Yesh Atid leader Yair Lapid's wife, Lihi, needs little introduction. She is a renowned photographer, a lecturer, a special-needs advocate, and the author of several bestselling novels and children's books. Her latest novel, Strangers, was published in February. 

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In an interview with Israel Hayom, Lapid shared stories of her life, spoke about her latest novel and her experience being a mother to a special-needs daughter and the wife of a prominent politician, now eyeing the Prime Minister's Office.

Q: Are you active in Yesh Atid?  

"I go out to rallies in intersections and on bridges because it's very important for me, and it's certainly crucial for me that we win so that there will finally be a change in my country which I love so much.

"I think that the circumstances do allow for a change, and time has come for renewal and rejuvenation. Israel and Israelis are in need of calm and composed leadership, without any dramas, because we are sick of it."

Q: Do you ever get tired of it all? 

"Of course not. We're on a mission. These elections are about our truth, and the Israeli public is very smart – it knows how to recognize the truth. Yair is ready. Yesh Atid gave him so much experience. I think people understand that now. They know they can lean on him, that he will not be making any sudden U-turns.

"There were days when I said to myself, 'enough is enough.' I told myself I wouldn't reads newspapers, [go on political] WhatsApp groups, polls; that I was done with all that. But morning came, and I realized I couldn't disconnect. It was stronger than me."

Q: How do you feel when polls or articles depict your husband in a bad light? 

"Terrible lies have been published about him over the years, or just tongue lashing that I had a hard time reading. One time I woke up at 5 a.m., looked at my phone, and read something that woke me up completely. 

"It was difficult for me to look at Yair sleeping, knowing that he was about to wake up and read those things. But Yair doesn't get angry, and when something challenging happens, he says, 'It's difficult now, but we will get through this, and we'll see how to change the current reality.'

"Yair views life differently. For him, if one doesn't like the current situation, he should work on changing it. When most of our rivals buckle under the pressure, he's a rock, firmly grounded and weathring the storms of private and public life."

Q: What about offensive comments you come across online?

"I get very upstet about fake news and slanderous comments. I used to have a Twitter account, which I later deleted. I couldn't stand seeing all that malice. I'm a member of dozens of WhatsApp groups where I'm super political, but Facebook and Instagram I use more for lectures, books, writing, and life.

"In those rare instances that someone does send me a really disgusting message about Yair, I reply, 'We are allowed to disagree, we are allowed to argue about politics, but you are crossing a boundary.' The vast majority apologizes." 

Q: Do you affect Yair's decisions?

"I'm very involved in the party, but I don't interfere with his decisions, not at all. Yair is surrounded by professionals that know what they're doing, and Yair is good at his job. I believe in him. I support the party on the ground."

"I'm interested to hear from Yair about the things he's not sure about, his reasons for certain decisions, and it's important for me to know what his opinion is. We never talk about what is the right thing to do, rather what our opinions are on the matter. We also hardly ever mention specific people."

A year after the birth of their daughter Yaeli, Lapid parted with her camera and focused on the written word. She has pebbed several bestselling novels and her latest, Strangers, was published in February.

Q: Do you write throughout the day as well? 

"In the last two years, there have been more election campaigns which made it impossible for me to focus and write in the morning or throughout the day. I'm not like Yair, who is so efficient with his work processes and time management. 

"What I do is declutter the computer, Instagram, Facebook, and all the emails, which could take hours, and before I know it, the morning has gone by. In the evening, I'm usually busy with lectures, so 5 am is all I have left."

Q: You used to write a weekly column for Yedioth Ahronoth.

"Yes. I told myself that if I no longer had a weekly deadline, which used to drain all the creativity out of me, I would write a book to fill the vacuum created by my dismissal from the newspaper a year and a half ago. It's not just that I love to write. I discovered that I absolutely had to write, that writing is a part of who I'm."

Q: Your dismissal from Yedioth Ahronoth was very sudden. Have you healed? 

"Not exactly. I had my own column for 15 years, and I miss it very much. I also miss my readers, whom I used to meet at my lectures. "Every Friday we wait for your column," they used to tell me.

"The column was my way to connect with the world. It was my voice. It helped me understand myself, understand life, family, my country."

Q: Could you ever have imagined that you would write a column for 15 years?

"I remember when I was first assigned the column, [well-known Israeli author] Yehonatan Geffen told me 'Lihi, they are paying you so that on printing day there will be quality information to publish. Very few people can do that long-term.' So I proved I could do it. But all that was cut short because I'm the wife of a politician. Such a shame.

On the other hand, "I'm definitely freer now. I'm no longer employed [to write,] and I can be more objective. I have the freedom to say what I want whenever I want. I wrote my book out of this sense of freedom."

Q: Some attribute your literary success to who your husband is.

"I have heard such claims. No one reads a book because Yair Lapid's wife wrote it. Whoever reads my work and comes to my lectures is someone who connected to my words. Perhaps it impacted them in a certain way or made them contemplate. Whoever doesn't connect, and for whom I'm 'Yair Lapid's wife,' that's fine with me."

Q: What does Yair think of your latest book? 

"When the first three chapters of the book were ready, I emailed them to him and asked him not to comment, just tell me 'yes' or 'no.' He replied, 'Wow.' When I finished the book, it was important to me that Yair's mother, Shula, [renowned novelist Shulamit Lapid] also read it. When she did, she told me the book had been written with so much love and soulfulness."

Q: Shulamit Lapid's participation in Yair's campaign video that went viral was quite a surprise. 

"True. With Yair's father [late Shinui founder Yosef "Tommy" Lapid] she was supportive more from the sidelines, but with Yair, she, like the rest of us, got drawn into Yesh Atid. She is active in WhatsApp, and always offers wise advice. She is the wisest woman I have ever met.

"When I was writing [my first book] Woman of Valor, I was scared to bring my personal life into the book, and there I was writing that I had an autistic daughter. I asked Shula if I should share the whole truth. She then gave me a wonderful piece of advice: to write the entire truth, and if needed, remove some parts of it later. That is exactly what I did, and removed much fewer parts than I thought I would. 

"When I was writing Strangers, I revisited this advice, but what happens to protagonist Nina is not something that needed or could have been cut or softened."

Q: Your latest book is not your personal story. 

"No, but I must admit it's one of the most personal books I have ever written, in terms of characters and personalities. The parents who worry about making ends meet and the ability to pay the bills at the end of the month, that is exactly how I grew up, and that is who I'm today, a working woman who worries about household finances. Matters that are important to me are woven in throughout the entire book."

Q: Which matter is the most important to you? 

"Family. What our responsibility is as parents within a family, and a complex issue that is not being spoken of at all – what our children's responsibility is to us. Of course, as parents, we take care of our children and give them as much as possible, but I wonder how much we communicate to them that one day they will have to be there for us when we are old. We don't really stop and tell our children, 'You have responsibilities to us too.'

"Years from now, I hope my son Lior will come to visit me at the hospital when I'm there. Unfortunately, my daughter Yaeli won't. But what will happen if my son moves to another country, as the son of the heroine of my book did? 

"Stranger is a delicate discussion, about a family being scattered all over the world, about grandparents. My children are my children, but they are the grandchildren of my mother and Shula. 

"When I struggled to give time to Lior because of Yaeli's countless treatments, my parents were there for him. He often slept by them. He always says, 'At home, I might be a prince, but at my grandparents' I'm a king."

Q: From where did you draw the inspiration to write a novel about an 18-year-old at-risk girl? 

"As part of my public activities, I often visit organizations that do this kind of work, like Elem, which works with at-risk youth. When I visited one of their centers dedicated to young women who have been sexually abused, I spoke with one of the counselors, and I asked her how was it possible for a young girl to find herself in such a situation, in an abusive relationship, and where were the parents. Her questions helped form [two of the characters from the book,] the mother and the daughter who live in the suburbs. 

"I grew up in Arad [in Israel's south], a remote and somewhat disconnected desert town, which was wonderful in terms of community, but it also closes you off from certain experiences.

"When I was 12, we moved to Ramat Hasharon [in central Israel.] The move to the big city was a shock to me, but it was the most formative experience of my adolescence as well. I had to get used to noise, crowds, people dressed in fashionable clothes, a way of speaking I was not used to."

Q: You dedicated your latest book to your sister.

"Yes, because I cannot imagine this journey called life without Ilil. She is eight years younger than me, but she superseded me a long time ago and has become my 'older sister.' 

"We are complete opposites. She is incredibly organized with attention to details, and I'm messier, and I pay less attention to details. She is reserved, a lawyer, and I tend to get emotional. She is my true friend who knows everything about me."

Q: Does your son Lior help you out? 

"Very much so. He is already 25 years old, and he is studying criminology and sociology at Ariel University. His whole life, he has dreamt of becoming a policeman. Like all students, he is studying via Zoom now, and he helps me with book-related errands, helps me a lot with Yaeli. He is a wonderful brother. 

"When he was six years old, he told me he wanted a younger brother very much. I explained to him that I was very busy with Yaeli's treatments, and he was already spending a lot of time with grandpa and grandma.

"He looked at me and said, 'Mom, Yoav [Yair Lapid's son from a previous marriage] and I are not enough siblings for Yaeli.' He was only six years old, and he already understood what kind of responsibility rested on him."

Four years ago, Lapid was appointed president of the Shekel organization that works to include people with disabilities in the general community. Last year she received the prestigious Tzamid Festival Award for her work in the field. 

"Anyone who has the ability to bring about change, who can make their voice heard, is obligated to use this power to act on behalf of those who cannot," she said at the award ceremony. 

Q: Only recently you started sharing your daughter's story in your lectures. 

"I couldn't do it before. To stand on a stage for an hour and speak about Yaeli, about us, about this painful wound, and share such personal stories, it's not the same as writing about it in a book." 

Q: And why did you change your mind? 

"In August 2018, Israel's Association of Community Centers published a survey which said that 90% of parents were unwilling to have their children participate in activities together with children with special needs. I was shocked by the results. 

"I asked myself how could it be that for years we were talking of accepting those who are different than us, and how much I fought for Yaeli to be included, so she will not feel as an outsider, and in the end, parents don't want to send their children to activities with children with disabilities."

Q: Have we failed, then? 

"No. We simply have a long way to go. I'm optimistic because if we were to ask the same question from our children, they would give a completely different answer. They are more tolerant, and unlike our generation, they are growing up with children with disabilities in their classrooms, in their year, or in youth movements. They will grow up to be different parents than those who answered the questionnaire. 

"Two weeks after the survey was published, I was invited to speak at a large conference for child development workers, and I decided that was it. I no longer had the privilege to come and say, 'This is not something I speak about.' That is how my lecture was born, the one where I speak about what it's like to be a mother to a special needs daughter. But it's still not easy for me. 

"After I give a lecture online, I go downstairs to the living room, and Yair is there, having just finished his never-ending zoom meetings, and when he asks me, 'how was it?' I cannot always answer immediately. It takes me some time to compose myself. 

"it's still not easy for me and Yair to speak about Yaeli. We never hid the fact that she is autistic. Since she was diagnosed, we've been active in The Israeli National Autism Association. 

"It took us a few years to admit that no matter what we did, what innovative treatment we participated in, what expert from abroad or Israel we tried, we will not save Yaeli from autism, and she will be autistic forever. Yair and I don't want people to feel sorry for us."

Q: Do you ever feel that people are sorry for you?

"I see people's faces change when I talk about it. We don't like it; I don't feel that it strengthens me that someone is sorry for me."

Q: What does strengthen you?

"When I give a lecture to 1,000 parents and professionals out of strength and joy of life, out of having made peace with Yaeli's autism, and with the knowledge that I stopped taking the past into consideration and am less afraid of the future.

"Yair and I have tea every evening, and we never miss it because this is our way to summarize how our day went. We don't speak on the phone throughout the day because those kinds of conversations are not deep and are very brief. 

"At the end of the day, we can talk about everything calmly. I remember one fortifying moment, in the years that I was sad and did not have any strength, we were sitting drinking tea with Yair, and he told me, 'Lihi, there is a family here that needs you, children that need you, and I need you. We are on a life-long journey, and you need to find your strength and return to life." 

"There was so much sadness, stress, and worries in those years, back when Yaeli was a child. When I look at pictures in our albums and see her happy and smiling, I ask myself how come I was not happy in those moments.

"Looking back, I understand that throughout the years of raising Yaeli, I missed out on small moments of happiness and joy, so now I try to be happy in every moment."n

"On Pesach eve, at the peak of the coronavirus drama, I lost my father, Rafi, who died of leukemia at the age of 75. He had been hospitalized for months, and he still listened to the news on the radio, and doctors used to join him in political debates. He also made sure to vote." 

"Only our family attended the funeral. My brother, who lives in Los Angeles, couldn't travel in. We sat shiva alone, no one could come and visit us. Some friends brought food to our doorstep, rang the bell, and had to leave."

Q: Do you miss your father? 

"Very much. Father was not a man of words, but a man of actions. No matter what problem we came across, whenever I needed a quick fix, father was the person I called. He was always there for me. When I was late for one of Yaeli's treatments, he would take her instead of me, or if I forgot something at home, he always brought it for me. I always knew father was the first person to call at a time of need."

Q: Not Yair? 

"Yair would go to the edge of the world for the children or me, but my father was so happy when we asked him for help. It made it easy to ask him. When he celebrated his 70th birthday, he wanted to bring more meaning into his life, and he realized that what he should be doing is 'the thing he knows best.' His answer was, 'I know how to be Yaeli's grandfather best.'

"Soon after, he began visiting an autistic child twice a week, who was living in a hostel and whose parents had died, so there was nobody to visit him. They used to go and eat falafel together, that is until father was hospitalized.

"I once asked him, in a particularly difficult moment with Yaeli, 'Why is it me that this is happening to? And why is it so challenging?' He hugged me tight and said, 'Do you think Yaeli would be doing as well as she is in any other place?' I replied, probably not.

"So this is your role in life, and your journey of a lifetime,'" he said. 

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The post 'The time has come for a change. We're ready' appeared first on www.israelhayom.com.

Two months ago, just after she celebrated her 25th birthday, Sgt. Hadas Stiglitz completed 17 weeks of intense training and became a Border Police officer. Wearing uniform, exacting order exercises, saluting her commanders with tense footsteps, and singing the national anthem aloud.

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But even in the imaginary script of that special day, which she constantly ran in her head, her parents and siblings were not sitting in the stands. Also, there were no baskets loaded with the flavors and smells of a home – which she missed so much. Stiglitz knew that her family members were refusing to accept the ultra-Orthodox girl's decision to become a Border Patrol fighter.

But when the day of the graduation came, in mid–March, the coronavirus pandemic ensured that Stiglitz would experience no exception to her friends. The grand ceremony was moved from the maintenance corps at Tel Hadid to the Yitzhak Rabin Border Patrol Training Base in the Judean Desert, without the presence of hundreds of families, without playing the police orchestra and with no famous speeches and exercises.

After receiving the warrior pin, Stiglitz was notified that she had been selected as the regiment's outstanding soldier, and was immediately promoted from the rank of a policewoman to the rank of second sergeant. "I made it big time," she said excitedly at the end of the ceremony. "I'm proud of myself for completing the long road. I got so much criticism for the decision to enlist, and here I am, the regiment's outstanding soldier."

"It was precisely the intimacy of the ceremony that made the matter more personal and exciting. Suddenly, I was equal. Nobody's parents came. During basic training, we went through one big 'melting pot' procedure. I met Christians and Druze, Bedouins and Ethiopians, and many secular soldiers. Where else would I get the opportunity to meet so many people in such a short and intensive time?"

She was born in Bnei Brak, the sixth of nine children. When she was ta toddler, her family moved to Modi'in Illit, and Stiglitz was educated at Beit Yaakov School, which follows the teaching of the Lithuanian ultra-Orthodox stream.

"No TV, no computer, lots of board games, lots of field trips around the country, and lots of playing outside. At school, I was a dominant student, and a very friendly one: cheerful, playful, and full of energy. Always checking boundaries.

"I was always independent, too. From the fifth grade, I started working; I always had the inner extinct that I needed to take care of myself. I babysat, collected recyclable cans, sold candy at recess, worked in a store, and later was a certified lifeguard at the pool. I loved being a lifeguard."

At the age of 17, she traveled with her friends to the recruitment office to sign an exemption from military service – "for reasons of religious recognition".

"There was no talk of military or any type of national service between us, it was out of the question," she recalled, presenting a photo from the day she waited in the recruitment office. "I see in this picture a girl who dared to dream of the military, but realized she would never enlist because that's the way it is; because at 18 I'm supposed to graduate high school, get married and start a family". There are very clear goals to be met, and an army service is out of the question."

But secretly, Stiglitz would express in her personal diaries, sometimes by writing in acronyms so that no one could understand, her continuous dream of serving in the army.

"I don't really know how to explain it, but the idea of serving in the military was always in my head," she said. "My uncle, my mother's younger brother, was the first ultra-Orthodox officer in the Air Force, and when we went to his officers' graduation ceremony, I was thrilled with all the energy the ceremony brought with it. I was captivated by the uniform, the 'left–right–left,' the saluting.

"I drove all my friends crazy after that. During recess and any time possible, I would parade them in the halls and courtyards. In 11th grade, I've experienced a certain disappointment in school, and my parents asked me how they could make me happy. In reply, I asked to go see an air force cadet inauguration ceremony. That's what a 'Super Religious' girl asked her parents for as a consolation gift."

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"They ended up taking me to the airbase. And I'm sitting there in the crowd, ecstatic about everything that's happening around me and telling myself, 'I should be there, too.' The army has always been a dream, but everyone around me taunted me: 'Are you crazy? That's impossible'. As an ultra-Orthodox girl, the way we were told was best to protect the state, was through keeping the values of chastity and modesty and by giving birth to as many children as possible. I really did want to keep my country safe, but as a soldier."

At the age of 18, as expected from a young girl in the Haredi community, she went on dates with preteritive husbands. "But I didn't connect to the idea [of starting a family right away]. The path chosen for me was predefined and I didn't understand where I was in this whole scenario, where was my choice.

"Then the pressure started at home, tensions rose with my brothers who did not agree with me. Why should I get a driver's license? An ultra-Orthodox girl who drives can drive to shady and questionable places. These arguments devastated me. I had a hard time with asceticism and in the extensive pressure to 'worship'. I couldn't understand why it's impossible to do these acts happily and willingly, to observe Shabbat in a more cheerful way. In general, I always looked for some breathing room."

She decided to attend Ofakim Seminary, a boarding school, where she could also study music therapy ("I always loved writing and composing songs, I very much enjoy playing and singing"). To this day, she plays the guitar and the piano, by doesn't own her own instruments.

After two years, Stiglitz left the seminar. She could not handle the pressure to marry. "From the moment I left there, I started to change which today I realize is a process that started even earlier," she shares sincerely. "I shortened quite a bit the long skirt, replaced my 'kosher' phone for a smart one – all sorts of things that were 'heaven forbid' for my family. Once I felt my thoughts and opinions had no place and could not be shared, I realized I had to leave. Within one day I left for Jerusalem."

In the capital, as part of her interest in the security world, she studied investigative studies at the National Investigations and Security Unit ("It's a college that offers courses and training in interesting areas"), worked as a lifeguard in a hotel and rented an apartment with roommates. "During those days, I read Noa Yaron–Dayan's book – 'Shira Geula', which is about an orphan girl from her father, who leaves her mother and her ultra–Orthodox husband, and moves to Jerusalem. This book touched my soul. It was the first time I ever read about the famous 'Kikar Hachatulot' ['the Cats square') and 'Hezroni's Zula' (Hezroni's hangout place). Both located in the center of town." (See frame)

"I went out searching for the 'zula' and found a warm and cozy place, with a colorful and unique range of people – and great music for the soul. I finally felt like I could breathe. In Jerusalem, I felt more alive and my external image continued to change. My skirts became even shorter, and my sleeves have also shortened. But the truth was I didn't like myself because of that, to say the least."

Q: Why not?

"Because you can go crazy with what goes on in the brain. From the extreme changes you go through, between being completely free, and the strict halachic demands. You're constantly at odds with yourself. So many subtleties that you're accustomed to from the day you were born, and then suddenly, you stop it all – and the sky doesn't fall on you. Still, you feel a complete sinner. This can lead to great distress for former religious people."

After the Jerusalem period, which lasted six months, Stiglitz briefly returned to her parents' home ("I wanted to save some money"), and in the winter went on a short mission to Zhitomir, Ukraine, and served as a Hebrew teacher for girls in the Jewish community there.

A mere 10 days after returning from Ukraine, she flew to Thailand, an exotic destination, which she says has always fascinated her. "I flew by myself, and there I got a broad perspective on life. After two months of traveling, I came home a different person."

Q: What changed?

"I was exposed to the world and started to understand it. But I mainly understood how much I loved my country. When I had time to think, the idea of military service resurfaced in my mind. There, I finally decided I wanted to enlist. Although I was 23 already, I wanted to join the IDF. There, I felt, I can break out and put all my skills into practice. "

Stiglitz returned from Thailand with every intention to enlist, but then her plans changed beyond recognition. "I met a soldier from Givati [Brigade], an ultra-Orthodox fellow who enlisted".

"All of a sudden, through him, I lived the army vibe, the dream. I wore his uniform, put on his Givati beret – and I constantly took pictures of myself. I was so happy because it was clear we were on the road to marriage. But two weeks after he was discharged, we broke up, unfortunately.

"I was heartbroken, and with it came the feeling again that I had no home. I remember driving to a forest to be alone, and precisely at that point, when I was broken and helpless, I realized that all these years I was preventing myself from fulfilling a dream, because – 'here I am soon to be married' – and then, I decided, enough!"

After separation from the boyfriend, Stiglitz was at a fateful crossroads. "I realized that I had to choose life and not lose myself." Then the proposal to OU's 'Dror apartment' came (see the end of the article).

"Through a good friend I met at 'Hezroni's Zula', I found an apartment Pesach time last year, in the religious community of 'Psagot' in the mountains of Benjamin. Once I entered the apartment – I immediately felt at home. This was a caravan that had a beautiful panoramic view which overlooks the Moab Mountains. I needed the open air so much."

"In my first conversation with Talia, the counselor at the apartment, she told me: 'This place is designed to let you spread your wings and fly on your own.' I didn't even know I had wings. In the apartment, I found a listening ear, someone who is always there for me so I can pick myself up and recalculate my life's route. No one bothered me there; nobody demanded or expected anything from me. I planted spices and vegetables in a small garden, constantly looking after them. It did me good working in the garden."

Slowly, she admitted, she felt the sun rising again. "At the apartment, I was helped in connecting my broken parts. At that time, I started working with elderly women who have cognitive disabilities. They loved me unconditionally and broadened my heart. From Talia I learned how to manage a religious, well–behaved, observant family – her private family, together with making new friends.

"While talking to Talia and the psychologist available to the apartment, my interest in the army rose again. I told them that despite my age, 24, I cannot miss the experience and do not want to give up my duty as a citizen of the country I love so much."

Stiglitz inquired all the details herself and arrived at the recruiting office in Jerusalem, where, she said, they were excited to hear her story. "With shaking hands I signed off, canceling my military exemption, but I never felt so complete with myself."

Q: When did you tell your parents about the decision to enlist?

"It took me a while to tell them about canceling the exemption, and when I let them know – they had a very difficult time with the information. They didn't understand why I needed it and how I can benefit from it, but at that point I already decided I wouldn't let anyone rob me of the dream."

Following the cancellation of the exemption, Stiglitz was called in for the standard military screening like all young recruits.

"It was clear to me that I was aiming for meaningful service. I dreamed of being a commander at the 'Chavat Hashomer' base, commanding at-risk youth who were conscripted. My second option was to be a Border Police officer."

Q: How did you get to know these units in the first place?

"I learned about the Border Police through the [Kan] documentary reality series 'Jerusalem District' and I totally saw myself serving in their combat units. The action that the roles portrayed matched who I am."

In November 2019, she officially joined the Border Patrol. "The unbelievable happened. My parents did not attend my inaugural ceremony as I expected, but my sister came with my nephews, and Talia came with her whole family, and Rabbi Avi Berman, CEO of OU Israel also attended. I felt more loved than ever before".

Talia Gefen (30), manager and counselor of OU's 'Dror apartment', says: "I met Hadas only a year ago when she first arrived at the apartment, exhausted and powerless after a very big crisis." The apartment usually lists four young girls who want to leave the bad place they are in life "and move on to a more meaningful life, utilizing their talents, strengths and abilities. It all happens in a very open and free atmosphere, almost without rules, to make it clear to the girls that their choices in life completely belong to them and help them take responsibility. It's not in vein the apartment is called a 'Dror apartment' (Freedom apartment) ".

"Slowly Hadas gathered herself again, and together we built a schedule of going out to work. She is a very talented girl and everything she touches is gold. She has a very special and charismatic personality. "

Geffen, whose path with the OU organization began at the national service she did at "Hezroni's Zula", is the sister of the Major Bnayah Sarel, who was killed in Operation 'Protective Edge' in southern Gaza Strip. Lieutenant Hadar Goldin and Sergeant Liel Gideoni were killed together with him.

Hadas reminded me many times of Bnayah," Geffen said emotionally. "Beyond vitality and charisma, Hadas has this character trait that if she wants something – she will surge into it without too much thought. My brother was this way too. I kept warning her that in the army she couldn't say everything that came to mind, and the last word would always be from the commanders; because I remember it very significantly from Bnayah. At first he found it difficult to get along in the military framework because of this unique trait, and in the end he found his own way to bring himself in the most loyal way to the system. At Hadas' graduation ceremony, I felt like a proud mother."

Stiglitz started basic training with friends in her platoon, most of them being six years younger. Due to her personal circumstances, she was recognized by the military as a "lone soldier".

In her first meeting with the platoon commander, the commander told her: "Hadas is a binding name in the Border Patrol", referring to the tragic story of the Maj. Hadas Malka, who was killed in June 2017 in a clash with terrorists near the Nablus Gate in Jerusalem. Stiglitz , who did not know the story of Malka's heroism, was very excited to follow in her footsteps.

A week before the basic training graduation ceremony, and before the coronavirus virus shut down the entire country, I met Stiglitz and her commanders. She had just returned from physical tryouts to the Border Police's elite unit, which she did not complete, to her regret.

"The main thing is I know I tried. My knees are completely worn down", she smiles. "I really hope I can pull them together for the rest of the training. The tryouts were tough physically. I was ousted in a stage that required intense physical effort, but don't think of me that way, I am very strong.

"Throughout basic training, I found myself being asked repeatedly the question of how come I only got drafted now, so at a certain point, I gathered the whole company and told them I came from an ultra-Orthodox family.

"I wish my parents could understand the fact that me wearing a uniform and pants, doesn't reflect at all on my values. I don't define myself as former religious. I still observe Shabbat and keep kosher, very much believe in God, and when I'm not in uniform I don't dress in an exposed way. In my inner essence, I'm still a religious girl. Everyone calls me 'Rebetzin Stiglitz' here. A friend even joined me, and we observed Shabbat together on base. We attended the synagogue here which was delightful."

Q: You are older than all the recruits at the base, and most of your commanders, too.

"I respect my commanders, and it doesn't matter how old they are. In my platoon, there are girls who call me 'mom,' and when they miss their parents, I talk to them and help them overcome. I also had a moment that I was very sad and wept endlessly into my pillow. There was a certain time when everyone was on the phone with their parents – and I was the only one who wasn't. That feeling of deep loneliness broke me."

Q: You now seem strong and motivated.

"Thanks to this wonderful corps and my wonderful commanders. I feel like I have a new family that takes care of me for everything. I don't give up on them nor do they give up on myself. They trust me, believe in me, my heart grows in the face of this fact."

Q: How do you get by financially?

"All my life, I'm used to being independent and supporting myself, then all of a sudden, because of the army service, I can't work. There were days in basic training that I couldn't afford shampoo for my hair, but thanks to the support of my commanders, I learned to speak up, and not be shy. My commander took care of everything I needed, including allowing me to use my mobile during the day".

Stiglitz commanding offer Tzahi Sofer, said she "has very high motivation and is very opinionated and physically strong. She's always first, pushing and supporting those in difficulty, sweeping the department after her. The other girls come to her for sage advice, take comfort in her, to soothe the difficulties, and she always has good and wise words to say. We do not give her any discounts, except for the fact that she cannot be punished for not being let out for the weekend and staying on base for Shabbat."

After basic training, Stiglitz was placed with the "Bazelet" (Basalt) company of the Jerusalem region. "I'm so happy that I'm in the field and not in front of a computer," she jokes.

Over the past two months, she has been escorting and protecting the Jewish residents living in East Jerusalem. The coronavirus days brought slightly different activity, she says, which included enforcing traffic restrictions and keeping citizens safe in that aspect as well. "Due to the lockdown, and the fact that the streets were empty, I was able to get better acquainted with the district. The holy month of Ramadan was taken into account, so of course, there were events that I could not elaborate on in this interview. I can only say that I definitely studied the area and understood what I stand for, learning to conduct and exercise judgment. In short, mainly learning."

In the meantime, she had moved to 'Beit Giora' in Jerusalem, an apartment building intended for lone soldiers, after her apartment in Psagot fulfilled its course and was vacated in favor of other girls who needed it more.

Her head, she says, is already planning the rest of her service. "I really hope to advance to the position of a team commander, then off to officer course, because I have a lot to give. For me, I'm already a Border Patrol officer."

'Zula' for the soul

The Orthodox Union (OU), or its full name, the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, is one of the largest and oldest in Orthodox Jewish organizations in the United States. The organization has been operating in Israel for 40 years. The organization runs a variety of youth promotion projects across the country, among others are "Makom Balev", "Oritta", as well as "Hezroni's Zula", headed by Harel Hezroni and located in Jerusalem.

OU Israel CEO Rabbi Avi Berman said, "We operated the 'Zula' when we realized that there are many young adults in Jerusalem who roam the streets, especially ones who come from religious houses."

Lovely fellas looking for answers. Anyone who is going through a crisis, of any kind, can consult with the Zula's professionals – psychologists, social workers and counselors – and receive good advice together with positive guidance.

"The Zula, that sometimes receives over 250 young adults, is a very musical, spiritual place, contains and loves the other, no matter what he looks like, what he believes in or what he wears. We seek to give unconditional love there.

"Hadas Stiglitz came to the Zula, and then a year later to" Dror's apartment ", which is a branch of the Zula, and that's where we met. I realized that she was a very responsible young woman. She was adopted by the family of the apartment counselor, Talia Geffen, and received the warmth, love and guidance she needed.

"And now, she's enlisted and is an outstanding soldier – which we are very proud of her. I came to her graduation ceremony at the end of basic training, and it was a very joyful experience, which in essence reflects our purpose of doing. I have no doubt that Hadas will continue to flourish and become great."

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