One Year

Rayle Rubenstein 

One year ago, I heard what I thought were absurd rumors about terrorists infiltrating Israel. 

One year ago, I stopped in for Khila Marine Park’s hakafos Simchas Torah night at the JCC just as Rabbi Mendelson gathered everyone to say Tehillim. 

One year ago, we made Havdalah and opened our phones to witness indescribable news.

One year ago. A lifetime ago. 

No one wants their lives, their place in the world, to be defined by moments of terror, but that’s not a choice we get to make. 

What we do get to choose is how we allow these moments to affect us. 

In the last year, we have sent packages, support, and tefillos. We have linked arms literally and figuratively. We are all brothers, one nation, and never have we felt it more acutely. 

One year from now, may all the pain be relegated to the distant past.

This year, may Hashem grant us the zechus of strengthening ourselves and our bonds with one another through positive and uplifting experiences. 

Am Yisrael Chai. 

My Soldiers, My Sons 

As told to Rayle Rubenstein by Yehudit Benmenachem

I was born in Canada and have lived in Israel for 40 years – since I was 18. My husband has been here since he was 17 and a half. We live in Kochav Hashachar, a beautiful community about 25 minutes north of Jerusalem.  It is ingrained in our values and community that you serve and give back. Sending our children to the army is ingrained in our culture and something we always know will happen. When you have a baby boy, you understand he will someday join the army. It’s a given, so much so that you don’t even think about it until the time comes.

About ten years ago, my son Avishai finished his army service. He traveled to India and was in the Himalayas when he heard that his friends were being called up for duty. Operation Protective Edge had just broken out. He called me from a mountain and said, “This is what I was trained for. I’m coming home.” I picked him up from the airport at 4 A.M., and he went back into service.

On October 7, 2023, my son Netanel, who had been married for a year, was in Morocco. He’d traveled there with his wife on the way back to Israel after a road trip in the States –an extended honeymoon. Propelled by a strong duty to serve our country, Netanel and his wife did whatever they could to get on a flight home, finally returning that Tuesday. My husband picked him up from the airport, and we saw him for one hour before he took him to the army base. 

How Are My Brothers?

I usually have at least two boys serving in the army at once. With eight boys, that’s just how it goes.  However, when the war is ongoing, we constantly think about it. 

Today, I have seven boys in the army. 

Avishai is a Mem-Peh, short for Mefaked Plugah or company commander. He has about 100 soldiers under him. He was in and out of Gaza from October 7 until March 1. He will be in Yehuda V’Shomron until the day before Rosh Hashanah.  

Yair was initially stationed up north but moved further south after a while. He will return to Gaza in November. 

Elyasaf is a tank officer. He was also in and out of Gaza until the beginning of March. 

Netanel, a paratrooper, brought supplies into Gaza under the guise of night; during the day, he was on call to evacuate the wounded. 

These are my four married sons. They were all in the miluim (reserves) before October 7.  

Meir finished his army service in June and was called to rejoin the Golani Brigade. He was in a vehicle called a “Namer,” which means ” leopard ” and is also a syllabic abbreviation of “Nagmash” (APC) and “Merkava.” 

Dvir is in his regular service, which he started last Pesach. His twin brother, Ariel, is currently in training.

My eighth son, who is 18 and a half, is still in yeshivah, where he will remain for at least another year. 

At one point, five of my sons were in Gaza at the same time in separate units. Whenever one of them got hold of a phone, he’d ask, “How are my brothers?” and I’d say, “Haven’t you seen any of them? You’re all in there!” They never did meet each other, but that was always their question: “How are my brothers?” 

This week is a quiet one; I have no one in Gaza for five whole days. 

The Beginning 

October 7 was an indescribable day for Israel, but it was also Yom Tov. I was at my in-laws for the chag with my married son and his family. My husband and I were resting, and his wife and children were at her grandparents’ house when my son took his car and drove to the base. We were all in Yom Tov mode, completely unaware of what was happening. We didn’t even know that he’d left until later that day. 

Another daughter-in-law was entering the ninth month of her first pregnancy. After Yom Tov, she moved in with her parents. I found myself thinking, “Just one more thing to pray for — let him make it in time for the birth.” When she went into labor, my son was traveling from up north. Since first births typically take a while, he managed to arrive — not exactly at his cleanest — but he made it.

In the beginning, everyone was shell-shocked. It was very stressful, and it became even more stressful when they started going into Gaza.

Dvir was down south, and before he went into Gaza, my husband and I traveled a few hours, saw him for an hour, and then left. Meir was in Ofakim, and we knew he was also about to go in.  I remember telling my husband, “I can’t get into the car again.” But then I thought, “I don’t know if I will ever see him again.” There’s always this fear of what’s going to happen. So, of course, we got into the car and traveled for hours to see him. 

Each time we went to see our boys before they entered, my husband would give them a brachah, and I would have tears in my eyes, always wondering if I would see them again. 

No one knew what would happen, and the tension was high. None of the boys went into Gaza with a cell phone, so it was weeks before we heard from them. I learned to answer any unidentified calls because they might have met someone from reserve duty who had a phone. I would then update the family WhatsApp group with, “He called!”  

I woke up every morning with a stomachache, worrying about what the day would bring. Every day, more soldiers were being killed, and I would wonder if I knew someone on the list, even if it wasn’t my son. Every Motzoei Shabbos, when they posted the names of those who’d fallen, I tried to stay optimistic, but I often thought, “I don’t have the strength for this week?”  

Things got a little better after they had been in for about three weeks. There was a ceasefire, and Dvir came out, but they didn’t let the soldiers come home because they thought it wouldn’t be good for morale. So, we all took a day off work, and they had a visiting day at the base. I was up from  three in the morning, so excited to see Dvir. I couldn’t believe I was going to see him.

We parents were told in articles and on our WhatsApp chats not to be emotional and not to express how much we missed our son, as it would make it harder for him. But of course, when I saw Dvir, I hugged him, and tears streamed down my face because I didn’t know if I would ever see him again.

Keeping Tabs

I’m on a couple of WhatsApp groups for my sons’ units. On some chats, the commander posts a daily message saying everyone’s okay, but one of them never does. Parents get hysterical, wondering why we aren’t hearing anything. Everyone’s thinking: What’s going on with the boys? How are they?

We mothers often go for days without hearing from our kids, and eventually, someone from the army will post a message to say that at that specific moment the boys are okay. They can never provide an that the situation can change in minutes. Some parents need this reassurance, but it doesn’t happen regularly, at least not in my kids’ groups.

The boys’ calls are always brief, usually lasting a minute or less. They typically start with “Hi, Ima, everything is okay.” These calls are made using the phone of a reservist who happened to be there, and everyone lines up to use it to call their parents. The boys don’t talk about their feelings; it’s just a call to touch base, saying, “Miss you, love you, I’m fine.” I know where they are from reading newspapers; they don’t tell me their location. 

On our groups, parents organize and discuss what is needed. For example, they heard it was very hot in Gaza and decided to send large fans. Once that was done, they moved on to the next needed item. There’s a Paybox group where people contribute money, and sometimes, we receive donations from the States or other generous individuals. Someone then takes the collected items to a designated meeting spot.

Initially, the boys only ate army rations, but now they sometimes have access to electricity and facilities that allow them to eat a bit better.  Different communities sometimes send food for the soldiers. In the beginning, nothing was allowed into Gaza except army rations, but now they occasionally receive packages with items like schnitzel and challah rolls. On Fridays, they sometimes receive normal cooked food. 

Support and Self-Care 

In our Yishuv, there’s a lot of focus on the wives of soldiers. The government has provided a lot of assistance, and in addition to that, the people of our Yishuv have organized physical help, such as babysitters to take the kids out, meals, and housecleaning.  

That’s not what we mothers of soldiers need, but I think everything done by others to show they care sends a good, warm feeling. In the beginning, when our soldiers were going into Shifa Hospital, a message was circulating that extra tefillah was needed between 11 P.M. and 9 A.M. I rose each morning at  five because I couldn’t sleep much, and I’d say Tehillim. When I spoke to a friend in New York I was touched to hear that she was also saying Tehillim the same time as I was. Anything that’s initiated makes me feel good. It shows that people remember us, think about us, and are trying to be supportive.  

At the beginning of the war, I attended a shiur where we practiced meditation. I would meditate for each of my sons, imagining the Yud-Key name in gold on their heads, envisioning them being protected. This really helped me. I would go through all my kids, holding this vision of them being safe.

I do Israeli folk dancing twice a week and exercise at least twice a week. I know from COVID that I need physical activity to stay in a good place. Even though it’s hard to keep up with dancing and exercising, the physical activity has been very good for me.

There’s No Way This Cannot Affect a Person 

Dvir is on a short break now after 30 days in. He went straight to pay a shivah call to a friend’s family. The army didn’t let him out to go to the funeral. The next day, he went to visit two seriously injured friends. He’s 22. 

My sister came to Israel on a mission from Canada, and we talked about post-trauma, something I’m familiar with as a social worker and therapist. Dvir said, “You have to sleep every night in your army boots and vest in total alert condition. Of course, it’s going to affect you. There’s no way this cannot affect a person.”

For months, Dvir’s diet consisted of six rolls and two cans of tuna that he packed in his bag. As a mother, I kept thinking, “No fruits and vegetables?” He wasn’t in a vehicle; he would walk. He had sores on his feet and rarely had the opportunity to remove his boots and air his feet out. No running water, no showers, no electricity.  Even when not in Gaza, the physical conditions have been very tough for the boys. If you’re in a tank, you’re supposed to sleep outside on the ground or on your tank. No bed, no normal sleeping conditions for months on end. 

These are the things you worry about as a mother.

Dvir had a friend who was injured. They were in a house, his friend on the bottom floor and him on the top floor. He told us about his experience: all of a sudden, they yelled “paramedic,” and he was freaking out because he didn’t know what was going on.

 Avishai had some soldiers who were injured, and a week later, other soldiers, not his, were killed. He doesn’t talk about it, but he doesn’t sound like his peppy old self. It’s hard, especially if you’re an officer and you feel responsible.

Immediately following the attacks, he collected body parts with his unit at the Gaza border; I found out what he was doing from his friend’s mother. 

The Namer that Meir was in was hit a few times while he was inside.  

A lone soldier who served with my son had a mental breakdown.

 The army did not pay much attention to post-trauma in the past, but now they are making a real effort. They debrief the soldiers whenever they leave Gaza. They have groups where they talk things out.  One son in the reserves finished his duty, and then they had two days with therapists in group sessions to try to prevent PTSD. 

I often look at my sons and feel so sorry for them. They are so young, and sometimes it feels like there is no end in sight. 

The Survival of Our Country 

My husband tells my kids, ”It’s part of the geulah now, and we’re making history. We’re doing it.”  It’s true, but there’s a heavy price. Everyone knows people who have been killed; you can’t live here and not know people who have been killed.  We are witnessing this in real time. You can’t be here without knowing someone affected. My youngest son attended so many funerals. Many brothers of his friends or boys from his yeshivah high school were killed, and he spent his free time running to these funerals at just 18 years old.

I have a cousin whose son also attended funerals for people from his city. She found out when he mentioned he was on his way to a funeral. She thought he was going with a bus from his school, but he was going alone. She told him to call her next time he wanted to go, feeling bad that he was attending so many funerals at just 16 years old.

As for me, I try to protect myself by not watching any videos or hearing stories about the hostages. This is my coping mechanism. Although there were people I knew who were killed, I didn’t go to their funerals. I did attend the shivah, but not the funerals. I have to protect myself, so I’m giving myself distance. Because I have to go on.

Netanel was interviewed by Israeli publications multiple times. In one interview, he said, “This is the survival of our country, our people. Who else is going to do it?” He mentioned feeling bad for his mother because six brothers are in combat. “But what can you do? “he said. “We’re fighting for our survival, and we have to do it.”

Please daven for the safety, protection, and success of these incredible boys: 

Avishai Tzion ben Yehudit Sara 

Yair Yosef ben Yehudit Sara 

Elyasaf ben Yehudit Sara 

Netanel Chaim ben Yehudit Sara 

Meir Moshe ben Yehudit Sara 

Ariel ben Yehudit Sara 

Dvir ben Yehudit Sara