfather, may he rest in peace, led an especially healthy lifestyle. He barely had time to retire and then became very ill. People are killed despite having done nothing. Children are harmed despite never having committed a crime.
And if the victim had behaved differently? But acknowledging this is frustrating, painful, and leads to helplessness. So we think about situations in which the victim would have behaved differently, and the disaster would have been avoided. In science, this is called counterfactual thinking. In everyday language, people say, “If my aunt had wheels, my uncle wouldn’t have needed to buy a car.” And what is interesting is that we tend to correct in our imagination precisely what the victim did, not the perpetrator.
We are not only trying to understand reality. When it threatens us, we invent a more acceptable version of it. It is easier to identify the mechanism when it is activated by others. For example, those European “liberals” who tend to blame Israel for every attack. Thank God, there are quite a few antisemites. But it’s not only that. And it is not limited to one side. They did it too—those who after October 7 said that the residents of the border communities brought it upon themselves because they believed, provided livelihoods, and helped the enemy.
A simple cognitive trick: turning a terrible catastrophe into a law. Because anyone who acknowledges reality has to deal with the fear that it could happen to them as well. Whereas if the victim is at fault, you can be sure — as long as you don’t do what the victim did, of course.
Nothing justifies terror and murder. One can criticize policy, and one can hold a sharp debate about the occupation and settlements. But none of these questions changes the simple fact: nothing justifies terror and murder. Context can explain reality, but it does not justify it and does not transfer responsibility.
One can also think that living in a certain place is more dangerous, or that there are people who dare fate. But risk is not blame. And as long as people are harmed because of their identity or religion, and not because we chose to jump into a sea teeming with sharks, there is no justification for blaming the victim. Unless the victim is “me.”
Albert Camus wrote about suffering that is not distributed according to merit, and about human beings who demand from the world justice that it does not know how to give. Abraham’s outcry—“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do justice?”—asks God for justice. But as Tona wrote, we asked for justice and we got the earth. And on the earth, people are harmed not because they did something wrong, but because they are unlucky, or because someone else chose to do the wrong thing.
And perhaps this is the truth that is hardest for us to accept. Not because it is wrong, but because it reminds us that in the world there is no guarantee at all that if we are “fine,” we will also be safe. And in this, certainly, the victim is not to blame.
The writer is an expert in behavioral economics and decision-making, a faculty member at the Baruch Ivcher School of Psychology at Reichman University.
