Navigating Grief in Divided Times

Reflecting on Charlie Kirk and the Ritual of Mourning.

Charlie Kirk, who was 31, regularly observed the Jewish Sabbath. It was a small but powerful detail amidst the profiles that emerged after news of his untimely death on Wednesday. Each week, from Friday to Saturday evenings, Kirk would unplug from technology, dedicating time to his family and resting.

This was unexpected to me, as Kirk was known for his evangelical Christian beliefs. Yet, there was something deeply touching about a prominent Christian leader sharing in a tradition long cherished by Jews like myself. I found a video of Kirk explaining his connection to the Sabbath, and he was working on a book, planned for a December release, discussing its transformative power.

As we anxiously refreshed our devices, seeking updates—the shooter remains at large as I pen this—Kirk’s most provocative remarks flooded my feed. Simultaneously, heartfelt defenses of him poured in from his political allies, friends, and admirers.

Yet the image of his wife now without her husband and his children without their father stripped away the noise of those controversies. It was a profound sadness.

Sabbath, after all, is more than just a pause. It’s a deliberate act of stepping back from the ceaseless churn of contemporary life, prioritizing family bonds and spiritual reflection over the grind of productivity and societal demands. For 24 hours weekly, Kirk chose to disengage from the platforms that propelled him to fame.

Creating Space for Grief's Complexity

This withdrawal, this sacred time for contemplation, evoked another practice for me: the Jewish mourning ritual of Shiva. Beginning immediately after a person’s passing, Shiva spans seven days where mourners remain at home, receiving friends and family who offer comfort, share memories, and help with daily needs. It’s a time filled with shared meals, prayers, and stories—not just of achievements, but of the deceased’s entire humanity. This comforting yet structured environment has always been a deeply valued part of Judaism for me.

Shiva allows for the complexity of mourning to be acknowledged. It recognizes that grief is not straightforward, and that even those we clashed with or who disappointed us leave holes in our lives. It provides a framework to process loss without oversimplifying or sanitizing the memory of those who have passed.

In this moment, I ponder what Shiva might offer in the context of Kirk's departure. This isn't because my views on his politics are reconciled—they aren’t. Despite his sometimes openly antisemitic remarks, he also confronted young conservatives on conspiratorial theories about Jews and Israel.

Shiva offers the space to sit with these conflicts, without the pressure to resolve them first.

Much about the shooter remains unknown, but what is clear is their decision to settle a conflict through violence rather than dialogue or democratic engagement. This decision is alarming to anyone who values the vision of a harmonious, diverse society, myself included.

Kirk's observance of the Sabbath offers a model to retreat from vehement political conflicts. Shiva, on the other hand, presents a means to embrace complexity, to sincerely mourn while remaining true to our values, and to find our shared humanity even amidst profound disagreements.

The Ritual of Transformation

On the seventh and concluding day of Shiva, mourners traditionally take a symbolic walk, marking the return to everyday life. In Jewish belief, mourning duties are tied to blood relations irrespective of their nature. One must mourn a parent despite a troubled history, or a sibling despite personal grievances or deep-seated conflicts. This is because mourning transcends personal relationships, serving the greater mandate to honor familial bonds and communal loss.

Though Kirk may not align with our political affiliations, mourning his death can be seen as a duty to the broader community—in this context, our nation.

Even when acknowledging that certain relationships were damaging, Jewish customs focus on the purpose of mourning: honoring the deceased while nurturing the living. It offers room to navigate conflicted emotions, supports the community through trauma, and provides a structure for healing. Our responsibility is dual—honoring the person lost and aiding the living.

This principle extends beyond family ties. While Kirk may not belong to everyone’s political group, understanding his loss as a community obligation—and indeed, a national one—is crucial. A person was shot while delivering a speech. This horrifying act should unsettle us all, reducing our collective sense of safety.

My thoughts often return to Kirk’s children, who will grow with only the echoes of his stories. They will bear not just his absence, but the complicated legacy of his public life.

Perhaps Shiva's true significance is in its reflection of grief’s inherent messiness—not as a symbol of political restoration but as an acceptance that mourning is not tidy. It doesn’t require closure or complete understanding of our feelings about the deceased. It allows us to sit with that ambiguity. It acknowledges that we can despise someone’s beliefs yet still be unsettled by their violent end. We can oppose their views yet feel the deep injustice of their loss.

Both Sabbath and Shiva serve to remind us that existence goes beyond politics, and death is more significant than merely a dispute concluded.