The Israeli Mother

On this Mother's Day, let's all take a moment to thank the Israeli Mother, the most courageous woman on earth.

Mother’s Garden in Haifa

Back in the ‘80s and ‘90s when I spent so much time in Israel, I became consumed by the ideology of the nation. How Jews in the early 20th century with a pioneering spirit risked everything to make the arduous trek to a dangerous region, fraught with enemies and disease, to settle the land and make it inhabitable for the world’s displaced and persecuted Jews. The modern State of Israel was the result of unbreakable national determination and rose quite literally from out of the ashes of the Holocaust. This nascent nation was then attacked by the mighty armies of every bordering nation on the morning after its declaration of independence… and the fledgling army comprised of survivors and pioneers WON. A modern-day miracle indeed! I couldn’t get enough of the lore. It filled me with nationalistic pride. I wanted in. To be part of that. I fell in love with the vision as much as I fell in love with a Sabra. I yearned to be an Israeli. (They were so much cooler than I was.)

But it only took a year of living there for me to realize that staying forever as an Israeli was an entirely different beast than hanging out there for a couple of years as a carefree tourist with an American passport. My 23-year-old self had the clarity of mind to divine this massive truth. And I am indebted to her. Because while I have longed to revisit Israel and recapture the exuberance of being there, living there forever requires a strength I just don’t have. If the past year and a half has taught me anything, it’s that I never had what it takes to be Israeli. Because I would’ve become an Israeli mother and an Israeli mother is an entirely different breed of woman from the rest of us. Just take a look at Rachel Goldberg-Polin and you’ll know what I mean. Never a stronger woman has lived. She and her young family gave up the comforts of Chicago to live a more meaningful Jewish life in Israel. And today, even after surviving the worst tragedy imaginable to any mother in the world, she will claim she’s blessed. That’s what it is to be an Israeli mother; she is a warrior, fierce and inconquerable. She is part of something bigger than herself; her life is tied to the Land. She sends her children to war generation after generation, knowing full well that they might be lost to war or terror, but accepts this as a sacrifice that is required to live freely as a Jew in Israel.

The young Israeli mother knows that her husband will spend a month every year as a reservist, leaving her alone with their small children. That she is solely responsible for waking them and getting them to the bomb shelter night after night when the sirens blare even when she just got her crying baby to sleep. The middle-aged Israeli mother shares her sons and daughters’ excitement over joining the army at 18 even as she understands that when she kisses them goodbye, it might be the last time. She knows, even as she goes on with her daily life, that her teenagers are in harm’s way every minute of the day. But if her children don’t defend the Land, then who will? Because Israel has been at war since the day it was born. And it is the obligation of each generation to protect it for those that follow. The older Israeli mother watches her own daughter become an Israeli mother, and the aging Israeli mother watches it of her granddaughter. And so on and so on. Do we, the American Jewish mother, ever stop to consider the sacrifice they make for us?

The Israeli mother prays for peace, grasps at hope for a solution in her lifetime. But something she doesn’t do is uproot her family and move before her kids reach the age of conscription. She doesn’t seek an easier way of life; living there and sending her children to serve is her duty. Even as she’s up all night with worry, she’s proud of be an Israeli. In fact, of Israeli families that emigrate to other countries, many children return to serve in the IDF when they turn 18 or older. This duty is embedded in their bones, it’s encoded on their DNA. In the immediate aftermath of October 7th, El Al flew hundreds (if not thousands) of Israeli expats, tourists abroad, and young Jews of other nationalities back to Israel to stand in defense of our besieged homeland. The call to defend our tiny strip of land is so strong that Israeli/Jewish youth answer it no matter what else is going on in their lives. And their mothers kiss them goodbye and pray for their safety.

I lived there in times of relative peace. To be sure, there was always the threat of war, acts of terror against civilians. But October 7th unmasked to the world what it is to live as an Israeli. The dangers they accept by virtue of their birth so that the rest of us don’t have to. The horrors of October 7th hit me hard, especially considering that, had I chosen differently 32 years ago, I would have been an Israeli mother. A mother who might’ve survived her child’s rape, torture, murder, mutilation, burning, capture, execution…. it’s superhuman. There’s simply no other way to describe it. They don’t cry at the unfairness of it all; it’s the hand they’re dealt by being an Israeli mother. They possess a toughness of character that most of us don’t have and will never need. They’re on the front lines; because of them, Jews everywhere can live in safety. (I’ll take it a step further and argue that all of Western civilization is more secure because of Israel, but that’s a different article for another day.)

We Jewish moms living in relative ease in the diaspora owe the Israeli mother a debt of gratitude. Especially on Mother’s Day. Take a moment and offer thanks to the bravest of all women. Because of the Israeli mother, we have peace of mind; and because of her children, ours are safe.