“After months and months of suffering, seeing their loved ones for the very first time — is that something that is meant for me?”

A Letter to Shiri [War Diaries / Issue 933]

Ever since I heard about the murder of Shiri and her boys, I’ve wanted to record my feelings, but somehow couldn’t put pen to paper — or fingers to keyboard — but after your feature with the haunting words about the Bibas family and all that Klal Yisrael have been through, I finally did.

Dear Shiri,

I still remember in November 2023 during the first hostage deal, I waited and waited for you to be released. Perhaps because I’m around your age and also have  little children, I felt like I couldn’t breathe or live properly without knowing you and your beautiful boys were back in safety’s arms. When you weren’t released in the first hostage deal, I told myself that I’d allow myself to sigh with relief once I heard you were out.

I couldn’t — still can’t — wrap my brain around it. Little redhead boys, one with a paci, and terrorists and tunnels just don’t go together. World, do you get that?

Shiri, the world stopped for me when I realized they hadn’t lied when they said you and your boys were no longer alive. I felt the loss so acutely. Somehow with all the terrible news that we’ve heard since October 7, I managed to sigh deeply, stash it into a “process later” pile, and continue on, albeit with heavier steps. But when I heard the terrible news about you, I felt weighed down by sorrow and helplessness. I had the sickening, sinking feeling of being pulled against my will into a place of smashed dreams.

I had that same feeling when my 12-year-old sister died after a three-week fight with a sudden illness, and before we left for her levayah, I saw my ten-year-old sister hugging the pillow the two of them shared. The pillow was heart-shaped, made of two halves connected by Velcro in the middle.

I wish I could reach through time and save you somehow, warn you to leave, make things different, but I can’t and it leaves me wanting to break out of my skin.

Inside, I weep, thinking that perhaps, maybe, a small thing I can take on in your memory is to hug my children tighter, and to enjoy being a mother more.

I need to know that the world sees and cares about you, Shiri, because I need to know that I live in a world where mothers deserve better.

I’m not sure my breathing will ever be the same again. I’m still holding my breath, waiting for you and your redheaded boys.

Elisheva Halle

Verboten Is a No-No [Know This / Issue 932]

Regarding the Know This about healthy eating: To begin, I’m a certified health nut. As I write this, my husband is happily munching on an organic whole wheat sourdough muffin, made with minimal sweetener.

I grew up in the ’90s, when there was a scientific shift in rethinking our diets, and my mother complied. No more store-bought cookies, soda was banished… but there was still homemade, whole wheat cake with the requisite sugar. There was a balance of sorts.

Like most children, I adored sweets, and enjoyed them when I could. Yet as I grew, I noticed that many sugary delights left me feeling physically blah, and by choice, I opted out.

But as a mother, as much as I would like, I can’t hermetically seal my children away from junk food exposure. So when my five-year-old came home talking about gummy bears, I held my nose and bought him a bag. He ate one and didn’t care for another. There is a container of chocolate on the counter, but he doesn’t demand it nonstop. Ice cream is also on offer.

My kids won’t be under my constant supervision forever, and I prefer to provide them with the same balance I experienced as a child — which the interviewee didn’t — so they can make the choice themselves when the time comes.

I know of those who grew up in super restrictive homes, and went to the opposite extreme in giving their children what they were denied — lots and lots of sugar. By declaring something as verboten, it makes our children all the more curious to seek it out. Power to the narrator that her children are content.

Lea Pavel

Not Healthy [Know This / Issue 932]

I was a bit shocked after reading Know This in which a mother takes extreme measures to ensure her children stay away from treats, sugar, and processed foods on the premise that she wants to keep her children healthy and nurture them in the best way possible. This is misguided.

I’m concerned for your children on a social level. Al tifrosh min hatzibbur. I wouldn’t be surprised if this stark “food” difference creates a disconnect and a divide between your children and their classmates.

It’s important to take a step back and understand that we are not in control. It does not matter how many organic carrot sticks you eat, how many tablespoons of fresh extra virgin olive oil you drizzle onto your wild salmon, or how many lollipops your kids refrain from eating. If someone is meant to get sick, or suffer from an illness, they will. I’m not saying we should throw all hishtadlus out the window and start serving cake and ice cream for dinner. But everything is a balance, and we can’t live our life in extremes. Moderation is key.

The approach and mindset that you are instilling in your children is harmful to them now and will be harmful to them in the long run. How will they learn to trust themselves? What will happen when they grow up and have unlimited access to all foods? “Forbidden waters taste sweeter” is surely accurate in this context.

Anonymous

Give Them Privacy [War Diaries / Issue 931]

It is with much respect that I’m writing regarding Bashie Lisker’s War Diaries, “Homecoming.” When the hostage deal was agreed on, and then the hostages actually began to be released, I, too, was pulled to “read every word and look at every picture.” These names have been on our minds and in our tefillos for so, so long, it was almost like I needed “proof” that they were really returned.

So yes, I also ran to my computer to read the articles. And I also saw the pictures — of the angry mobs, of the victims being paraded on stage, of them in the helicopter and then entering the hospital. And then came the videos. And as I was about to click on the one reuniting freed hostages with their mothers, their wives, their siblings, I paused.

Is this meant for me? This has got to be among the most exquisitely painful, private moments of a person’s life. After months and months of suffering, seeing their loved ones for the very first time — is that something that is meant for me? For just anyone who wants to see it? Can we give these poor people who have been through the unimaginable — can we just give them their first few days of complete privacy? How about the first few hours? Minutes?

Bashie expressed the sentiment that they have been unheard for too long, and they have only existed as videos of bruised, bloodied, horrified victims. “They have been given no power over what the world has seen of them. Now they are free. Now, they can choose who they want to be to the rest of the world.”

I don’t know about the pictures and videos you’ve seen since their release, but the pictures that I have viewed show bruised, bloody, horrified victims. B’ezras Hashem they will have a full recovery — it should be soon! But right now, I don’t think these pictures — that are certainly not of their choosing — are proof of their freedom.

I’d like to grant them the true freedom of being able to actually choose how they are seen. I look forward to watching the videos, should they choose to release them, of them sending us the message they have chosen for us, of them strong and well with the family members they choose to share with us. And until then, I’ll do my very best to give these beloved survivors what the monsters have tried so hard to deprive them of: their humanity.

Aliza Feder

The Shame Was a Trigger [Real Life / Issue 931]

I’m writing in response to the story about a student who was publicly shamed by her principal.

This story struck a chord in me. I experienced a similar incident when I was in middle school. Admittedly, I was causing trouble in class and needed to be disciplined, but the way the principal went about it was so demeaning and hurtful.

She stood in front of our class reprimanding us. I giggled (mostly out of nervousness), and she stopped and said, “And there is still on girl in this class who doesn’t seem to understand what I’m saying.”

I was mortified. My face was flaming red. I wanted to run out of school and never come back. Fifteen years later I still feel the shame and panic inside my chest when I recall the incident.

I was a happy, well-adjusted kid up until that point. Following that event, I developed social anxiety which eventually led to depression. My high- school years were miserable until I finally got the professional help I needed to pull myself together.

Now, I can’t say for sure that the public shaming “caused” my mental health challenges. Likely, I was predisposed to emotional issues and they may have come out one way or another. But I often wonder if that incident was the trigger that set the ball rolling....

I often think of that principal who shamed me, wondering why she did it, if she ever thought about it after, if she regretted it....

For a long time, I harbored a lot of anger toward her. At this point I’ve moved on. The incident is mostly forgotten, somewhat forgiven.

A Hurt Student

Too Good to Be Healthy [Real life / Issue 931]

This story reminded me of an incident I had while teaching fifth grade a couple of years ago.

Penina was a bright girl, smart, sweet, and dare I say, a little bit of a geek.

She was mostly a great student and we had a charming relationship. She didn’t have too much patience, and her Bircas Hamazon was always somewhat rushed as she itched to get to the yard for playtime as soon as possible.

One day, I noticed that it was taking her an awfully long time to bentsh. She was using her finger to point and say each word with so much concentration, she squeezed her eyes shut at some words.

This was very unlike the girl I knew.

The same thing repeated itself for the next few days. I didn’t want to praise her for bentshing because I’d come to realize that extreme behaviors aren’t a good sign and it’s not always wise to encourage them.

One day, I called her over and asked her gently if something was up. She hesitated for a minute and then told me her mother wasn’t feeling  well, and kept running to the hospital emergency room to be hooked up to an IV line. Penina was scared stiff and decided that bentshing with kavanah would solve all the problems.

I calmed her down and explained that all was okay with her mother. A few months later, she shared the news that she had a new baby brother.

Even if a child’s behavior is too positive, it is, many times, a call of distress.

N.R.

There’s No Perfect Balance [Works for Me / Issue 930]

I had a particularly hard time reading the “Works for Me” article that profiles four women and their career journeys, focusing on how they balance and sacrifice various aspects of their lives. While it was enlightening to learn about their experiences, it seems the women featured are all well-established in their careers, having over 10-15 years of experience.

Given the current economic reality, where living costs are significantly higher, the scenarios depicted may not resonate with everyone, particularly those without financial support from family.

While I appreciate the principles discussed, such as the importance of a mother’s presence at home, the reality for many today involves the necessity of a dual income to manage expenses. I’d also like to acknowledge the immense sacrifices made by women who manage to pay full tuition fees, thus indirectly supporting other mothers who might choose to stay at home or work part-time and benefit from tuition breaks.

There should be greater recognition and support from the community and educational institutions for frum women who are committed to full-time careers. These women not only contribute to their families, but also significantly support schools and local charities. Despite the challenges, they strive to remain fully present and engaged with their children in the evenings and on weekends.

Ultimately, the idea of perfect balance is more theoretical than practical. It’s a constant juggling act.

Name Withheld

New Jersey

Basic Menschlichkeit [Second Guessing / Issue 930]

I don’t usually weigh in on these columns since many of the scenarios presented really do have two potentially valid viewpoints. This one didn’t. I expected that point would be raised in the follow-up letters. It wasn’t.

One of the basic tenets of menschlichkeit that I was raised with, and with which I raised my children, is that if you (or your child) are sick, you stay home. Full stop. You don’t go to school. You don’t go to simchahs. You don’t go on playdates. You don’t go to Babi’s house. You do not pass GO. You do not collect $200. You stay home.

As a child, we lived way out in the boondocks, out of walking distance from any shul. For the Yamim Noraim, we’d travel to my grandparents in the Big City. One year I was sick before Rosh Hashanah. There was no question. My father traveled to his parents in the Big City and my mother and I stayed home. Alone. For Rosh Hashanah.

Many years later, we were sitting shivah for my mother (in a big city) and a relative came in, sat right in front of us and announced, “I couldn’t go to the levayah… cough cough… because I have the flu… cough cough… but I had to come to the shivah… cough cough!” By the end of shivah, we ALL had the flu, myself, all my siblings, and my 11-year-old who had been with us. It was a particularly bad strain of flu. This person would have done a much bigger mitzvah by staying home.

The focus here should have nothing to do with Chev’s boss, her job, or Penina’s FOMO.

The salient point is that Nachi is sick. His parents should have the seichel and menschlichkeit to know that he belongs at home.

Malky Danziger

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 934)