Slice of Life

Ditza Or recently visited Ramat Beit Shemesh to share her journey as the mother of a released hostage. Before October 7, she explained, she was simply Ditza Or. But from that catastrophic day, her own identity faded; she became, exclusively, Avinatan’s mother. Life as she knew it stopped. She left her job, abandoned her hobbies, paused her travels, and could barely function as a grandmother. She was entirely consumed with the fight for her son.

My husband and I have the travel bug. The moment we return home from a trip, we are already planning our next one. Our fridge is filled with souvenir magnets, bringing back happy memories every time I open the door. But except for a quick family visit to the US, we haven’t traveled abroad in four years. October 7 stripped me of the desire to go anywhere for a very long time. When the itch slowly returned, the time was never right. But recently, the stars seemed to align. The miluimnikim (reserve soldiers) were at home. Family members who were pregnant had safely given birth. The threat of war with Iran loomed, but in Israel, that is often the case. Most of the time, it remains just that: a threat. It was time to go.

Five-year-old Meirav Shaked was walking down the street with her cousins during a visit to their grandmother’s home when she heard beautiful singing drifting from a nearby building. The melody touched her soul, carrying a deep sense of holiness. It was only years later that Meirav realized that what she had heard that day was actually the sound of t’filah.

The one-minute siren wailed loud and clear at the start of Yom HaZikaron. However, this year’s siren came with a sobering clarification: In the case of a real event – if, chas v’shalom, a missile were launched toward us – the sound would be modified to oscillate up and down. In the end, the mournful siren pierced the night in a steady, haunting fashion, as it always does.

Our son and daughter-in-law welcomed a beautiful baby boy into the family the week before Pesach. Mazal Tov! We were thrilled to be blessed with a new grandchild and to hear good news, especially during this unusual time. But after trying to stay as close to home as possible for the duration of the war, I realized I would now have to venture far beyond my comfort zone.

More than 1,200 residents of Beit Shemesh are currently living in hotels in Yerushalayim after a tragic missile attack. Evacuations like this are not new to Israel; families from the north and south have been moved to the center of the country on several occasions. But this time, it is the residents of Beit Shemesh—who once hosted evacuees from other areas—who have had to leave their homes. The Beit Shemesh municipality is doing its utmost to support the evacuees, as well as the city’s remaining residents, during this challenging time.