The Adult in the Room: Shana Aaronson and the Mission of Magen

Written by Claire Zeitler

At fourteen years old, Shana Aaronson found herself standing in a Super-Pharm holding a pregnancy test.

The test wasn't for her.

It was for a friend who had been raped.

As a Bais Yaakov student in uniform, she remembers being convinced someone was about to stop her. Surely a cashier would ask questions. Surely an adult would intervene. Surely someone would notice that two young girls were navigating a crisis far beyond their years.

No one did.

The cashier handed her a receipt.

The transaction ended.

Life continued.

But the moment stayed with her.

"I remember thinking that there was something very wrong with this whole situation," Aaronson recalls. "Where were the adults?"

That question would eventually become the foundation of Magen for Communities, one of Israel's leading organizations supporting survivors of abuse and helping Jewish communities build safer environments for children and families.

Today, Aaronson leads a growing team of advocates, educators, and professionals who guide survivors through everything from therapy referrals and support groups to police reports, court proceedings, and crisis intervention. But the heart of the organization remains surprisingly simple.

"No victim should have to go through this alone."

That belief has guided Magen from its earliest days.

For Aaronson, the work began long before there was an organization, a staff, or even a clear plan. It began with a deep discomfort over how often survivors were left to navigate impossible situations by themselves.

Over the years, she has watched communities slowly change.

When Magen first began its work, reporting abuse to law enforcement was often unthinkable. Survivors rarely wanted to speak to police. Many families had little awareness of available resources. Conversations about abuse prevention were limited, and discussions about personal safety often felt uncomfortable or taboo.

Today, Aaronson sees a very different landscape.

Rabbis routinely refer families to Magen. Schools seek guidance. Parents are more informed. Therapists are better trained. Survivors are increasingly willing to pursue treatment and, when appropriate, involve law enforcement.

"There has been enormous progress," she says.

That progress, however, has not come without challenges.

One of the most persistent misconceptions Aaronson encounters is the belief that discussing personal safety with children requires exposing them to information they are not ready to hear.

In reality, she explains, effective abuse prevention has very little to do with graphic conversations and everything to do with communication.

Personal safety begins with helping children understand their own bodies, their boundaries, and their ability to speak up when something feels wrong.

The goal is not to frighten children.

The goal is to ensure they know they can talk.

"Talk," Aaronson says without hesitation when asked what every Jewish parent should know.

"Talk to your children about this topic. Talk to your children about every topic."

The assumption that a child would automatically disclose abuse if something happened is one she encounters frequently.

Parents often tell her, "Of course my child would tell me."

Her response is straightforward.

"Why?"

If a family has never discussed difficult subjects, why would a child suddenly know how to begin that conversation during a moment of fear, confusion, or shame?

The solution is not a single conversation.

It is an ongoing relationship built on trust.

The same philosophy extends to the broader community.

Aaronson believes child protection cannot rest solely on parents' shoulders.

Every adult has a role to play.

"We have a central belief that it is the responsibility of all adults in a community to protect all children."

That belief shapes Magen's educational work, which includes guidebooks for parents, school programming, safety resources for children, support groups, and even advocacy efforts within the Knesset to improve how survivors interact with the legal system.

Yet for all the policy discussions and community initiatives, Aaronson's deepest hope remains focused on individual people.

She speaks about one survivor in particular.

The young woman had endured severe abuse as a child and spent years in intensive therapy. The trauma left deep scars, and for a long time it was difficult to imagine what her future might look like.

As friends married and moved forward with their lives, she chose to wait.

She refused to date until she felt genuinely ready.

There were concerns that perhaps she would never feel ready.

There was pressure.

There were questions.

But she remained committed to moving at her own pace.

When she eventually began dating, she made another decision.

She would not hide her history.

She insisted that any serious potential match know early on that trauma had been part of her life.

Not because it defined her.

But because honesty mattered.

Last year, at twenty-seven years old, she became engaged.

Shortly after her wedding, she called Aaronson.

"I don't think I ever imagined I could be this happy," she said.

For Aaronson, the moment was unforgettable.

Not because healing had erased the past.

It hadn't.

Healing rarely works that way.

One of the most important lessons Aaronson hopes people understand is that recovery is not linear. Survivors do not simply complete therapy and move on forever untouched.

New stages of life often bring old wounds back into view.

Dating.

Marriage.

Parenthood.

Watching a child reach the same age they were when abuse occurred.

All of these experiences can trigger emotions and memories that seem to arrive out of nowhere.

That does not mean someone has failed.

It does not mean they are back where they started.

It means healing is ongoing.

"Healing isn't a checkbox," Aaronson explains.

"It doesn't mean you're fixed and now everything is fine."

Instead, healing is a lifelong process of growth, resilience, and learning how to carry difficult experiences without allowing them to define the future.

After more than a decade of this work, Aaronson remains hopeful.

Part of that hope comes from the measurable changes she has witnessed.

Part of it comes from the survivors whose lives continue to move forward.

But perhaps most of all, it comes from her vision of what Jewish communities can become.

She dreams of communities that are not merely tolerant of differences, but genuinely enriched by them. Communities willing to listen, to learn, and to create space for people whose experiences may not fit neatly into familiar narratives.

Safer communities.

Healthier communities.

More compassionate communities.

The kind of communities where a frightened fourteen-year-old girl would never have to wonder where the adults are.

Because they would already be there.

Shana Aaronson and her team can be reached through their website.

Please donate to the cause here.