Together with Riki Siton of the Nefesh Yehudi kiruv organization, she established an Ohel Tefillah in Hostage Square, a place for people to daven, say Tehillim, perform mitzvos like hafrashas challah and tefillin, and gather inspiration from speakers and each other. In a quiet nod to Bar, the Ohel set up stations called “bars,” with a tefillin bar, a food bar, and a drink bar.

Establishing the Ohel was challenging. They had to acquire permits from an unsympathetic municipality and finance the project. Even after cresting these hurdles, they faced stiff opposition from volunteers at the Square, who relegated their Ohel to an obscure corner in a museum on the premises, away from the high-volume traffic the other hostage endeavors enjoyed. Julie and Riki refused to be deterred, and fought ceaselessly to erect the Ohel in the central milieu where it eventually stood.

This venue became a magnet for many hostage families, and the Ohel Tefillah witnessed many people take their first hesitant steps toward Hashem. Julie stresses how distant some of the hostage families were from mitzvah observance. One example was a hostage mother who showed up at an Ohel Tefillah hafrashas challah event with her entire family, including the men. “She had no idea this was a woman’s mitzvah and that it was an all-women’s event,” Julie says, “but there was such a sweetness to her mistake. There’s such beauty in watching someone’s first encounter with Hashem.”

Another enterprise was taking families of hostages on trips to kivrei tzaddikim in Israel, and subsequently, across Eastern Europe. Julie recalls a trip to Poland that Nitza Krongold, mother of hostage Tal Shoham, decided to join, explaining, “I’ve done everything to bring my son home. But one thing I haven’t done yet is pray.” A week after the trip, her son was released in the second hostage deal.

Dancing Between Raindrops

Watching the teshuvah process unfold in other hostage families is uncannily familiar to Julie. She was raised in a home where after Kiddush on Friday night, the family would sit together in front of the television. After serving in the army, she enrolled in a paramedic course, where her instructor was Tal Kuperstein. They married and had children, expecting life to follow a predictable course.

However, 14 years ago, Julie’s niece, close to her in age and with whom she shared a deep friendship, became a baalas teshuvah. She invited Julie to Torah classes, and spoke with her frequently about Hashem, and Torah, and mitzvos.

“At some point, I recognized Torah to be a force far greater than me, and I was literally drawn to it like metal to a magnet,” Julie says. “Beforehand, I felt a terrible emptiness. I had everything, but felt I had nothing. And now, my life suddenly had authentic meaning, it was as if I’d stepped into a different world. I’d wake up in the morning and understand what I was doing here.”

Not one for half measures, Julie went all in. She kashered her home, and began keeping Shabbos, dressing modestly, and covering her hair, and switched her children to religious institutions. She connected with the shiurim of Rabbanit Vered Siani, and grew close to Rabbanit Tziporah Hess, and the Dayans, the Rav and Rabbanit of Holon.

Her decision to embrace Torah wasn’t well received by all. Her parents and in-laws, and most importantly, her husband, Tal, took her transformation very hard. They had to recalibrate their relationship, and both sides honed the art of flexibility. Nonetheless, Tal and Julie would not give up on their marriage. Their firm foundation of mutual love and respect, and their joint commitment to each other and to their children, saw them through, as evidenced by the fact that they are married, despite Tal maintaining a nonobservant lifestyle. Throughout, Julie’s conviction that this was the correct path for her, and her acute sense that she was hand in hand with Hashem, imbued her with the inner serenity she needed to navigate a complicated period in her life.

Julie explains her approach to her children’s religious development. “After becoming observant, I found myself in a constant dance between the raindrops. Despite enrolling my children in religious institutions, they have a loving father who isn’t observant. As they grew older, I didn’t force them into anything, I allowed them to ‘taste from it all,’ but also gave them the option to choose observance by introducing them to the Borei Olam. I felt it was critical not to force them. Forced observance is, in my opinion, devoid of meaning. When you understand why you’re doing something and have chosen to do it, it comes from love, and will last.”

Julie illustrates her point with an anecdote hostage Ohad Benami shared after he was released from Hamas captivity, eight months before Bar. Ohad and Bar were held together with a small group of men, and together the group tried to keep as many mitzvos as possible. Ohad, the religious novice of the group was deluged with instructions from the others explaining how to make Kiddush and brachos, and perform other mitzvos. But he gravitated toward Bar for guidance, because while the others would shower him with directives, Bar would always explain the “why” behind each step.

Julie’s spiritual influence was especially apparent when Bar was approached by his Hamas captor who demanded, “Where is your G-d?!” Faced with such a weighty question from a terrorist, Bar thought of only one thing: What would my mother say? With Julie in mind, he responded that this was a test from Hashem engineered to help him grow.

Julie acknowledges that this was the vernacular in the Kuperstein home. “Our family endured many difficult tests, and together we learned to overcome them, from a place of acknowledgement that Hashem sends us tests to strengthen us.”

Julie is likely referring to her husband, Tal’s, tragic accident several years ago. A volunteer paramedic for Hatzalah, Tal was on his way to a call when he sustained an injury that required surgical intervention. In the course of surgery, he had a stroke that rendered him paralyzed and speech deficient. Julie was effectively thrust into the role of both mother and father as well as breadwinner for her family of seven.

As the oldest child, Bar volunteered to shoulder the financial burden and took a job in security. On October 7 he was working at the Nova festival when he was abducted by Hamas.

“When Bar was helicoptered out of Gaza after two years of pure Gehinnom, he was given a whiteboard to communicate, because it was too noisy in the aircraft to hear. What did he write? ‘Eizeh tov Hashem,’ with a heart. His connection to Hashem runs very deep,” Julie says.

There was a time at hostage headquarters when a man asked Julie, “I don’t understand. You were chozeret b’teshuvah, how is it that Elokim gave you such a smack?”

Her response was vintage Julie. “Imagine if I hadn’t been chozeret b’teshuvah, how would I have ever coped with this situation? And that’s besides the fact that the Borei Olam doesn’t owe me anything.”

Julie’s emunah was on full display in the story that went viral of the terrorist on the phone. A man who identified himself as a Hamas terrorist called Julie’s phone and asked if she wanted to see her son Bar again. He proceeded to berate for “not doing enough” to agitate for Bar’s release.

With the phone on speaker, Julie retorted, “I’m not afraid of you. Bar isn’t in your hands, he’s only in the Hands of Hashem, even when he’s in Gaza. In fact, you yourself are also in the hands of Hashem.”

The terrorist was quiet for a few long moments. He finally found his tongue and said, “Kol hakavod, giveret.”

In the wake of this encounter, Julie made bracelets embossed with the phrase, “In the hands of Hashem” which today, Bar distributes at every available opportunity.

Into the Public Sphere

Julie’s ascension to the public sphere as the mouthpiece of emunah on behalf of the hostages wasn’t a natural shift; it was a significant aspect in her nisayon. By nature, she’s repelled by cameras and microphones. Initially, Riki Siton functioned as her spokesperson, communicating her thoughts while Julie stood silently at her side. Today, Julie has no problem speaking before overflowing convention halls.

When Bar was released, he encountered a mother who, though two year’s prior had been shy and reserved, was now an internationally recognized speaker. While amazed at her metamorphosis, he wasn’t entirely surprised. “I was sure you would do something like this for me,” he told her.

“He knew emunah would keep me strong,” Julie says.

News outlets claimed Julie’s husband, Tal, vowed that when Bar returned, he’d greet him while standing, a feat they alleged he was incapable of previously. Julie sets the record straight. “During his rehabilitation after the accident, he learned to stand. He regressed, but then regained that ability. The media made a big deal over that point, but it’s not true, he had been able to stand independently before Bar’s return,” she clarifies. “Their portrayal angered me, because I crave truth. Here, truth was secondary to sensationalism.”

According to Julie, Tal’s progress was most evident in his speaking capabilities. Motivated by the quest to bring Bar home, he worked on his articulation and Julie saw marked improvement in his speech. When Tal hugged Bar for the first time, his first words were, “I can speak!”

Julie is proud of how her husband pushed himself to participate at hostage gatherings and was embraced by the entire nation. His herculean efforts in this regard spilled over to other hostage families as well. His example made them question their personal glass ceilings. On several occasions, they told Julie, “if Tal isn’t allowing his limitations to ground him, we can also do more.”

Dreaming of Tefillin

Bar also solidified his commitment to mitzvos. While in captivity, he began practicing hisbodedus in the tunnels, and even carved a small niche in the earthen walls to accommodate this practice.

He also strengthened his determination to keep Shabbos, something he’d become lax in while working to support the family. Today, he’s proudly shomer Shabbos. Before being taken hostage, he hadn’t consistently donned tefillin. Throughout captivity all he dreamed of was to be able to lay tefillin, straight-backed, with his head held high. His wish was fulfilled on a Friday morning several weeks after his release, when he stood on the dais before crowds of people in Hostage Square, and together with his father Tal, made the brachah on his tefillin.

Over the two years of her ordeal, Julie would implore anyone who would listen to accept a small kabbalah as a merit for Bar and the other hostages. She believes with immutable emunah that these merits brought them home. “Today, when I went onstage at an event, I still asked the women to accept a small kabbalah. But this time, I asked them to do it l’Sheim Shamayim, from a place of love and gratitude to Hashem. It’s the least we can do. Because we’re all in the Hands of Hashem.”

Finding G-d in Gaza

Julie and Tal weren’t the only ones to experience a metamorphosis. Common sense assumes that spending two years in the bowels of the earth, in Hamas captivity, erodes a person’s connection to Hashem, yet some of the hostages experienced the inverse effect. Julie isn’t surprised. “From a place of darkness, we grow,” she says.

One example of this is former hostage Sasha Troufanov. Before they were taken captive, Sasha and his mother, Yelena, Russian expats, were avowed atheists. After Yelena was released, she began keeping Shabbos. Side by side with her efforts to secure Sasha’s release was her apprehension over how he would accept her seismic shift.

Sasha’s fiancée, Sapir Cohen, came from a more traditional home, and Sasha’s staunch atheism had caused Sapir’s father, Eli, untold pain. Despite numerous conversations with Sasha, Eli was unsuccessful in moving him. “What should I do?” he agonized, “Sapir wants to marry him, but he doesn’t believe in G-d!”

But when Sasha emerged from the Hamas captivity, he declared, “I found G-d in the tunnels of Gaza.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 969)