Many see Melamed, 59, the rabbi of the Samaria community of Har Bracha, as a future candidate for the position of chief rabbi of Israel. He is known for his determined opinions and as one who does not fear political correctness, but when one dives into his writing, we find a fascinating posek ("decisor") with an open worldview who advocates independent thought in all directions.

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Melamed's biography has an interesting duality. He is the eldest son of the head of the prestigious Beit El Yeshiva, Rabbi Zalman Melamed, and director of the Israel National News website, Shulamit Melamed, one of the most prominent figures of the settlement enterprise in Samaria. However, his maternal grandfather, Professor Yosef Walk, was one of the founders of the religious left-wing movement Oz VeShalom, and his uncle, Ze'ev Walk, was a member of the now defunct left-wing religious Zionist party, Meimad.

Melamed went through the Zionist–Torah track of Yeshiva Letzirim and Merkaz HaRav; he married Inbal Katz and the couple have 13 children and 31 grandchildren.

Despite his emphatic positions on the issues pertaining to the Land of Israel, Melamed is quite moderate when it comes to questions of religion and state.

He encourages his yeshiva graduates to learn a profession and enroll in academia, alongside learning Torah extensively on Shabbat. Two of his daughters hold doctoral degrees – one in economics and the other in history. The professional and economic advancement of his students is part of the view that one must learn a profession that "contributes to settling the world" as a sanctified value: "It's important that people have a good and respectable livelihood.

"The kolel [an institute for full–time, advanced study of the Talmud and rabbinic literature] is for training teachers and rabbis. The rest need to learn a profession and read so they aren't dependent on special funds, donations, charities or an employer, so if they demand the worker to do something immoral, he can resign without fearing for his future," he explained.

Melamed's positions on religion and state have been attacked by the national-Orthodox stream. The latest controversy erupted three months ago after the Israel and Diaspora conference hosted by religious daily Makor Rishon, where Melamed participated in a forum with a female Reform rabbi from France. Rabbis attacked him for violating the historic boycott on Judaism's progressive movement, which the ultra-Orthodos streem does now recognize.

"A boycott of a whole public is a terrible thing," he said. "Even if in the past there were rabbis who thought Reform Jews should be boycotted, they should look and see if that horrible tool still needs to be used. In my opinion, there was no justification for a boycott then, and certainly none today.

"The notion that your verity is measured by your boycott of others, which has unfortunately invaded the national-religious public, is wrong. If I have an opportunity to meet with Reforms, I will. Despite our arguments, they are our brothers. And it is a mitzvah to love brothers."

Q: The issue of religion and state creates many tensions in Israeli society.

"I oppose religious coercion. If most of the public agrees on something and no one is being coerced to do something that goes against their conscience – this is not coercion. To reach an agreed position for the majority, the traditional public needs to lead the discussion on religion and state matters."

Melamed is also not afraid to express unorthodox opinions on the sensitive issue of marriage.

"The state needs to strengthen marriage according to the Laws of Moses and Israel, but also recognize the right of two people to sign a legal document, a 'domestic partnership', and grant them rights equal to those of a married couple," says Melamed, "respect for man, alongside respect for marriage that has been sanctified for generations."

Recently, Melamed surprised on another issue – female rabbis and religious judges. "There is no reason to prevent women from dealing with the Torah," he wrote in his column two weeks ago. "Including roles of spiritual leadership, Torah teaching and halachic rulings as rabbis and religious judges.

"Although there are difficulties that delay the implementation of this practically: women have less talmudic experience in the larger houses of learning, lesser conditions for studying Torah for many years, and there is a fear in the conservative ultra-Orthodox haredi sector of revolutions. But if throughout generations the research and theoretical study of Torah was for men only, because of the social orders until then – today, in a reality where women share opinions in many areas and want to do so concerning the Torah as well, this is an ideal that brings us closer to the vision of the prophets."

Q: Women also pay a price for bearing many children at young ages, at the expense of their personal development.

"It is a mitzvah to give birth to a boy and girl. The sages added that it's a mitzvah to give birth to four children. Beyond that there is value to every child, but it is considered 'exaltation.' It's important to say that it's exaltation in order to avoid pressure, so a woman doesn't feel like she is a 'birthing machine'. Not every family wishes to exalt this mitzvah. As a matter a principle, pregnancy should not be delayed at the early years of marriage, but when a pregnancy can harm the ability of the man or woman to fulfill their dreams in work or creativity, there is room to consider a delay. It's important that each person reach the highest level they can in developing their talents."

Q: And what about women serving in the military?

"According to our tradition, women were not drafted into the army. There were reasons for that, like the need to balance between those going to war and safeguarding the routine of the home front, and safeguarding the values of modesty. The Haredim prohibit it completely. According to our rabbis, while there is no official decree prohibiting this, the proper guidance for girls is not to join the army. However, a female soldier who contributes to the defense of the state and does so in the name of heaven – she is performing a mitzvah. How can one not respect a religious female soldier who keeps Halacha in the army?"

Q: How should the religious community treat its LGBTQ members?

"I respect them and love them. I feel no rejection toward them. Where I grew up, Merkaz Harav Yeshiva and in the sphere of Torah studies, there was not a reality of holding contempt for homosexuals.

"A religious man who has a homosexual tendency lives in a painful conscience and in great effort, and if he remains religious, he must be greatly admired. I don't know if I could have made it through such an effort. Not everything has a solution. For two men or two women to live in a religious community, we must lower the flags and the flames.

"Homosexual men and women do not need to announce in public what they do in the privacy of their own bedrooms. And by the way, many of the religious [ones] try to avoid violation of the Torah. On the other hand, the public doesn't need to ask them intimate questions and treat them as friends who decided to live together. They can be beloved friends of the religious community."

Q: Could it be that the current halachic discussion over modesty laws is exaggerated?

"Modesty laws were meant to strengthen the bond between husband and wife. Furthermore, clothes are a statement, a flag of loyalty to the Torah. Over time, too much weight was given to this. It should be given its true weight: it is a tradition and custom based on wise men, not an edict."

"Clothing modesty laws should not be given the same weight as great and important mitzvahs – it must not exclude a woman from the Torah– and mitzvah–observant public. Twetry-five years ago I wrote that there is an opinion in the halacha that the definition for modest is social norms. This is not how halacha is ruled, but it was important for me to emphasize that this opinion exists. I believe, for example, that conversion should not be delayed due to the modesty of dressing.

"Modesty of dress is not such a serious 'crime' worthy of ostracizing a girl from a school. Even participation in a public secular singing contest is not cause for suspension."

'I don't speak in two languages'

Two historic issues hover over our discussion. Melamed isn't keen on discussing them but replies in relaxed precision: his investigation after the 1995 murder of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin over a letter he sent to 40 national religious rabbis discussing the question of "din rodef" (the "law of the pursuer") – a hakachic decree dealing with the pursuit of an individial in order to kill him – for which he was not indicted; and the notorious 2009 argument with then-Defense Minister Ehud Barak regarding the eviction of illegal settlements.

Q: On the eve of Rabin's murder, you were the head of the Yesha Rabbinical Council. What was in that letter to the rabbis?

"It was a discussion on principle: whoever brings the PLO to rule over territories in the Land of Israel in opposition to the Jewish majority and against the promises given to voters, in the future, when disasters happen, will it be possible to put him on trial according to the Torah-legal discipline? It was underscored that this wasn't about any person taking the law into his hands, rather a public, diplomatic question, if and under what circumstances can a prime minister be put on trial for the results of his deeds.

"I sent the question to a list of elder rabbis and legal experts, secular and religious. Is there criminal liability for a prime minister for deeds that are formally legal, but go against accepted norms and endanger the public who mostly oppose his policy? Can a government be sued for such a thing in retrospect? That wasn't the case during the [2005] disengagement from Gaza, because back then there was a Jewish majority, at least according to the polls, that supported leaving Gush Katif. The [1993] Oslo Accords did not have a majority.

"After Rabin's murder, they looked for a scapegoat. We fought against Oslo but held a balanced line. When the tensions grew, together with the PM's military secretary, I initiated meetings of the Yesha Council of Rabbis with Rabin. The Likud heads, Netanyahu and Sharon, criticized us for this. They claimed he was going to lose the elections, and a meeting like that would only strengthen him. The last meeting with Rabin took place five days before the murder and was held with respect."

In 2009, when protesters in the settlement of Homesh were about to be evicted, two soldiers waved a sign saying "Shimshon [the name of thier brigade] will not evacuate Homesh" during a swearing-in ceremony at the Western Wall.

One of those waving the sign was a religious seminary student at the Har Bracha Yeshiva. The IDF demanded Melamed condemn the act because during the disengagement he wrote about refusing orders. Melamed wrote in a column that it is not wise to wave such a banner in a state ceremony, and if the soldiers had asked him, he would have advised them not to do so but noted that in retrospect, he understood their actions.

Barak was furious. When he summoned Melamed for clarifications and the latter didn't show up, the Har Bracha Yeshiva was removed from the military's Hesder program and recognized only a top yeshiva. Only after three and a half years, when Moshe Ya'alon was defense minister, the Hesder program was renewed.

"Every order connected to security and operations, needs to be executed, even if it contradicts a certain mitzvah in the Torah, because pikuach nefesh [the sanctity of life] takes precedence even over shabbat," Melamed clarifies. "But orders in a civilian framework that clash with the conscience and Torah – those must be refused. That is my position, I don't know how to say anything else.

"There are those in houses of learning who will say one thing and someone outside will say another. I don't speak in two languages. That's why in my books there are no agreements with Haredi rabbis: I am not willing to change something from the Torah as I understand it. In one of the first books, on the laws of the Sabbath, I approached an important Haredi rabbi. He asked me to be more severe on a certain issue. Since I couldn't change, I withdrew my request for agreement."

After the arson attack in Duma and attacks on participants of the Pride Parade, including one in which a teenaged girl was murdered, Melamed wrote, "Someone allegedly went in the name of the Torah and purity to eradicate impurity, by doing the worst deed of them all, and he himself is the father of fathers of impurity, murder and malice. The Arab baby was murdered and his family critically injured and who knows how long they will suffer from their wounds. They added insult to injury and wrote 'long live the messiah king'. As if in the name of the world peace of the days of the messiah, people must be murdered in their sleep."

Now, top, he emphasizes that "sometimes I felt a need to harshly criticize the rioters of the Hilltop Youth. Whoever does not respect the IDF, does not obey the law, and holds contempt for the "regular" settlers who make the mountains of Judea and Samaria green, is not righteous. There are people in that group who have a grudge against me till this day, and some have woken up and repented. 15 years ago. When the settlement enterprise in Judea and Samaria became an established one, I said that from now on we must build only in regulated places. If according to the law a certain place is not regulated, but a place near it can be regulated, that is preferable."

Q: What is Halacha in your eyes?

"What is the reason for Jewish excellence, like with Nobel prizes? Genetics is not the answer. Neither is studying the Gemara, nor the disputes over any convention it creates – because that's not unique to Jews, for doubting things is the basis of Western thought. The reason is that Jews have a culture that relies on a tradition of the infinite ideal of tikkun olam."

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"Tikkun olam is an attempt to subtly improve everything that exists. To heighten all levels of life. Work, study, family, society, science, art. To bring everything in the world to a better place. In Christianity there is a vision of mercy but there is no reference to the daily issues, there is despair from the normal life. In Islam there is reference to the issues, but they don't encourage man to discover the image of God in himself in order to fix the world. In Judaism there is no sphere that isn't important. Everything is important. Prayer, feasts, sabbaths. To make a better world. How do you repair the world? How does one live by the major values? The Halacha gives practical guidance."

Q: So the Haredim are wrong?

"The answer is their name, 'haredim' [fearful]. Out of the fear of protecting their religion, they fear to leave their safe place, to meet other people, to deal with science. That's why they don't do the major mitzvahs of settling the land, joining the army, academic studies and participation in all types of work. One can justify a haredi position that lasts a few years, a generation at the most. But when it lasts for a few generations, that already changes the Torah, cancels parts of it, like the mitzvah of settling the land, which weighs more than all the other mitzvahs combined."

Q: And what about the secular?

"Secularism has value, too, as we learned from Rabbi Kook. We must listen to the positive values that exist in secularism. Not to rely on miracles, for example. The Zionist movement acted rationally. That's how it should be. The faith and the mitzvah encourage us to settle all the Land of Israel, but if rational considerations say it's impossible, then not now. We also haven't studied enough yet the values of freedom and liberty."

The post 'Female soldiers who contribute to Israel's defense are performing a mitzvah' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

If not for coronavirus, I'd hug them, one by one. But we can't embrace or step closer to each other than two meters – and what a chunk of memories and longing fills those two meters – and instead, we talk via Zoom, in the shadow of bereavement.

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Rachel Sadan-Shtock, 66, from Jerusalem, a mother of three, retired from the Israel Museum, lost her husband Udi, head of security at the Israeli Embassy in Ankara, in a terrorist attack at the embassy in 1992. He was 37 when he died, and she was 38 when she became a widow.

Pnina Kahlun, 43, from Hadera, a mother of four and a teacher and mentor for the Education Ministry, lost her husband Rami, a career paratroops officer, in Operation Protective Edge. He was 39, she was 37.

Sharon Azari Yahav, 50, from Kiryat Ono, a mother of two who works in banking management, lost her husband Nati, a commander of an engineering battalion in the Paratroops Brigade, in the 2006 Second Lebanon War. He was 36, and so was she.

Tami Pdut, 70, from Haifa, a mother of three (one from her second marriage), a retired nurse, lost her husband Tzvika, a pilot, in an accident in 1978. He was 28. So was she.

Sivan Gil Navon, 37, from Tel Aviv, a mother of two (one from a second relationship), lost her husband Maor, a cadet in the Israel Prison Service officers training course in the Carmel forest fire in 2010. They were both 27. Sivan works in the music field.

Anger, and everything that follows

"Corona caused everyone to become flooded with insights about a meaningful life, about proportions. We in the family of the bereaved learned that already," Pnina says. "We learned to appreciate the little things. I remember the first shower I took after sitting shiva. Saying thank you for what had been taken for granted."

I ask how their feelings have changed over the years. They all agree that the first feeling was anger: "At the government, at Hezbollah, at myself for letting him go to war," says Sharon.

"I realized that for the sake of the children, I had to let the anger go. When the anger passed, the hole left behind filled up with missing [him]. That was the second strongest feeling. The absence that is with me, for better or for worse," she says.

Tami says, "It's been 42 years, and I haven't stopped dreaming [about him] or missing him. At first, I was angry too. At him for flying while he was sick, at the air force for putting him on call when he was sick."

Sivan: "Death is an inseparable part of us. I want to add another feeling other than anger and longing – pride. Maor's dream was to be an officer, and he made it come true. I'm proud of him, as well."

Rachel: "When life falls apart, you don't know how to rebuild it. It took me 12 years to be able to say, 'I'm a widow.' I was angry at the situation – I had a family and harmony, and it was ruined. Anger at the murderers? They don't exist as far as I'm concerned. I don't care who murdered him. I was given an envelope containing their names, and I didn't open it. Feelings? I long for him. I want him. I go up the stairs and dream that he's sitting on the sofa.

"One day, a hummingbird flew into the house. It was in the middle between the first and second floors. I said, Udi, what do you want to tell me? Thanks for visiting … The next generation missed out, too. The kids grew up without a father. The grandkids are growing up without a grandfather. My grandson wants to learn chess and he doesn't have a granddad who will teach him, and there's no granddad to play soccer with him," she says.

Pnina: "The first two years, I was also angry. Every crisis with the kids, every little thing I had to deal with, I was angry at Rami for leaving me alone. Today, I know that he didn't leave me alone. I learned to cling to the little signs that are sent, hold my head up, and say, 'Rami, fix this.' I can point to where he was standing at our son's wedding. Rami was orphaned at the age of 12 and people who had lived with him on the base for years learned that only after he was killed. He insisted that being an orphan was just a part of his life, not what defined him. My kids choose to be 'happy,' as part of their father's legacy. On seder eve, I was proud of them, I saw how they acted on it. Our Prophet Elijah was Rami, too."

The supportive shoulder has fallen away

At the time of the interview, the government had announced that because of coronavirus, it would be closing off cemeteries on Memorial Day.

"Going to the cemetery and seeing Israelis flock there to be with us during the siren is the most Israeli thing there is," Sharon says.

"For 13 and a half years, in the group at the Kiryat Shaul [cemetery], I've felt the shoulder from everyone. It always fell on a hot day. There was a crush [of people] that warmed the heart. Suddenly, everything has fallen away. Corona. People see one another and move to the other side of the sidewalk. There will also be an absence on the eve of Memorial Day, when dozens of people come to the house, and the kids – who were little and have no memories of their father – hear stories about him."

Sharon says that this year, they'll "stand for the siren in the commemorative garden we built not far from our house, then go home."

Pnina: "The physical embrace, the hug without words, will be missing. On Memorial Day we feel the human puzzle that Rami was, the astonishingly varied mosaic he collected around himself and includes us."

Tami: "Every year, we debate about where to attend the ceremony – at Hatzerim [air force base], where Tzvika served? In Haifa, where he was born and raised? At the grandkids' schools? On Pilots Hill [outside Jerusalem]? At the military cemetery? Coronavirus broke out, and there's no more discussion. We'll be on Zoom, without hugs, without salty tears, without touching. How I'll handle that extra hardship of not being together, I don't know."

Sivan: "I was 27 when I was widowed. When Hila missed her father, I explained to her, from a simple belief in God, that Dad is with us even when we don't physically feel him near. Corona made that a reality. The grandmothers are at home, but they're not alone. People are in contact via Zoom, without the physicality. There is a distance that's for our own good, and we have no choice."

Rachel: "I don't need Memorial Day, because the memory has been with me every minute for 28 years. But when everyone stands for the siren together and the entire country comes to a halt, and the silence rings in our ears, I'm enveloped. Before I was widowed, I was touched by the lovely transition [from Memorial Day] to Independence Day. Then out of the clear blue sky, I'm the bereaved family. The switch to Independence Day is painful. Maybe this year it will be de-emphasized. I don't like the sudden switch to celebration."

Q: They say a widow moves on, while parents are left with a gaping hole. A widow can find love again, maybe even have more children, but bereaved parents have no future. Are there different levels of grief?

Rachel: We're one family. The children have lost their fathers. The parents and brothers are bereft. I'm a widow. There's no such thing as a 'former widow.' It's forever. Each of us experiences a different kind of pain. Sometimes the pain is interwoven."

Pnina: "I think mothers face something special in keeping their child's memory alive, making sure they're remembered, wondering about what will happen when she's gone."

Sharon: "There's no competition for who is worst off and no one has ownership of the grief. There were days when it was harder for me and his parents were a comfort, and the opposite. Shortly after he was killed, his mom said to me, 'Poor you, we have each other, but you're alone.'"

Tami: "When Tzvika was killed, his mom and I both thanked God that two sons were still alive. We felt that our fates were joined together. I'm always at her side on vacations and holidays. Both our grief is boundless."

Q: How does society respond to the title 'IDF widow'? Does it still inspire respect?

Rachel: "I feel a partnership of loss, of pity, of curiosity to know what happened. I'm also a police widow. There are fallen police who are also recognized by the Defense Ministry, who were killed during operations, and others who weren't. With every police incident, there's always the question, 'Are you recognized or not?' I stopped attending the [police widow] gatherings because I couldn't handle it anymore."

Sharon: "I have a friend who lost her husband to cancer. Her daughter said about my daughter: 'How nice for Noam, they [IDF orphans] get treats.' An IDF widow is embraced in a way that other widows aren't, but a widow is a widow. And when you say, 'My husband was killed in a war,' there is a sense that the other side salutes you."

Sivan: "You've heard the saying, 'If you have to be a widow, then be an IDF widow,' because the country owes a debt to anyone who was in uniform and set out on a mission to serve the state. Society really embraces us, as if part of it was killed along with Maor. The packages from the Defense Ministry are heartwarming, but every one of us would forgo the title."

Pnina: "After the shiva, representatives of the Organization of IDF Widows and Orphans arrived. What did widow-hood have to do with me? Who sends their kids to camps for fatherless children, God help us? That was really hard for me. In the end, there is strength in the commonality. A fatherless child is one thing, but a kid whose father was killed in the IDF is something else."

Approval from the fallen husband's parents

I tentatively ask about the new relationships that each of the women developed at some point. When they talk about their hearts opening to love once again, their dead husband's parents are mentioned repeatedly. They are a bit apologetic. Tami met her second husband, Eli, two years after she was widowed. "Tzvika's mom treats Eli like a son. She sees our daughter as a granddaughter in every respect, and our daughter also asked her, 'If Tzvika hadn't been killed, I wouldn't be here?"

Sivan: "I talk to my mother-in-law every day. The second year after I was widowed, I went out for coffee for someone for the first time. I needed his parents' approval, their blessing, for every step. Everyone I went out with knew who Maor was. My life's mission is to keep his memory alive. Today, now that I'm married again, I have three families – my parents, Maor's parents, and my husband's parents. Maor is still alive in my home. Sometimes I laugh about feeling like a threesome."

Rachel: "Udi was my best friend, and no one can fill that spot. I don't have another friend like that. But it was clear to me I would have another relationship. I was 38 when I was widowed … It was important to me to experience my femininity and not die along with Udi.

"I was introduced to a widower. In our first conversation, we discovered we had both lost our spouses on March 7, me in 1992 and he in 1996. We were together for 21 years, then we broke up. But not once in those 21 years did I compare my two partners," Rachel says.

Sharon: "Nati was killed on [Israeli Valentine's Day] Tu Be'av. The rug was pulled out from underneath me. I thought my life was over, the loss shook me up. We had a rare, wonderful partnership. We met because we went to the same hair stylist and three months later we decided to get married. I was a queen. I lived on a cloud of love.

"Nati's mom told me after he was killed, 'You need to find someone, don't worry about what we'll think.' The first five years, I wouldn't be introduced to anyone. I needed to build a live, raise the kids. I felt guilty – how could I be alive, and Nati wasn't. I didn't understand how it was possible to enjoy hearing a song. People tried to fix me up, I didn't want to. I didn't believe I could find more room in my heart.

"Later, I realized that I was looking for someone who I could live with along with my love for Nati, someone I could love along with Nati without feeling guilty. Today I have a partner, I'm learning that the 'drawers' of the heart can be opened a few times. My partner, a widower, respects that. Thirteen and a half years ago, my life stopped, and at the same time, I'm growing a new love. I'm not trying to fill the void. That's not appropriate. It's hybrid.

"I hesitated about how to tell Nati's parents. The night before I met with them I felt suffocated. I couldn't sleep the entire night. I sat down with them in their kitchen and after I said I had someone, they got up and hugged and kissed me. Every time I meet them, my partner comes along. They hug and kiss him, too."

Pnina also devoted the first five years of her widowhood to grieving and rebuilding. "I was in survival mode with the kids. My heart opened slowly, and I was already used to being alone, to my comfort zone. Now I've been with a divorced man for almost a year. The world of divorcees and the world of widowhood have nothing in common. In a divorce, the child still has two parents, even if they don't get along. Rami, bless him, is part of the new relationship. My partner can talk about him as if he knew him personally."

Sivan looks drawn. She says that the conversation is going on, and we haven't talked about those who fell, only themselves. She's angry. She says it isn't a day to talk about herself. Her friends join her. I apologize. In fact, an entire article, book, or library could be written about each of the people they lost. I wanted to discuss their walk over broken ground, their lives as the ones who were left behind.

The post 'Corona taught people what we, the bereaved, learned long ago' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

This isn't a story about good people or bad people. No one is right or wrong. The corona crisis continues to circle over our heads. We are in the midst of a global tragedy that entails many mini-tragedies that are playing out as a butterfly's wings harm a second and third circle. One of these indirect tragedies is the decision to stop fertility treatments.

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More than 5% of babies born in Israel come into the world through medical intervention. Four percent of babies born in Israel are created in labs, through in-vitro fertilization (IVF). The process of bringing these children into the world has ceased.

In Israel and abroad healthcare systems have announced that fertility treatments are now on hold. No new cycles will begin. There are no injections, no implantations, no egg recoveries, and no laboratory fertilizations. The plagues the world has known have caused pregnancies and births to drop off, and then spike after the epidemics passed – but these were natural pregnancies. 

The coronavirus crisis is too new for us to have data about how the virus will affect the new pregnancies created through intercourse. When it comes to pregnancies helped along by science, the line is clear: None of the 26 IVF units in Israel are operating.

"At my age, every month matters. Every treatment cycle is critical to my chances of becoming a mother," says Liat (her name has been changed), 43, who works in high-tech.

"The decision to stop the treatments is a death sentence for a woman my age. I've been waiting for a child all my life. It took me a long time to find a partner. I got married late. We've been trying to get pregnant for years. We've done treatments that didn't work. I was supposed to start a new IVF cycle right after Passover… As if it isn't enough that people are being hurt by corona, we have to cause new victims?"

Q: Who informed you that the treatments would be canceled?

"Rumors started in the Facebook groups for women undergoing fertility treatments, and then we saw the official announcement from the Health Ministry. I burst out crying. Anyone who was in the middle of a treatment and had already taken the [hormone] injections was allowed to complete it. But anyone who was between treatments wasn't allowed to come in. Our doctors, who understand the significance of every month that passes, should be fighting for us. This isn't a nose job. For us, it means to be or not to be."

Q: Can you understand the rationale for the decision?

"I understand that they stopped [treatment] out of concern that patients and medical staff might be infected. Or that private hospitals would need to take in corona patients and other patients in an emergency situation. Still, someone should have made a decision that took all the factors into account. This stops our lives. There are women who won't have another chance! For women my age, the road to having a child is painful in and of itself, and takes time. Now we also have the uncertainty about when treatment will resume."

Reut, 34, from Jerusalem, joins the Zoom chat.

"It's a burning issue for women of all ages. There are women who are a decade younger than me and have some early ovarian problems, or genetic issues. It's critical for them, too," she says.

"There is disagreement in the groups for women undergoing fertility treatments. Some understand the decision, and are afraid of getting pregnant right now because they're worried about what the disease could do to the fetus and the rest of their pregnancy. Others are women like me, who say, if women aren't being stopped from getting pregnant naturally, why are we being doomed like this?" Reut adds.

I speak to Shira, 41, who tells me, "I got married six months ago. I was supposed to start treatment a few weeks ago. In our area [the Galilee] there's only one doctor who is considered an expert. It's hard to get an appointment with him, but I managed to get there at the right time in terms of my ovulation, so as to not miss a month. We came to him to start injections and even he didn't believe what he had to tell us, that we couldn't begin treatment. I wasn't prepared for that."

Shira's voice breaks: "At age 41, with every month that passes, we don't know if it's our last chance. They aren't even scheduling appointments to determine a hormone profile so we could at least understand the situation, know if there are eggs that I could use later. It's a feeling of helplessness. We don't see an end. The epidemic might continue for months, and for us, it will be too late. Because of corona, everything else is being sidelined."

Q: What can be done? We can assume that the decision was made to protect you.

"They could make sure the environment is sterile. They keep a careful count of how many people die from corona, but they need to add those who won't be born! The ones hurt from the shockwave who have no way of coming into the world. They postponed elective procedures, but lifesaving procedures are still being done. What about procedures to create life? We need to count the dead around us, and my child who won't be born is another one. The immune system might be weaker during pregnancy, I don't know what they took into account, but I would jump at any pregnancy now," Shira tells me.

Reut, age 30 from Tel Aviv, says, "All we want is something to look forward to. My last implantation worked, but I had a miscarriage. I was so eager to start treatment again. A couple that doesn't need medical help can get pregnant now, and they'll need to be examined at a hospital. So why not us? I compare myself to others, who have it easier. The one thing we're asking is that they promise us that this is the first thing that will be allowed when it's possible."

'The body is cleansing itself'

Not all women are outraged. Hadas, 37, already has a two-and-a-half year-old son who was born after IUI (intrauterine injection). This past year, she tried IUI three more times without success, and received everything necessary to begin IVF – including a treatment plan and prescriptions.

"I was supposed to start treatment two weeks ago. I had an appointment with the nurses to show me how to do the injections but before I went they called me to tell me that no new patients were being accepted. It was the department head who spoke with me. He was empathetic and explained the danger that it entailed coming to the hospital every two days for ultrasounds and blood tests. I'm afraid of catching the coronavirus. I don't want to put myself or my son in danger," she says.

Q: Do you think about this as time you won't get back – that something has been stolen from you?

"No. The road to having a child is a long one anyway. If not this month, then next month. It doesn't matter all that much. I don't understand the women who think this is a terrible tragedy. Right now, medical staff needs to be free for other things. Who am I to waste their time right now, or bring viruses into the hospital? Yes, I want a child. I feel like my little guy at home needs a sibling."

"I wish that these months might bring me a natural pregnancy, that we [all] can make it through this epidemic with lots of new babies. I see the advantages. I was given hormones for six months – now my body is cleansing itself. This is an unusual opinion in the groups for women undergoing treatment, I admit. Most of the couples in the forums are really angry. They promised me at the fertility clinic that as soon as all this is over, the moment they're allowed, I'm on their list to start treatment. It calms you when someone tells you that, when they remember you."

The sense of loneliness grows stronger

I reached out to Dr. Nili Yanai, a senior gynecologist at Hadassah Ein Kerem Medical Center, to try and understand the reasoning behind the healthcare system's decision to stop fertility treatments because of coronavirus.

"As far as we know right now, pregnancy is safe during the corona epidemic. There haven't been reports about harm to fetuses or pregnant women, who are generally young and at low risk. Babies born with coronavirus because pregnant women were infected have gotten over it easily. But that isn't the problem. The problem is the public healthcare system, which doesn't know how burdened it will be. In Italy, they can't even address appendicitis. So all elective surgeries [in Israel] have been canceled. We are holding our resources for an emergency," Yanai explains.

Q: How could fertility treatments at a women's clinic come at the expense of saving lives in the battle against corona?

"The system needs to see the big picture, which is an immediate need to clear out the hospitals for emergency treatment. When an IVF cycle starts, it's a process that takes a few weeks. I have no idea what the availability of operating rooms will be these next few weeks. A woman could be under intensive hormonal treatment and on the day she is supposed to have eggs extracted, the hospital could be overloaded and the extraction might not proceed."

"So it's wrong for the system to start elective procedures that are not life-saving right now. We hope that in three months from now, the picture will be clearer. We had a woman give birth here who was positive for corona. She took a large group of staff workers who were with her out of service. We are protecting the staff and the system," Yanai adds.

Q: How did your patients respond when they heard that treatments were being stopped?

"One of the problems for women undergoing fertility treatment is that they suffer [through it] on their own. It's a very intimate process, they don't talk to friends about it. Every month, they have new anticipation and then [possibly] a failure, and a breakdown. It's very tough to meet with these women now. Most of them accept it with complete understanding."

"I have patients over age 40. These are women who are almost out of time, with the quality of their eggs declining and their chances of getting pregnant vanishing. They feel the urgency of each month. It's emotionally painful. The source of the outcry is understandable. But I have to say that statistically, three months either way won't make a difference. That isn't what will alter their chances of getting pregnant. There are a lot of needs, we're in the midst of a crisis of proportions we never imagined."

"We don't know how stress affects the ability to get pregnant. It's a riddle. If a couple has a definite problem and the woman doesn't have fallopian tubes, for example, they have no chance without laboratory [intervention]. However the couples we call 'unexplained infertility' – they might come out of it well. Look at how many children are born after wars. With all the stress and fear, pregnancies happen. I assume there is a natural need for continuity of life, and there will be a 'baby boom' here."

Professor Simcha Yagel, head of the Obstetrics and Gynecology Division at Hadassah, told me by phone that "Regrettably, we have no choice."

"I'm very sad. But the reasons for the decision are justified. We still aren't sure that corona isn't a danger to pregnancy. We know too little about the virus. We don't know whether it does something in the first trimester. We just don't know. There are diseases that involve fever that cause early-stage miscarriages. When we're talking about a precious pregnancy that occurs from treatment, it must be protected carefully."

"Secondly, these women spend a lot of time at hospitals, clinics, doing various tests, and have a lot of contact with a wide variety of the population. Aside from that, we're optimistic that everything will start again within three months. The decision to stop fertility treatment isn't restricted to Israel. There's a worldwide consensus about it," Yagel says.

Q: What about earmarking one medical facility to handle fertility treatment?

"That's not a bad idea. But during an epidemic and an existential war, I'm not sure that's where I'd put my money. It's not as if there won't be treatments for two years. I listen to my patients' pain. Two-thirds of them say that they think this is the right decision. Remember, for us [fertility] doctors, our life's work is to help couples have children. These patients aren't a nuisance. Pregnancies and births are my life. I feel their pain," he says.

The post 'Children who will never be born should be counted as corona victims' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

The collective amazement stemmed from the scope of the surprise, from a true appreciation for Netanyahu. even by his rivals, and from relief – we won't have to suffer through a fourth election. The Israeli public has been spared another expensive, divisive elections. We now have to pull ourselves together and remind ourselves that we are one people; bridge the gaps, and recover from a year of political upheavals. We can do it.

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Those who paid the price were Yamina and Labor-Gesher-Meretz, whose projected seats shrunk by nearly half compared to what the polls predicted for them at the beginning of the third election campaign. Israel, it seems, had an American-style election: A two-party system, with the big parties swallowing up the smaller ones in one gulp.

The one who deserves to be taken to task by the public is Otzma Yehudit chief Itamar Ben Gvir, in his hubris, refused to drop out of the race and demonstrated utter national irresponsibility. The egoist whose failure to pass the electoral threshold was projected by every poll should be denunciated by the Right as a whole – not for his extremist views, but for his extremist behavior.

If the exit polls prove true, and if no MKs from the Center-Left would be willing to "defect" (they are still hidden at this time), it is possible that we will see Netanyahu's and the Likud fight for every last vote. Remember the New Right's Naftali Bennett during the April 9 elections, and how he insisted every problematic ballot box be recounted? He may now have to pass these fighting tactics to Likud.

The unequivocal conclusion from all of this is that the right-wing bloc has a very clear majority. It would be absurd to ignore that in making decisions regarding the "deal of the century", for instance. We should hope that Netanyahu will take the trust vested in him by the public and implement right-wing policies.

The post Netanyahu did it, again appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

But the state is not "them." It's us. And we don't have the privilege of ignoring this event, which is bizarrely reminiscent of a family celebration of people we can't stand: We don't feel like going, but we have no choice.

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If we demonstrate, it will be against ourselves. If we protest, we will only hurt ourselves. A decision to avoid participating in the democratic process is tantamount to leaving the country emotionally. It cuts the citizens off from the Great Tenant Committee that rules our communal building. Furthermore, it automatically puts power in the hands of those whose values are not your values. It's simple math: Every vote not cast for the camp you identify with is a vote cast for the adversary. Anyone who doesn't touch the blue cardboard box tomorrow is giving away their identity number to the competing bloc.

Any supporter of the Left to miss the election will be an easy win for the right, and vice versa – the Left will gain a vote from any rightist supporter who abstains. Moreover, a vote for a party that is sure to fail the electoral threshold is a gift you will be giving to the party you detest, as that too will strengthen your opponents. There's no choice. Between hiking along streams in the wadi and going to the mall, we must drop by the blue box and kiss it like we would an unsavory uncle. Blood is thicker than water. It's true they say you can't choose your family, but in the case of this family – the state – you do get to choose.

Faced with the voting ballots, we should ask who the best candidates are to lead the country. Who have proven themselves in action and not just in words? Who has a clear platform that is not just a bunch of clichés? And who is least likely to derail the democracy train yet again? I myself am going to vote for the same party I voted for last elections, which has yet to let me down. Look at the ballots and consider: Out of all of them, who will drag us to the blue box a fourth time, and who can prevent that fiasco.

The post Election fatigue aside, we have to vote appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

"I worked with the organization before this, as head of education and community affairs. The field of progressive and reformed Judaism interests me. Even as a child, I felt that something was missing. Prayers at seminary included songs, but we couldn't be part of a minyan. At age 15, as part of a youth delegation to Florida, I met for the first time a rabbi who wore a kippa but used the phone on Shabbat. I was angry, and he explained that he was a Reform Jews and viewed observing the commandments in a different light.

"In the army I met religious girls from Jerusalem, a stronghold of Orthodox feminism. In Jerusalem, they use both their intellect and their emotions. You can wear trousers ... and be religious. At the Education and Youth Department [of the IDF] I attended Shabbat services wearing my dress uniform. There were 10 girls and three boys there. One of the girls led the prayers, completely naturally. Changes need to be made in the attitude toward women – I need to be counted in a minyan, for example – but it's important to me to keep the mitzvoth. Other than matters of modesty, which aren't an issue for me. Barriers set up 2,000 years ago so a man won't be tempted? I don't count that as a mitzvah. Defining my hair as 'ervah' [something that must be hidden], or my elbow, or my voice?

"As a vegan, I believe that there will be no animal sacrifices in the Third Temple, [as per] Rabbi Kook's vision of vegetarianism and peace. The sacrifices in Leviticus were a response to the ancient conditions in which all peoples made sacrifices and God wanted everyone to stop flocking to paganism. It would be immoral to renew the Passover sacrifice and slaughter a sheep. It's a sheep! The world has changed. Trousers, for example, can't be defined today as 'manly,' as they are in Jewish law, because there are trousers designed for women."

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Q: When I see the Women of the Wall at their regular demonstrations, I see a group of provocateurs who are bothering people who come to pray at the holiest site for the Jewish people.

"We are disturbing their prayers? They're disturbing us! For 31 years we've been holding Rosh Hodesh prayers amid waves of opposition. Women are bused in to harass us. We don't bother anyone else who is praying. Israeli eyes aren't used to seeing women in a tallit [prayer shawl], and certainly not wearing tefillin [phylacteries], and what is different is equated to a 'provocation.' But throwing hot tea on me? Chairs? Arriving by the thousands to crowd around the wall so we won't have room? Physical violence is unacceptable. If anyone asks me questions calmly, I'll answer."

Q: So I'm asking.

"Women of the Wall started as a group of American women who came to Israel for a conference on feminism and Judaism. The hotel where they were staying did not allow them to pray there holding a Torah scroll, so they went to the Western Wall, where they were met with physical and verbal violence and realized that the wall had been re-occupied and was in the hands of a group of strangers."

Q: A group of strangers? We're talking about religious Jews.

"Who don't allow anyone to pray in any different way! I don't want to take anything of theirs away from them. We only want to be allowed to pray in our own way. The Western Wall is a place that we, the people, have made into a holy site and a symbol. It is unacceptable that a group of women not be allowed to pray in their own way. Everything we do is orthodox. Even the rabbi of the Western Wall knows that, and so do the chief rabbis. But the rabbi of the wall agrees to meet with us only if we agree to stop holding our prayers there. You'll sit down with me only if I agree with you? Only if I'm exactly like you?

Q: Do you put on tefillin in just any synagogue? No. You wrap them at the Western Wall. You don't put on tefillin every day, do you?

"I do."

Q: You put on tefillin every morning? If so, you're not Orthodox.

"Of course I am.  Where are my tefillin? (She looks around.) Apparently my husband put them somewhere else, because I can't find them right this second. I'll show them to you in a minute."

Q: You know that according to Jewish law, you're not obligated to put on tefillin.

"I'm not obligated to, but I'm allowed to. I'm allowed."

Q: OK. How many times a month do you put on tefillin?

"How many days are there in a month, not counting Shabbat?"

Q: You get up in the morning and put on tefillin here, at home?

"Yes, Yoni and I take turns."

Q: What? With the same tefillin?

"No, he has two pairs and I have two."

Q: So why the turns?

"To take care of our daughter. She's two and a half. When I'm praying, he's with her, and when he prays, I'm with our daughter."

'Commandments of emotion'

Q: How long have you been putting on tefillin?

"Just a year. It was something I was curious about when I joined Women of the Wall. Once every few months we do like Chabad does, go out and set up stands where women can put on tefillin. That was when I did it for the first time."

Q: Do you put them on because it's a way of getting closer to the Creator, or because you want to create political change in the country?

"Why would I put them on at home, when no one can see me? What political change am I making here? I put them on simply because it's my way of getting closer to God. Women are not obligated to 'time-sensitive' mitzvot. But you sit in a sukka, right? Most women go to hear the shofar blown on Rosh Hashana. We are obligated to, but we want to fulfill those commandments. These are commandments of emotion, of experience, of the senses.

"Barriers set up 2,000 years ago so a man won't be tempted? I don't count that as a mitzvah"

"Think about Sfirat Haomer. Each evening you count, you're expecting – why? For the holiday of the giving of the Torah. Why wouldn't you participate in that? Or reading the Torah, with the beautiful inflections. And they tell you, OK, you have no part in all this. If I don't benefit from my Judaism, from the experience – what kind of Judaism do I have? One without taste, without scent, without feeling, what am I supposed to pass on to my daughter?"

Q: Most Israelis would tell you, 'Do us a favor – leave off the tefillin until you've observed all the other mitzvoth. If you looked like Orthodox women, and you did all the mitzvot and not just "ones of emotion," and you wanted to add to that tefillin – then fine. But [MKs] Michal Rozin and Tamar Zandberg and Stav Shafir, who show up at your provocative "shows" don't lend much credence to the honesty of your intentions.

"Oh, come on. Zandberg came one time and explained that she had come because it was a feminist battle, as well. It's a religious struggle, but also a feminist one."

Q: It is more religious, or feminist?

"Religious. So a woman can pray at the Western Wall. We were at the wall during Slichot, and there was a group of seminary girls there who were singing songs in a big circle. It moved me so deeply. I went up to them and told them that we were from Women of the Wall, and that they were able to sing aloud there because of us. For 31 years Women of the Wall have been fighting so that a woman's voice can be heard at the Western wall.

"It's like the suffragists looking at us today and being amazed that we vote for the Knesset without a second thought. Some of them had their children taken away, some of them were put in prison, some of them were killed. But they [would] look at us today and say, 'It was worth it, our battle paid off.' This is what God is talking about when he says, 'There is hope for your future.'  [Jeremiah 31:17] We're trying to change the picture outside the Western Wall, too. We reach out to the media, to the government, to the High Court. We work on public opinion and visit schools, pre-army academies, and communities."

Q: Israelis who see you say, feminism is fine, but not using sacred objects. Don't come up to us wearing a tallit. Even someone secular – for whom the synagogue he doesn't attend is Orthodox –  doesn't want to see that. So why?

"Because Judaism has been co-opted by one stream."

Q: That's the way it is with all religions. How many female bishops hold Mass? How many female qadis are there in Islam?

"But the countries, other than radical states, aren't nations of one religion that don't allow people to observe their religions in different ways. When my haredi uncle invites me to his son's bar mitzvah, I go knowing that I'll be sitting upstairs [in the women's section]. I don't wear a tallit or tefillin, I sit separately [from the men], eat separately. It's a private event. The Western Wall is not private. Judaism is in the hands of one side because of the monopoly of the rabbinate. The people are voting with their feet and saying, 'We don't want this.' For example, they don't want to get married in the rabbinate. Five and a half years ago, I had the great privilege of not getting married through the rabbinate."

Q: You got married privately? Against the law?

"Yes. A rabbi sanctified our union against the law. We also got married abroad, and we are registered as married in Israel."

"Judaism has been co-opted by one stream"

Q: Let's get back to the Western Wall. There is something known as 'local custom.' You show up somewhere where a custom is in place and feel like changing it.

"A custom of 51 years. Before that, there was no separation between men and women. Before that, no one wore a tallit and tefillin while praying at the Wall, neither men nor women. The Jordanians didn't allow it, and the British didn't allow it, and the Ottomans didn't allow it."

Q: So there's been a local custom for 50 years and you want to shake it up? Why is it so urgent for you?

"Who decided what the local custom would be? The rabbi of the Western Wall, the Chief Rabbinate."

Q: No, so did the people. There is a sector who observes that kind of prayer.

"In 2013 Judge [Moshe] Sobel ruled in the Jerusalem District Court that Women of the Wall were also part of the 'local custom.' Jewish custom is something that develops, that changes with time, according to people's needs. We brought in a new need. A need that both Israelis and Diaspora Jews want to see."

'Third-class citizens'

Q: But there is a solution: a few years ago, the government established the 'Ezrat Israel' section, a half-dunam area [roughly a tenth of an acre] for prayers. It's located along the Western Wall, the same wall. That area is always open, it's available to both men and women, and Torah scrolls are available. And you don't pray there! You called it a "sun deck." The Reform Movement in the US responded that "the Western wall should be open to all Jews, to men and women equally." You won't stop until the Western Wall is in your hands."

"We won't compromise until the government implements the Western Wall framework at Ezrat Israel. The way it looks right now is insulting. It's a third-class area for third-class citizens, so we're demanding that it be refurbished. Secondly, there should be a single common entrance to the Western Wall, not some side entrance for Ezrat Israel so that everyone can decide where to go and have to guess that there's a second prayer area. That would mean moving the entrance to the Western Wall a few meters [yards] back. Third, there must be government funding. And fourth, the area must be managed by Women of the Wall and the pluralistic streams of Judaism, the Reform and Conservative movements. We won't let the rabbi of the Western Wall manage the area."

Q: You're talking like a terrorist organization. Until all your demands are met, you'll stir up provocations and disturb prayer.

"Provocation is a harsh word for prayer, certainly for Jewish prayer at a holy, unifying site. Jerusalem is a city that makes all the Jewish people friends. Jerusalem as a built-up city that has been united. You can't link to just one side of Judaism. I am saying that as an Orthodox woman. It pains me that my Conservative, Reform, and secular friends are treated like third-class citizens in the state of Israel.

"We aren't provocateurs who show up to flip anyone off. If that were the case, we'd have gotten tired of it a long time ago. We are women of faith who have come to pray every month for 31 years, in snow and in heat waves, when there were terrorist bombings and when there were security alerts, even at the cost of personal harm and violence against us. All we want is a respectful place to pray. If and when the Western Wall compromise is implemented, we will agree to a compromise and move to the Ezrat Israel area to pray. Until then, we're at the Western Wall, every single month."

"Jewish custom is something that develops, that changes with time, according to people's needs"

Q: You sound spoiled. There is a very nice compromise and it's a lot more than what existed a decade ago, relatively far from what could be expected from the rabbi of the Western Wall. And you want more and more. It doesn't end.

"There aren't even bathrooms there. It's not accessible for the disabled, for the elderly, for baby strollers."

Q: And until all your terms are met, you aren't willing to pray at Ezrat Israel and prevent this needless friction?

"The friction comes from them. I didn't bring it on myself. They don't like seeing me? They should take a look at themselves."

Q: What does that mean, 'they don't like it'? It's your right to pray vs. his right to pray. He can't pray if there's a woman in a tallit.

"Why not?"

Q: You offend his religious sensibilities.

"The Western Wall is a symbol of the [religious] molopoly that has taken place in Israel. I insist on liberating the Western Wall, and I will use that word – liberate the wall – to throw off that monopoly. Let the Judaism of the haredim be their Judaism, with our blessings and love. I respect it, but my Judaism will be according to my own path. Let others do things their way. We face more opposition than any other organization because we touch on the core of the Jewish people, which is the Western Wall. A man can pray - he has a two-meter-high barrier! It's opaque! He stands on the fence, watching me pray, and says I'm bothering him? He can't see me unless he wants to see me."

Q: Today you want to sit in the women's section wearing a tallit and tefillin. Tomorrow you'll want a mixed-gender minyan, and the day after you'll demand to sit in the men's section.

"I won't want to sit in the men's section, and we won't ask for the barrier to be taken down. I would like it to be in the middle, but that's not what we're fighting for. I am fighting for my right as a woman to hold the Torah in my arms."

Q: Let's say the Ezrat Israel area was put in order and given government funding, and Women of the Wall prayed there rather than at the Orthodox Wall – would you accept that there is [a part of] the Western Wall you don't visit, because it isn't yours – it belongs to someone else?

"That's the compromise that has been reached. A few of the paratroopers who liberated the Wall in 1967 joined our battle and said that they had sacrificed and their comrades had died beside them knowing that the joy of the Jewish people would not be complete until the symbol was in our hands. And now, seeing how it has been re-occupied by a small group, a group of extremists from within our own people? That's not why they liberated the Wall."

Q: After everything you've said, I assume you'll be among the first to support freedom of religious worship and the right of Jews to pray on the Temple Mount.

"I don't want to get into that issue. Women of the Wall has no stance on the Temple Mount. Jews and Muslims should be allowed to pray there, but I wouldn't want to start World War III. It's too volatile a place."

Q: You're doing that 100 meters away, at the second most-volatile place.

"True, and we always say, the writing is on the wall – blood will be spilled at the Western Wall."

Q: When you pray for the Third Temple to be built, what are you actually praying for?

"World peace. I don't know if there will be a physical Temple on the Mount or not. It certainly won't drop from the heavens and destroy the mosque. I believe that the Temple and a mosque beside each other is realistic. Above all, my battle is dedicated to my daughter. I imagine her bat mitzva at the Western Wall, without shouting, with her holding a Torah."

'It's not a battlefield'

The Western Wall Heritage Foundation issued a statement in the name of Rabbi of the Western Wall Shmuel Rabinovitch in response to the claims made in this interview.

"Women of the Wall have consciously chosen to turn the Western Wall prayer plaza into a battlefield. Their insistence on praying in the traditional women's section rather than any of the alternatives the government and the High Court have offered, shows that the purpose of their activity is provocation, not prayer. We have tried to do everything possible to preserve the prayer plaza as a place for prayer, not a battlefield," the statement read.

"We tried to create a dedicated area that would separate them [the Women of the Wall] from the hundreds of women worshippers who oppose them, and Women of the Wall chose to go in an pray among the other women, against instructions. Complaints of violence have been filed with the police against Women of the Wall.

"The millions of visitors to the Western Wall are happy with it exactly as it is, and flock to it. This small, vocal group, which is demanding to implement its rights at the expense of the many visitors and worshippers, should bow to the desire of an entire people, and devote its energies to more appropriate struggles in other places," the statement continued.

The post 'I came to liberate the Western Wall' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

On the face of things, the party I voter for, Yamina, will find itself outside the government. The far-right Otzma Yehudit party, which appears to have garnered the equivalent of nearly four Knesset seats, will see its votes wasted, as it finds itself outside of the Knesset. We may see the establishment of a "secular unity government," a heartbreaking term for me as a Jew.

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But we must be patient.

Ever since I first voted at the age of 18, I have worn my holiday best on Election Day. Every single time that day comes around, I get excited. But this time was different. I headed out to the polling station in my regular clothes, out of necessity and despair.

Yes, I exercised my democratic right and obligation, disappointed in the state that led me toward the polling station for the second time in one year, never mind who is responsible for this turn of events.

But as soon as I got behind the screen in the voting booth to vote, I forgot I was wearing my everyday clothes and got excited once more.

We can complain about the candidates, we can shut our ears to the mudslinging, and hold our nose to avoid the stink of fakery – but we can also vote, and we can choose the type of country we want to live in, in the deepest sense of the word. We can prepare this country for our children and our grandchildren, and like a huge team of traffic police, guide the country in the direction of our choosing.

Unlike my four grandparents who lived under foreign rule in Jerusalem, I am lucky. Those who aren't as fortunate are the heads of the two largest parties – Likud and Blue and White, who once again find themselves between a rock and a hard place, a place where there is no victory or defeat, no good or evil, no truth or lies.

Will the country succeed in moving forward in such a situation?

Channel 12 News' Amit Segal described it as a "multi-casualty tie."

The fear is that we are the victims.

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Linda cites her religious responsibilities no fewer than three times throughout our conversation. "I am a devout Muslim, I observe the commandments on prayer and fasting, I raise my children on the values of respect, love and peace."

She reminds me of myself. Ever since I removed the head covering that was a part of me for 18 years, and which I removed following a divorce, I find myself feeling the need to explain to complete strangers that despite the absence of a head covering on my head, I am just as religious as I was at 17.

Linda mainly paints portraits of women, from beauty icons to regular flesh and blood. She was born, raised and educated in the Israeli Arab town of Jaljulia in the Triangle Region of northern Israel, a town ranked 2 out of 10 on the socio-economic scale, according to the Central Bureau of Statistics.

"Ever since childhood, I had a gift for painting, but what we learned at school was … mainly embroidery. … I didn't go to after-school art activities, there were no such afterschool activities here. Mother was creative, as was my older sister, but I wasn't aware that art was studied in academia."

After high school, Linda worked as a teaching assistant in a class for the hearing-impaired while studying for a bachelor degree in sociology and Arabic at Bar-Ilan University. It was there that she became aware of the possibility of combining her academic studies with her love of painting.

"I'm from the village. It was only at the university that I was exposed to the world and saw pamphlets on art colleges."

She left Bar-Ilan University and was accepted to Beit Berl College, where she earned an art degree and a teaching certificate. Today, Linda is now studying for a master's degree from Oranim Academic College and works as an art teacher at an elementary school in the village.

"On the weekends, I run after-school activities for small groups in my studio in Jaljulia, and there is a demand. People understand that painting does not need to be functional. The school where I teach was the first in the [Arab] sector that brought in art studies. We are a small village. I may have been the first person from the village to go and study art. Today, there are at least five girls younger than me that have gone to study art in academia."

Linda says Arab men are less likely to study art as it doesn't earn them as much money.

"I ran away from the pain"

She shows me the studio, a room in her apartment. On the wall, two paintings hang, paintbrushes are arranged in transparent jars.

"I chose to teach to have an income and also to send a message to children. Art is an educational, cultural tool, a way to self-examination and self-expression. It is important to me that the child in my class brings himself out of himself. At first, she intertwined in her work thin strings of political identity, as an Arab woman in a traditional and conservative society, including an expression of "Palestinian roots and Israeli lifestyle." She then went on to speak in a more universal manner.

"I don't see myself as an emissary of the Arab public but rather an emissary of women who have overcome obstacles, difficulties.

"I was drawn to the image of the beautiful and young woman we see in commercials. The ideal and the youth reflected in social media. I chose images of anonymous women of fantastic beauty and I painted them without any emotional involvement. Gentle women, undamaged, who have no wrinkles or cares. In reality, I have experienced the opposite. I created an ideal, perfect world. In effect, I escaped the everyday pain and the difficult reality in which I and other women around me live through the paintings."

Last month, the exhibit that brings together the works of 22 Jewish and Arab, mostly religious, artists, who met for a year within the framework of the "Female leadership in culture" project" in cooperation with "Studio of Her Own and MATI Jerusalem business development organization. The project was led by Noel Abu Issa and is curated by Hadas Glazer and Yael Massar. It is the 12^th exhibit Taha has participated in.

"I had big dreams, to be exposed, to be "in", to leave a mark in the village, so I had to get to the openings, to the exhibitions, but the way of life dictated me differently, at the age of 23 I was with a child. There are no galleries in the Triangle, there are no galleries in the Triangle, more people are interested today, they support me personally, but in order to consume art I have to go north or Tel Aviv, the only gallery I know in the sector is in Umm el Fahm."

I ask about the Arab identity, the hijab, the accent, the house in Jaljulia, and whether from an artist's perspective, they are more of an obstacle or a springboard. She assumes it's a springboard. I am jealous.

"There is something interesting in my statement, my tradition. My work exudes Arabism. I paint a modest woman, with her head partially covered. I assume that gets me attention."

Linda started wearing a hijab at the age of 24, following the birth of her first son and continued to do so for 14 years.

"I chose the hijab. I wanted the air of modesty, the appearance of a religious woman, the appreciation the surroundings have for a modest woman. I wore a hijab every day. I would only take it off at home, and only if there was no one at home. The decision to wear a hijab was mine. No man forced it on me. Not my father, not my husband. So, too, was the decision to remove the hijab my own personal decision."

"With us, it's not dependent on familial status like it is with you," she tells me, explaining that divorced and single women will also wear a hijab. "It is considered elegant. A majority of the women my age cover their heads. In my mother's generation, most women didn't and only at the age of 50 began to. It is a religious law that has been given a fashionable social tone."

Q: Does the hijab impact the way you dress? Because for religious Jews, there is a sort of give and take. If you expose your arms, then the skirt will be longer; if the skirt is shorter, the collar will be closed. In Jerusalem, for example, one can see religious women in tight jeans who compensate by wearing head coverings.

"With us, it's the opposite. The hijab obligates one to wear more modest clothing. It's part of the show, part of the spirit of the covering. I once taught a religious Jewish friend how we tie the head covering. It was an interesting experience to see her try. I still take care to dress modestly. That is the way I was brought up. I am a devout Muslim, who observes the basic laws. I read the Quran, pray, visit graves."

Q: What happened to the cloth that once covered your head?

"As the years passed, I felt I wanted to be myself, Linda, for people to see me as I am. I came to the decision to remove the covering years ago, but it wasn't important for me to act on it. I got along with it fine. After the divorce crisis, I was with the kids, they were 2 and 6 years old, I focused on their education, in an attempt to get myself back on my feet. I couldn't make that kind of change."

When Linda received an offer offered to participate in the "Female Leadership in Culture" project two years ago, she thought it was because of her hijab.

"I was considered a conservative artist and that suited the aspirations of the organizers. During that same period, I reached the decision to remove the head covering. I shared my personal experience with my friends in the project, Jewish, Arab, Bedouin women. I spoke of tradition, religion and the education I got at home. The first time I went out with my hair uncovered was for a project meeting at Beit Ha'Gefen."

I immediately recall the first time I left the house without a head covering. I felt as if the world had come to a halt.

"Going out for the first time without [a head covering] – it's scary. I talked about it with my family and the kids beforehand. I remember the way from the house to the car, my heart beating loudly, feeling as if the entire world was focused on me. Every once in a while, my hand reaching out to my head, to feel what is not there."

"I remember surprising physical sensations. The rain, the wind. I felt something I had not felt for years, a strange, pleasant feeling, I was a little girl who realized the simple things, like a baby walking for the first time.

After I removed the covering, I discovered that I had given myself another task, another thing to maintain. We don't have enough to deal with? Now I have to dye my hair, blow dry it ...

But Linda said, "My hair was always meticulous, even under the hijab, so I didn't feel that way."

Q: How did your surroundings respond?

"There were those that did not recognize me, although they know me well. They were surprised. They didn't make the connection that it was me. There were those that asked me "Why?" There were those who were silent. I don't know what they say about me behind my back. If there was shock, it was not shown in my presence."

Q: What did you with all the head coverings?

"I divided my collection among friends that do cover their heads. The chance of me putting one back in one slim to none, but if I want to go back to wearing a head covering, I will buy new ones. Some I gave to my mother, she was happy. I kept a few at home. If I go to a cemetery, I will put one on, out of respect. Also during prayer."

Linda tells me how other women have recently decided to remove their hijabs, each for their own personal reasons. "But there are also many that have gone back to it and observe the laws."

Q: Do you need courage to remove the hijab? I had the excuse of a change in familial status. I don't know if I would have done it had I stayed married.

"A nose job would be a more difficult decision to make."

Against one of the walls in Linda's studio there leans a painting of a young bride, her face erased, her body wrapped in bandages that comprise a wedding dress. Or perhaps they are shrouds.

Q: Does one need courage to get a divorce?

"I guess so. But it's a personal decision. It is important to maintain mutual respect between the parents."

Q: Do you go out on dates?

"It's not simple. My education and occupation are not trivial. I can't go out on dates, meet a guy. … But I'm not exactly in a position of getting offers to be set up either."

In recent years, Linda's older sister, Lena, fought a battle with liver cancer.

"On my sister, I saw how the boy changes, disintegrates, surrenders, betrays. I saw the damage to femininity, beauty, youth. The damaged spirit, the sunken soul. I couldn't continue to paint refined women, icons, and ignore the despair and suffering. Suddenly, the expressive side came out of me, the expression of emotion. I realized that I had distanced myself from life in my paintings. I began to splatter paint, to let it drip, to draw a real, flesh and blood, fragile woman, to release the anger that was inside me."

Lena died two years ago, at the age of 42. She left behind two children.

"We had a strong connection. She was a genius, understanding and had a scientific mind. I still haven't gotten over her passing. I'm trying to internalize it. I think she has only gone to a distant place and will be back any minute. Father died 10 years ago. It's a different kind of loss. Father was the protector; a sibling is part of you."

In one of the pictures at the exhibit, Linda and Lena's mother is seen sitting alongside her dying daughter's bed, one month before her passing. She is reading verses from the Quran to cleanse her suffering daughter's soul.

"Mother believed it would make the suffering easier on her. That was all that was left to be done. We knew it was terminal. We didn't think there would be miracles, but we believe these prayers calm the sick person, cleanse their soul. Lena was weak and slept most of the time. I took the picture and later I hung a canvas and began to paint. It is difficult to paint these kinds of scenes. It was accompanied by tears."

On the day she photographed her sister, Lena recalled that "in the air, there was electricity, sanctity and pain. An older woman who read verses from the Quran joined us. There was a monotonous low murmur of the words of God that merged into the room for a holy moment. I saw a pained mother saying a prayer not for healing, because there was no cure, but to cleanse her daughter's soul, sitting alongside the fruit of her womb and just saying her goodbyes. We are used to adults passing on and the children accompanying them. Here, there was a reversal of roles. I saw Mother reserved, believing that crying would not help here, only prayer. "Her hair fell out due to the treatments, and she made sure to wear the hijab up until her very last days. When she didn't have the strength, we put the covering on her head for her. When she passed, the entire family was at her bedside. I believe that she went to a place of peace, cleanliness, reconciliation.  "I saw her before she was buried," Linda said. "She had an angelic, captivating smile. Before the burial, she was dressed in a festive, white hijab.

The post 'I wanted people to see me as I am' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

In their new book "#IsraeliJudaism: A Portrait of a Cultural Revolution," they argue that 55% of Jewish Israelis share this code. They interviewed 3,005 Israelis, ensuring that the gender, age and religious observance demographics accurately represented the general population (in accordance with the Central Bureau of Statistics data). Interviewees answered 300 questions in the first round and 100 additional questions in the second round. The research is still ongoing and thousands continue to participate.

The numbers don't lie: The Israeli tribes are drawing ever closer. Observant Israeli Judaism is eroding. Traditional Israeli Judaism is eroding. Secular Israeli Judaism is also eroding. All this erosion has created a vacuum, generating demand for a new type of Judaism.

Fuchs and Rosner asked questions on the national spectrum (about topics like mandatory military service and observing a moment of silence on the memorial day for fallen soldiers) and on the religious spectrum (about topics like types of burial and observing Sukkot). They divided the interviewees – a very representative sample of Israeli Jews – into four groups: Israelis, Jews, Jewish Israelis and universals.

The Israelis place an emphasis on national topics but set aside tradition. The Israelis comprise 15% of the population. In the earlier stages of the study, Rosner and Fuchs called them the Canaanites.

The second group, the Jews, or conservatives, comprise 17% of Israelis. Members of this group put the emphasis on tradition but keep national rituals to a minimum. (They likely overlap with the ultra-Orthodox population.)

The third group is the universals, who have little interest in Jewish tradition and also in Jewish nationalism. This group is the smallest, comprising 13% of the population.

These three groups, however, make up less than half of the population – only 45%, in fact. The largest and most dominant tribe by far, they found, is what Rosner and Fuchs characterized as Jewish Israelis. These Jewish Israelis can be religious or secular by the old definitions, but these definitions don't apply today, they argue. This fascinating group comprises 55% of the relevant population – they engage in Jewish and Israeli rituals and traditions. They don't obey any rabbi or the laws of Judaism but they don't shun tradition and aren't completely secular. A Jewish Israeli is someone who says a blessing on Friday night, waves an Israeli flag on Independence Day and feels that it is important to be Jewish even without observing all the laws of Judaism. A Jewish Israeli is secular but observes Passover and Purim.

The survey, which is the basis for the book, is one of the largest and most in-depth of its kind – an attempt to map the characteristics of the Jewish population of Israel. Rosner suggested plotting the interviewees along two axes: tradition and nationalism. "Camil analyzed all the answers and put them into the model, and then he called me, excited. Suddenly everything fell into place," Rosner recalls. "We realized what it was that we were looking for. The data led us there. We didn't operate on assumptions. We watched the data organize itself, giving us answers to everything we were trying to understand."

Fuchs identifies as "entirely secular" – one of the seven options interviewees were given to describe themselves. He was born in Romania and immigrated to Israel at age 15. He is a professor emeritus in the Faculty of Exact Sciences at Tel Aviv University and a veteran pollster. Rosner identifies somewhere between "liberal religious" and "traditional." He wears a small kippah. He edits nonfiction for a large Israeli publisher, is a senior fellow at the Jewish People Policy Institute and writes columns for The New York Times, The Jewish Journal and Maariv.

The three of us meet at Rosner's home in Tel Aviv. When Fuchs answered his own survey, he found that he belongs in the universals column. Rosner found himself among the Jewish Israelis.

Q: Were you surprised by where your answers placed you on the graph?

Fuchs: "I was surprised to see a high percentage of completely secular people, like me, who believe in God. Seventy-eight percent of Jews in Israel believe in God, and 50% of the completely secular believe in him. Half of the secular people aren't atheists! That means that in Israel, being secular is behavioral, not faith-based. When researchers in the world ask people what religion they are, they give the option 'atheist.' In Israel, the vast majority have a religion. The Jewish religion. They don't observe its laws, but it is still their religion, so they wouldn't view themselves as atheists."

Rosner: "What surprised me about my religious friends? First of all, I'm not sure my friends are religious. As for the religious sector, I was surprised by the dropout rate. The level of observance is in decline if you compare the level of observance in the home a person grew up in to the level of observance in their home today. The religious public is having trouble keeping the next generation religious. I think that the group that is most challenged by Israeli Judaism is the religious Zionist sector. When 55% of the people are Jewish Israelis, it makes religious nationalism unnecessary."

Fuchs, nodding in agreement: "The decline in the level of observance from childhood to adult homes is consistent and verifiable. Everyone loves to talk about religification [the effort to infuse religious elements into secular institutions] but the fact is that there are more people who are less religious today than they were yesterday. There is more secularization than religification."

Rosner clarifies: "That doesn't mean that the public sphere is less Jewish. We are living inside this white noise that maintains a minimum of Judaism in the background at all times. A person identifies as 'completely secular' in a poll and then, out of 350 questions about rituals and Israeli customs and traditions, it turns out that he does observe 150. He observes Passover Seder, he observes Purim, celebrates bar mitzvahs for his son.

"The State of Israel allows us to be 'lazy' Jews. We can do nothing and still be under a constant barrage of Jewish culture. I'll give you an example: A secular Israeli turns on the television one week before Shavuot and gets bombarded with 20 advertisements for cheese. You want to forget Shavuot? You can't. Not in Israel. On the other hand, it's very easy to forget Tisha B'Av. Not everything works. There is a culture in the making here."

Rosner met Fuchs when Rosner was working at the news desk of the Haaretz newspaper and Fuchs conducted polls for the paper. They have since published a number of collaborative papers. During the interview, the gaps between their respective views become apparent at times. For example, when Rosner uses the word "assimilation" in regard to Diaspora Jews, Fuchs lashes out: "I don't view it as a threat. We are not responsible for this. We mustn't intervene in the life of another person, particularly in such an intimate act as marriage."   

In the book and in their joint research, they try to avoid judgment. "We tried to not be shocked," they say. "We are not in the business of educating or ranking. The data told us a story that we agreed on."

Creating a new culture

Among the many figures in the book, it is interesting to look at the two holidays that took on an independent shape, from the ground up, without rabbinical influence on the icons that represent them – Hanukkah and Yom Kippur. According to Jewish law, Hanukkah is not a particularly important holiday. It holds far less weight than Sukkot, for example. And yet, almost all the Israelis interviewed said they do light candles on Hanukkah (and 73% light candles on every one of the holiday's eight nights). This compared to only 58% who said they sit in the Sukkah on Sukkot.

During Hanukkah, it is impossible for Israelis to avoid the Hanukkah spirit. Every convenience store sells candles and menorahs, producers stage children's festivals, the bakeries compete for the title of most creative sufganiyot and the streets light up with holiday symbols.

Yom Kippur also received an Israeli makeover – a departure from its traditional character. Israelis can't seem to agree on the meaning of this holy day, with many opposing the popular practice among children of bicycling and rollerskating on the empty streets – as Israel takes a daylong break from cars. The survey found that many Israelis think that bicycling on the empty streets is a deviation from what Yom Kippur should represent – a day of prayer, fasting and reflection. Two-thirds of Jews, 67%, said they fully fast on Yom Kippur. But when asked about the bicycle tradition, 43% of parents said their children ride on Yom Kippur.

Q: Is bicycle riding on Yom Kippur a characteristic of Israeli Judaism?

Rosner: "The riding is intertwined with an important date on the Jewish calendar, and stems from it. Only on this holiest of days do the streets fully clear. And it happens only in Israel. A Jew living abroad will find the streets full of cars on Yom Kippur. The special circumstances experienced by the majority of Jews in Israel created this link between Yom Kippur and bicycles.

"For some people, this is an indication that Jewish in Israel are becoming less Jewish. But it is possible that the rise in the number of bicycles on Yom Kippur doesn't indicate an erosion of commitment to the Jewish culture, but rather a shift in the Jewish culture. Two out of every three Israelis go to synagogue on Yom Kippur. About half of them stay at the synagogue for most of the day, and the other half go just for [initial] Kol Nidre or [closing] Neila services. At the same time, the children of many of those same people ride bicycles."

Fuchs and Rosner found quite a few customs that an overwhelming majority of Jews in Israel partake in: Passover Seder, Rosh Hashanah, the moment of silence on memorial day, bar and bat mitzvah, the Friday night family dinner, resting on Shabbat, and circumcision. A tiny minority, 4%, said that they don't observe Yom Kippur or Passover in any way.

A large majority (76%) believes that in order to be a good Jew, one must be a good person and that Jews should help other Jews wherever they may be. A similar majority (84%) believe that to be a Jew means remembering the Holocaust. Most of the Jews, 94%, eat apples dipped in honey on Rosh Hashanah, 91% eat jelly doughnuts on Hanukkah, 76% eat from the Afikoman on Passover, 63% eat barbecued meat on Independence Day and 82% eat dairy on Shavuot.   

"We don't jump to conclusions, we only assess the reality," Fuchs says. "But it is impossible not to see that something new has been created here. Israeli Judaism. The story isn't complete, it's still developing. We are in the midst of the creation of a new culture."

"The charm of Jewish culture over the course of history, and the reason it has not disappeared, is that we adapt quickly to new circumstances," Rosner adds. "The State of Israel qualifies as new circumstances – a new, unfamiliar reality – and Judaism adapts to it."  

"Zionism sought to eradicate anti-Semitism and ensure the safety of Jews' lives. That didn't happen. Anti-Semitism has not been eradicated. But something else happened – Zionism won an important victory in managing to rejuvenate Judaism and renew it in the modern era. It enabled people who don't observe the laws of Judaism to live a life that accommodates their personal preferences while simultaneously supplying a thick layer of Jewish culture that accompanies them. It is like an ancient suitcase that they take with them everywhere they go."

Fewer tribes, more variations

I ask the two whether the vast overlap between the different groups doesn't contradict the general sense of hostility and conflict among Israelis today.

Rosner: "There are people with clear interests who are working to exacerbate the incessant need to fight, to sharpen the edges: politicians, journalists and organizations looking to raise money."

Q: Wars on religion and state also fuel the internal Israeli conflict, but your study found that secular Israelis generally feel sympathetic toward religion.

"It is important to distinguish between tradition and religion," he says. "Israelis love tradition but they associate religion with rabbis and the religious establishment and they reject it. Who's to blame? Everyone has an answer. Being Israeli affords people a comfortable Jewish existence. Within the daily grind, it doesn't take too much effort to be a Jewish Israeli. It's right here. And if we don't fight about it, it comes naturally to everyone. We found a very high incidence of Israelis who insist on having family dinners on Friday night, where they say kiddush and eat a kosher meal. The Rabbinate can intervene, the politicians can try to step in but Israeli culture is what most Israelis choose to practice. Tisha B'Av, for example, is omitted almost entirely from Israeli culture. It is observed almost exclusively by the observant. There is no use trying to change that with legislation or activism."

One of the surprising revelations in the book is the number of Israelis who identify as Reform or Conservative even though they don't belong to Reform or Conservative congregations or to the movements in any way. "This is a red flag for the Orthodox establishment," the authors explain. "People identify as Reform because Orthodox has come to be perceived as derogatory in the eyes of many secular Jews. They associate Orthodoxy with religious political parties, the Chief Rabbinate and corruption. The interviewees didn't read Reform books on theology."

Q: You didn't ask any diplomatic-political questions in your survey. But isn't the political divide the most obvious rift among Israelis?

Fuchs: "There is a massive rift in terms of views. But both as a pollster and as a citizen I will say that it is a far less relevant issue in the private individual's day to day conduct. There is support for separating from the Palestinians, but for most Israelis that already exists. It's not an issue that occupies their minds."

Rosner: "In Israel, 5% identify as left-wing, another 11% identify as center-left. That means that the majority of Israelis are on the right or center. Whether [Zionist Union Chairman Avi] Gabbay or [Prime Minister Benjamin] Netanyahu heads the government, you wouldn't see a huge difference in policy on the Palestinian issue."

Q: What about President Reuven Rivlin's tribes speech?

"I don't see separate tribes in Israeli society. I see an open fan with a lot of variations. The tribes discourse was effective in understanding society but the tribes are drawing closer together."

I ask Rosner whether he thinks that the national-religious sector, to which both he and I belong, is a leading force in the Israeli Judaism they describe. We grew up on the same street, went to the same youth movement, and were both brought up on Torah and labor, Torah and science, Torah and art. He answers sharply: "Religious Zionism likes to take undeserved credit for things it did not achieve. It needs a bit of modesty. The sector is one of the groups that brought us this link, but so did Bialik, A.D. Gordon, Ahad Ha'am, Berl Katznelson. There were factions that tried to create a new kind of Israeli, detached from the past, but most of the Zionists, including the Labor party, tried to create a new Jew, not a Canaanite Hebrew.

I ask them both if the study made them more optimistic or more pessimistic. "I feel much calmer," says Fuchs. "We found a dynamic society that is headed in the right direction."

"I'm very optimistic," Rosner concurs. "It's worthwhile to take a step back from the Twitter wars and find that we are generally united in Israeli society. We hardly found any Israelis on the fringes."

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A baby delivered in an emergency cesarean section in the 30^th week of pregnancy was ultimately taken from this world. This days old infant will not be forgotten. His first and last bed was an incubator full of tubes and beeping machines. Then he died. In his mother's blood. One of the reasons the doctors decided to deliver him was to save his mother, Shira, who had been shot in a terrorist attack. That is how medicine works – a mother's life takes precedence over the life of a fetus. The little guy held on to life with his tiny fingers for three days.

In a horrifying turn of events, he loosened his grip on life shortly after being reunited with his mother, who had been in intensive care as well. One can only imagine how excited Shira must have been to see him for the first time. But a short while after they first laid eyes on each other, both wounded and exhausted, he passed away. The baby, who had no name (we called him Shira's son in our prayers), was named Amiad Yisrael upon his death. The murderers remain nameless. And that is how it should be. Nameless and faceless. May they be forgotten forever. May their named be erased.

Let us refrain from using the passive form of the verb. The baby was not "murdered." Lowly Arabs murdered him. They aimed an automatic rifle at his young mother's abdomen and fired. A cell of Islamist terrorists spilled the blood of a young woman and the blood of a fetus.

Back in 1929, during the Arab riots in Palestine, Muslims tore open the stomachs of pregnant women and intentionally massacred unborn children. These sons of Satan derive joy from every life taken – young children, pregnant women, the elderly, parents, families. A culture of death. We, on the other hand, have life, and will have life.

Shira and her husband Amichai are mourning their son. They are in shock, broken in body and in spirit. But they have entered all of our hearts. You will see, Shira and Amichai – you will have sons and daughters. From this tragedy, you will build a magnificent family, like the families that you were raised in. Flowers will grow from the earth where Amiad Yisrael was taken.

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