Obesity: a disease of the brain?

Kullmann et al. A short-term, high-caloric diet has prolonged effects on brain insulin action in men. Nature Metabolism, February 2025.

Obesity is a growing disease associated with serious illnesses like diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. The World Health Organization has labeled obesity an epidemic, affecting over a billion people worldwide. Obesity is defined by a body mass index (BMI) of 30 or higher, often attributed to poor diet and lack of exercise. However, the underlying biological mechanisms are more complex, particularly regarding the brain’s sensitivity to insulin. A recent study found that even short-term consumption of highly processed foods, such as chocolate bars and potato chips, can significantly alter brain function in healthy individuals, potentially triggering obesity and type 2 diabetes. Normally, insulin suppresses appetite, but in obese individuals, it fails to regulate eating behavior, leading to insulin resistance. The study also revealed that after just five days of high-calorie intake, the brain’s insulin sensitivity in healthy individuals decreased similarly to that observed in obese people. This effect persisted even after returning to a balanced diet for a week. The study involved 29 healthy-weight male participants divided into two groups. One group consumed an additional 1,500 kcal per day from processed snacks for five days, while the control group maintained its regular diet. MRI scans showed increased liver fat in the high-calorie group and a significant reduction in brain insulin sensitivity, which remained even after returning to normal eating habits. Scientists emphasize that the brain’s insulin response adapts to short-term dietary changes before weight gain occurs, highlighting the need for further research into obesity’s neurological factors.

Inheritance of Trauma Through Genes

Mulligan et al. Epigenetic signatures of intergenerational exposure to violence in three generations of Syrian refugees, Scientific Reports, February 2025.

In 1982, the Syrian government carried out a brutal siege in Hama, killing tens of thousands. Beyond the historical and political repercussions, the violence left a hidden impact—one embedded in the genes of Syrian families. A groundbreaking study has now shown that the trauma experienced by pregnant women during the siege has left genetic marks on their grandchildren, supporting the idea that stress and violence can have long-term biological effects. This study explored how trauma is passed across generations through epigenetics, a process in which chemical markers alter gene expression in response to stress. While animal studies have demonstrated the inheritance of stress-induced epigenetic changes, proving it in humans has been challenging. To investigate, researchers studied three generations of Syrian refugees, comparing families who survived the Hama massacre, those affected by the recent civil war, and a control group who immigrated to Jordan before 1980. They collected DNA samples from 138 individuals across 48 families, focusing on mothers and grandmothers who were pregnant during violent events and their children. They discovered 14 specific areas in the genome of the grandchildren of Hama survivors that bore stress-induced modifications. Additionally, 21 epigenetic sites were altered in those who directly experienced violence. Another finding showed that individuals exposed to violence in the womb exhibited signs of accelerated biological aging, potentially increasing their vulnerability to age-related diseases. While the long-term effects of these modifications remain uncertain, past research suggests links between stress-induced epigenetic changes and health conditions like diabetes and obesity. A well-known study on Dutch famine survivors found similar genetic imprints affecting their offspring’s metabolism. Beyond scientific discovery, the study highlights the resilience of affected families. Despite enduring immense hardship, they continue to build meaningful lives. These findings are likely relevant beyond war zones, shedding light on how various forms of violence—domestic abuse and gun violence—can have lasting biological consequences.

The New Hypothesis for Mars’ Red Color Suggests a Once-Habitable Past

Valantinas et al. Detection of ferrihydrite in Martian red dust records ancient cold and wet conditions on Mars. Nature Communications, February 2025.

Mars’ iconic red color has long fascinated scientists, and a new study suggests that the water-rich iron mineral ferrihydrite may be responsible for the planet’s reddish hue. A recent work challenges the prevailing theory that hematite, a dry, rust-like mineral, is the primary cause. Ferrihydrite forms in water-rich environments, unlike hematite, which typically develops in drier conditions. This discovery supports the idea that Mars once had liquid water and a more habitable environment. The findings suggest that Mars transitioned from a wetter past to its current cold and arid state billions of years ago. To reach their conclusion, researchers analyzed data from multiple Mars missions, including NASA’s Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter and rovers like Curiosity and Opportunity. They combined spectral observations from orbiters with ground-level measurements and conducted lab simulations, recreating Martian dust to study how light interacts with ferrihydrite. By grinding minerals to submicron sizes—1/100th the width of a human hair—the team replicated the fine Martian dust, confirming that its light reflection closely matches observations from Mars. This discovery opens new possibilities for understanding Mars’ ancient climate and habitability. Since ferrihydrite forms in the presence of water and oxygen, its widespread presence suggests Mars had conditions far different from its current dry and cold landscape. The findings may also help answer fundamental questions about whether Mars once supported life. However, final confirmation awaits the return of Martian samples, currently being collected by the Perseverance rover. These samples could definitively determine whether ferrihydrite is the key to Mars’ red dust, unlocking more secrets about the planet’s history.

I am certain that if, two hours ago, I hadn’t seen it happen right in front of my eyes, my guts tied in a one-handed surgical knot, I too would chalk up my three-year-old’s complaint of abdominal pain to a case of good-old constipation. A nuisance, especially at a family reunion, but certainly not a medical emergency.

“What did he eat on the way?” my mother asked. She practically raised all four of us on her own—no family, no village, and no husband (at least not until late at night, when we’d all be asleep anyway).

“Pretty much just candy and chips. Very little water. I didn’t make him either—the rest stop bathrooms have gotten gross.”

I push away my ER attending voice that would, in a different place, be reprimanding an intern’s lack of attention-to-detail: three-year-old, history of recent trauma, persistent abdominal pain—what’s up there on your differential?

But trauma—could it really be classified as such?

Only if I hadn’t seen it happen.

For the last two hours, the mental movie of the ill-timed incident has thwarted my best efforts at pausing it, and now, it plays again.

My toddler, Aariz, small for his true age but growing well on the adjusted preterm chart, runs down the long staircase of the rental we have just entered. We stroll from room to room, exploring with childlike curiosity our five-bedroom home away from home for the next week. My brother’s family should get the master room, my parents say, and I agree. With three little kids, they need the space.

“You think we can take the one downstairs?” my sister asks me, and I know right away why she is asking. A single mother of two, her life revolves around accommodating her ten-year-old with autism. She has just started him on a new medication, which apart from increasing his appetite, must also have led to stiff ankle joints. Stairs would be difficult for him.

“Sure, no problem,” I say.

My nephew, his hands flapping in the air, dashes directly towards my son. I see the carefree look on his face and know he has no plans of stopping or avoiding the inevitable. They crash into each other near the landing, my son falling backwards from the impact, my nephew standing over him, waiting for the wailing to begin. Hands over his ears, he runs away right when it begins, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that manages to pierce every capillary in my heart.

His complaint began right away. No improvement since, and nothing seems to make it better.

Generalized abdominal pain; persistent; intractable.

“Give him some castor oil,” my mother’s voice interjects the interaction in my head: my resident presenting, me ruling in, ruling out. “I’ll make him more fennel-water.”

I rub my son’s back, searching his face for more diagnostic clues. He continues to give me none, running away to play with his cousins one minute, then circling right back to me the next, clutching his tummy.

“No, not the castor oil,” I declare, resolutely this time, hoping to end that discussion. A bit of flavored water is fine, but I refuse to concede to an unapproved laxative. “I don’t think this is constipation. I think we may have to take him in.”

Thanks to the recent viral epidemic that divided the family clearly into two camps—my mask-wearing, hand-sanitizing family of four, versus everyone else—the raised eyebrows and hush of resigned sighs do not come as a surprise. I look at my husband, and he nods his agreement. I could hug him right now.

Aariz runs towards me but misses my lap by a few steps. A projectile arc of yellow mucus mixed in with bits of orange-colored Cheetos flies out of his mouth, splattering onto the hardwood floor.

In one fluid motion, I grab my son and catch the roll of paper towels my husband has thrown my way. Between us, we have cleaned the floor, announced our exit, and punched in the directions to the nearest pediatric ER, all before I even have the chance to verbalize the diagnosis that has seized my brain with an absoluteness I have come to know so well.

“Are you sure?” my husband asks, struggling to stay within the speed limit. The unfamiliar roads are disorienting, and though neither of us says it, I know he too wishes we were on route 99 right now, the one that runs in front of our home of eleven years.

“Well, you’d have to see it on the ultrasound to be sure, but as far as the clinical picture goes, I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.”

This is good, the talking through the differentials, just like at work. My husband knows this and continues playing his part so I can play mine. The alternative is a territory neither of us wants to explore.

“Okay, so you have seen it before? What’d you say it was?”

“Intussusception,” I say it fast to outrun the word’s prognoses, complications; they catch up with me. Aariz’s body slumps further into my lap. “Jaanoo, just go fast, please.”

I think about the handful of patients I have diagnosed with this condition over my decade-long practice—at most twelve, maybe fifteen. All infants, much younger than Aariz. Because telescoping of one part of the intestine into the other, cutting off blood supply to a portion of it, is not supposed to happen past the age of two. Unless, of course, forced by blunt trauma.

I am out of the car and running before my husband has turned off the ignition. This feels scarier than I have imagined on past occasions: parents bringing in their little ones in the middle of the night with ailments that in our home would be treated in the very early stages. Early stage. This must be caught and treated as quickly as possible. Time is his intestine. My ER physician hat is firmly back on as I rush to the front desk.

“Hello. Please fill these out.” The nurse behind the computer hands me a clipboard; my husband has caught up with me and I hand the clipboard to him.

“Hi. This is Aariz.” I say in my best we-can-be-out-of-your-hair-real-fast kind of voice. “We have had an unfortunate situation happen. Him and his cousin were running and they…”

“Ok, one thing at a time. Once he’s checked in, the triage nurse will take the history and then we’ll get the doctor to come see him.”

“I am sorry, yes. Actually, I am an ER physician. We are supposed to be on vacation, and then this happens.” She nods, her mouth upturned in a sympathetic smile, and I take my chance. “Look, I think he has an intussusception. Would he be able to get an ultrasound fast?” The thought of my baby’s unclothed body on a cold ultrasound table makes the ball in my throat grow, and I swallow the ache.

“Oh, okay…” she looks away, embarrassed, I suspect at how close I must seem to the brink. My husband puts his hand on my shoulder, confirming my suspicion. “Let me page the ER doctor on call.”

Dr. Levy, a grey-haired man with glasses, walks briskly towards us as I finish wiping Aariz’s face after another episode of vomiting. I notice his unstained scrubs with gratitude; he is at the beginning of his shift.

“Hello, Dr…” he says, good-naturedly, his hand extended.

“Ali. Anam Ali.” I shake it firmly. “Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Levy. I hope we aren’t intruding in the middle of a busy shift.” I continue bobbing up and down, Aariz’s upright form now limp in my arms. Electrolyte imbalance is kicking in.

“Good, no not too bad. Y’all aren’t from around here, I hear?”

“No,” I manage a little laugh. Every muscle fiber in my legs itches to propel me into a sprint towards the ultrasound room, but there’s nothing worse than a hysterical parent in the ER. “Family reunion, then this happens. You know how it goes.”

“Yep, yep. So, you pretty sure it’s that, hunh? What is he, three? A little old, but I have seen it.”

He didn’t even name it. I swallow the ball again. “Yea, head-on collision with his ten-year-old cousin. I saw it happen. Bilious vomiting twice since then, just started getting lethargic.”

“Alright then. Let’s get him to ultrasound.”

Aariz’s blanketed frame against me, and I rest my head on the back of the chair, fighting back tears. Aariz had cried and writhed on the ultrasound table the entire time, my arms holding his down, while my husband held his legs. Under the arm of my chair, my husband slips his hand into mine.

A musical knock on the door indicates our wait is over. Dr. Levy’s face appears in the door, and I know immediately. The knot in my gut clamps down; I wish it were my intestines instead.

“Yep, Dr. Mom, you were right. Intussusception it is.” Precisely like I would have said it to a patient from that side. “You caught it early. Shouldn’t be too hard of a fix. We’ve paged GI, they are on their way.”

Hot tears run down my face but I have no hands to wipe them off with. From this side, the diagnosis seems anything but a quick-fix. Yes, an air enema reverses the telescoping by pushing air into the intestine through the rectum, but what about adverse effects of the procedure? Life-saving procedures I prescribe with effortless certainty multiple times a day loom over me with their peer-reviewed variabilities. I tighten my arms around Aariz. My husband wipes my tears, and Dr. Levy pulls up a swivel stool across from me.

“It’s different when it’s not a patient, isn’t it?” He rests his hand over mine and I abandon the struggle.

“What about recurrence?” My shaky voice echoes against the sterile floor. “How can we prevent it?” I am aware of the futility of my question, and I know he is too; recurrence of intussusception has been an area of study for years. Why it happens in some children and not in others, remains in that dreaded medical territory of idiopathic.

Dr. Levy leans forward; I prepare myself for the worst, but I am glad that he has decided to be honest. Besides exceptional patient reviews, my quick Google search on him while awaiting the ultrasound results have placed him somewhere around twenty years my senior on the career trajectory; he’s got to have more data points than I do.

“Are you a family of faith?” He blurts out. “Do you pray to God?”

I am not sure I have heard him correctly, and I can tell neither is my husband, whom I see turn toward me from the corner of my eye. I stay still, not sure what to do. Maybe a nurse will come in, and we can pretend this never happened.

“Would you mind if I prayed for Aariz with you?” He presses on, sounding surer of himself.

“Yes, actually we are Muslim.” My husband says, his tone apologetic. “And yes, we are supposed to pray. Five times a day actually.”

“Great!” Dr. Levy is visibly relieved. “It’s been sort of a coin toss for me. Some patients are eager, others are offended.”

I picture Dr. Levy in a frame with attendings I have known. What would they say if they heard him talk about prayer and God with his patients? My own experience has taught me to keep my faith and my profession separate. In a world of observation, causation, and correlation, what room was there for the unseen, the unexplainable?

“Dr. Ali, you’ve never prayed with your patients before, have you?” I shake my head no. “You know you’d think patients always want absolutes. When we can give them that, sure—take this medicine and you will get better. But you know as well as anyone that a procedure can be technically flawless, yet the outcome surprises everyone. And the other way around. I pray not because I lack confidence in what I can do, but because I am confident about what God can do, against all the odds.”

I think of my fifty-something year old cardiac patient from over a year ago—obese, longstanding coronary artery disease, massive infarction needing emergent bypass surgery, his third. All the odds stacked against him. I saw him again, more recently, bringing in his granddaughter for flu symptoms; himself, fit as a fiddle.

My husband does the foot-tapping thing he does when something is on his mind and I know what he’s about to ask; we’ve talked about it before. “What happens when you pray to God with your patients and the surgery doesn’t go… you know… well?”

Dr. Levy leans back and crosses his arms. “It happens. And when it does, I ask my patients what they would do if they hadn’t prayed and ended up with the same outcome anyway. Would they never trust doctors again? Stop seeking medical care? Trusting God is a little bit like that, except unlike doctors, God’s work doesn’t end with the procedure, whether or not it goes ‘well,’ as we see it. Healing is still very much a mysterious process with its own set of outcomes, often independent of the procedure.”

The knot under my ribcage slackens. “Dr. Levy, if you don’t mind, I would like to say the prayer.”

We close our eyes.

“God, indeed You are the One in control. Your knowledge and wisdom are unlimited, while I know only that which You have allowed me. Help me submit to Your plan. Out of Your infinite Mercy and Love that encompass us even in moments when we aren’t aware, heal Aariz in the way You know is best for him.”

“Amen.”

The nurse enters with a small gurney, a pediatric-sized hospital gown hanging over the side railing. I loosen my grip around Aariz and carry him across the room.

“Mama,” he protests weakly, his tiny hand tightening around the collar of my dress. I take his hand and kiss his fingers; the fragrance of the bodywash from this morning still on his skin.

Looking him in the eyes, I hold his palm up against mine, our thing every morning outside his preschool classroom. “You will be just fine. He’s going to fix you.”

“That’s right,” the nurse says. “Dr. Benny has fixed so many children just like you.”

Her words linger in the antiseptic-infused air around us; I smile and mouth thank you. Molecules of oxygen are allowed to travel, unhindered, past my ribcage and fill my lungs, to carry on the mysterious, life-sustaining exchange of gases. I let go of Aariz’ hand, and the nurse takes hold of the gurney’s handles.

“We’ll see you after.”

We watch the gurney glide down the hallway, until we can no longer see what’s not in front of us.

Nooriye is a 39-year-old Iraqi female. She had a pretty normal life until a group of terrorists knocked on her door. Her two sons were killed in front of her. She was abused and tortured for days, as was her husband. Rebels eventually took her husband and left. Some neighbors helped her to bury her sons and provided her with shelter and food. She was about to kill herself when, miraculously, her husband came back 57 days later. He never told her what he went through during those 57 days. They were both in extreme pain but able to hold onto each other.

They immigrated to the U.S. a year later. Her husband found a job and is still working. They are safe now, but it has not been enough to heal them. Both still have nightmares and flashbacks. She spends all her time in her home. She stares at walls, feels numb and very fearful, and cries every day. Her speech is sparse, and she never smiles. She goes out with husband once a day but grabs his hand and won’t let him go when they are out. When faced with stress, she often passes out.

Her husband “has to be strong because she is the only thing he has,” although he also has extreme pain. He hides his tears from his wife, is unable to sleep at night, feels guilty, and misses his sons. He is afraid to make any Iraqi friends and stays away from mosques.

Obviously, providing a safe place, food, and a job is not enough to heal these people’s pain. Invisible wounds and problems are much harder to treat than visible ones.

In this article we will try to elucidate some elements of what Nooriye and thousands of other families have been exposed to all around the world.

Mass trauma

When a group of people, regardless of size, experience psychological effects after a trauma that was suffered collectively, this is called a mass trauma. Sometimes an entire society witnesses the same trauma, and this may cause a collective sentiment, often resulting in a shift in that society’s culture and mass actions.^1,2

Wars, political violence, natural disasters, exile, torture, and terrorism are examples of mass trauma. The Holocaust, the Atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, slavery in the United States, and the 9/11 attacks are well-known collective traumas.

Collective traumas have been shown to play a key role in group identity formation. Having the same problems, suffering from the same pain, and being under the same pressures bring individuals together. This togetherness eventually helps to build a community, a group, and sometimes a nation. Almost every nation has traumatic events in their history. Even the concept of “nation” is extensively affected by these events.

Nevertheless, despite its role in building group identity, mass trauma is still individually painful. In fact, the effects of mass trauma can be very deep and transferred through the generations. In 1966, clinicians observed that large numbers of children of Holocaust survivors were seeking treatment in psychiatric clinics in Canada. Moreover, when compared to the general population, the grandchildren of Holocaust survivors were three times more likely to seek clinical psychiatric help.³

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

According to the National Center for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, the most common stress reactions in the wake of disaster may include the following:

Emotional reactions, including shock, fear, grief, anger, guilt, shame, feeling helpless, feeling numb, and sadness.

Cognitive reactions, including confusion, indecisiveness, worrying, shortened attention span, and trouble concentrating.

Physical reactions, including tension, fatigue, edginess, insomnia, bodily aches and pains, startling easily, racing heartbeat, nausea, change in appetite, and changes in other bodily desires.

Interpersonal reactions, including distrust, conflict, withdrawal, work or school problems, irritability, loss of intimacy, and feeling rejected or abandoned.⁴

Several factors present in the acute-phase recovery environment of a disaster have been found to aggravate stress reactions and therefore increase survivors’ risk of developing negative outcomes. These include:

• Lack of emotional and social support
• Presence of other stressors such as fatigue, cold, hunger, fear, uncertainty, loss, dislocation, and other psychologically stressful experiences
• Difficulties at the scene
• Lack of information about the nature and reasons for the event
• Lack of, or interference with, self-determination and self-management
• Treatment [given] in an authoritarian or impersonal manner
• Lack of follow-up support in the weeks following the exposure

Protective factors that may mitigate negative effects include:

• Social support
• Higher income and education
• Successful mastery of past disasters and traumatic events
• Limitation or reduction of exposure to any of the aggravating factors listed above
• Provision of information about expectations and availability of recovery services
• Care, concern and understanding on the part of the recovery services personnel
• Provision of regular and appropriate information concerning the emergency and reasons for action.⁵

In most cases, the symptoms of trauma eventually disappear, but unfortunately, some of the survivors of the mass trauma will eventually develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). PTSD is a mental disorder resulting from exposure to an extreme traumatic stressor.

The National Comorbidity Survey Replication (NCS-R), conducted between February 2001 and April 2003 in the U.S., estimated the lifetime prevalence of PTSD among adult Americans to be 6.8%.⁶ The lifetime prevalence of PTSD among men was found to be 3.6% and among women 9.7%. ⁷

PTSD is described in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (Fifth Edition) (DSM 5) which is published by the American Psychiatric Association, as:

Criterion A (at least one required): The person was exposed to: death, threatened death, actual or threatened serious injury, or actual or threatened sexual violence, in the following way(s):

• Direct exposure
• Witnessing the trauma
• Learning that a relative or close friend was exposed to a trauma
• Indirect exposure to aversive details of the trauma, usually in the course of professional duties (e.g., first responders, medics)

Criterion B (at least one required): The traumatic event is persistently re-experienced, in the following way(s):

• Intrusive thoughts
• Nightmares
• Flashbacks
• Emotional distress after exposure to traumatic reminders
• Physical reactivity after exposure to traumatic reminders

Criterion C (at least one required): Avoidance of trauma-related stimuli after the trauma, in the following way(s):

• Trauma-related thoughts or feelings
• Trauma-related reminders

Criterion D (at least two required): Negative thoughts or feelings that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

• Inability to recall key features of the trauma
• Overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world
• Exaggerated blame of self or others for causing the trauma
• Negative affect
• Decreased interest in activities
• Feeling isolated
• Difficulty experiencing positive affect

Criterion E (two required): Trauma-related arousal and reactivity that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

• Irritability or aggression
• Risky or destructive behavior
• Hypervigilance
• Heightened startle reaction
• Difficulty concentrating
• Difficulty sleeping

Criterion F (required): Symptoms last for more than 1 month.

Criterion G (required): Symptoms create distress or functional impairment (e.g., social, occupational).

Criterion H (required): Symptoms are not due to medication, substance use, or other illness.⁸

Treatment for mass trauma:

Treatment for mass trauma should be delivered at two different levels: the community level and the individual level.

1. Community level:

Dr. Frantz Omar Fanon gives the recipe for mass trauma treatment at the community level: “Mass trauma can be alleviated through cohesive and collective efforts such as recognition, remembrance, solidarity, communal therapy and massive cooperation.”

The statement above can be a topic for a separate article. Here, we would like to express the importance of the remembrance days. People comes together on remembrance days and remind the victims that they are not alone and not forgotten. This can be therapeutic for the victims and alleviate their pain.

2. Individual level

PTSD treatment includes pharmacotherapy (medical treatment) and psychotherapy. Some of the medications which have been helpful combatting depression are selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as Fluoxetine (Prozac), Sertraline (Zoloft), Paroxetine (Paxil), and serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs) such as Venlafaxine (Effexor) and Duloxetine (Cymbalta).

There are several therapy types that have been shown to be effective at treating PTSD. Trauma-focused psychotherapies are the most highly recommended psychotherapies for PTSD. In these therapy types the treatment focuses on the memory of the traumatic event or its meaning. These treatments use different techniques to help a victim process their traumatic experience. Some involve visualizing, talking, or thinking about the traumatic memory. Others focus on changing unhelpful beliefs about the trauma. Prolonged exposure therapy, Cognitive Processing Therapy, Eye-Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, Brief Eclectic Psychotherapy, and Narrative Exposure Therapy are the some of the therapies that have been found to be helpful for PTSD patients.

Additionally, spirituality might help treat PTSD, too. A study of Bosnia-Herzegovina war veterans suggested that veterans who prayed had significantly higher levels of incorporation, self-protection, and reactive formation and significantly lower levels of regression, compensation, transferring, lack of control, and aggressiveness than their peers who did not pray. ⁹

In brief, providing shelter, food, and a safe environment are mandatory for trauma patients, but they aren’t nearly enough. Psychological traumas are very hard to treat, and treatment may take years. It has been shown that soldiers who have somebody to share their war experience/trauma with, have a lower risk for PTSD when compared with the ones who can’t talk to anybody. Victims need professional help along with community support. Trauma can be alleviated through cohesive and collective efforts and cooperation. Praying for the trauma victims, as politicians suggested for recent hurricane victims, definitely has some social impact. It has also been shown that medication/prayers decrease PTSD symptoms ¹⁰; however, showing support and empathy, listening to victims, and acts of remembrance are the other key elements of community support.

References

1. Lisa Gale Garrigues, “Slave and Slave Holders Break Free of History’s Trauma“, Yes Magazine, August 2, 2013
2. Updegraff, Silvler, Holman, “Searching for and Finding Meaning in Collective Trauma, Journal of Personal and Social Psychology, September 2008
3. Coffey, R. (1998). Unspeakable truths and happy endings. Sidran Press. ISBN1-886968-05-5
4. https://www.ptsd.va.gov/professional/pages/handouts-pdf/Reactions.pdf
5. NSW Institute of Psychiatry and Centre for Mental Health. (2000). Disaster Mental Health Response Handbook.North Sydney: NSW Health.
6. Kessler, R.C., Berglund, P., Delmer, O., Jin, R., Merikangas, K.R., & Walters, E.E. (2005). Lifetime prevalence and age-of-onset distributions of DSM-IV disorders in the National Comorbidity Survey Replication. Archives of General Psychiatry, 62(6): 593-602.
7. National Comorbidity Survey. (2005). NCS-R appendix tables: Table 1. Lifetime prevalence of DSM-IV/WMH-CIDI disorders by sex and cohort. Table 2. Twelve-month prevalence of DSM-IV/WMH-CIDI disorders by sex and cohort. Accessed at: http://www.hcp.med.harvard.edu/ncs/publications.php
8. American Psychiatric Association. (2013) Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, (5th ed.). Washington, DC.
9. Pajević I, Sinanović O, Hasanović M. Association of Islamic Prayer with Psychological Stability in Bosnian War Veterans. J Relig Health. 2017 Dec;56(6):2317-2329. doi: 10.1007/s10943-017-0431-z.
10. Gallegos AM, Crean HF, Pigeon WR, Heffner KL. Meditationand yoga for posttraumatic stress disorder: A meta-analytic review of randomized controlled trials. Clin Psychol Rev. 2017 Dec; 58:115-124. doi: 10.1016/j.cpr.2017.10.004.

One of the groups of people that suffer heavily from trauma are immigrants. In this issue, Dr. Tekin starts his article on trauma with the example of a couple from Iraq, tortured and abused by terrorists who killed their kids. Now, safe and away from the dangers of their home country, the couple cannot overcome their fears and pains, despite now living under a roof and having plentiful food and work. “Mass Trauma, PTSD, and Treatment Options” raises awareness of this epidemic, which is lived at both personal and public levels. Its effects will not only shape our populations, but will also leave indelible marks in our souls. 

Can one way of dealing with trauma and disasters be relevant to “the way we view the world and our place in relation to it”? Robert Howe suggests it is. “Fundamentally, the problem of environmental decline is a malady of tension – between the self, society, and nature,” writes Howe, for whom “the environment’s decline is a sign that modernity is suffering from a crisis of spirituality.” In his “Regenerating Life with Soulcentric Education”, Howe pinpoints the problem as education systems which value academic intelligences because they serve the economic values the system upholds. For him, the contemporary education is “the story of separation” in which humans are divorced from nature and the world by “othering” and “commodifying” them. One solution, for Howe, could be “regenerative education,” which educates healthy, soul-centered adults who understand why they are on Earth, why they were born, and who live with a sense of belonging to the natural and human communities. It is certainly an interesting piece to read and offers a renewed perspective on our lives.

“Turning the Unknown and the Different into the Familiar and the Friendly” by Ellen Michelson offers a second way of dealing with the troubles plaguing our world: interfaith dialogue. Ellen is the editor of The Menorah newsletter of the Congregation B’nai Israel, in New Jersey. She has been an active member of the interfaith community, and, together with the other members of her congregation, she reaches out to other faith groups to promote dialogue and understanding. Her piece offers a humble reading of what can be done today to overcome prejudice and to build a society that respects differences.