They are the silent anchors of a nation at war, shoulder to shoulder with the shadows of the frontline as they manage the complex emotional aftermath of their partners’ months in the military (reserve duty) while having single-handedly held the fort at home.
Over the past two years, as part of our daily routine as Nishmat yoatzot halacha (Halachic advisers), we hear questions from women whose husbands were wounded at the front:
“Am I permitted to help my husband get dressed while I am a niddah [state of menstrual impurity]?”
“I need to immerse tonight, but the commute to the rehabilitation center makes it impossible to prepare in time. What should I do?”
But this time, I want to turn our gaze toward the wives of soldiers who are not officially classified as wounded. These are women whose lives were split into “before” and “after” Oct. 7 and whose heroism is never-ending.
Navigating marriage and miluim
Without even digging deep into my memory, these incredible figures stand before me, tall and proud, continuing to support the mission of the Jewish people in their daily routines just as they stood bravely at the height of the fighting.
I think of the woman who got engaged during Sukkot, just before Oct. 7. She married while her groom was still in active duty – not by choice but because his service was extended – and since then, he has already served two additional rounds of reserve duty. Now, after the birth of their first son, she consults us on how to manage stains while breastfeeding. She is returning to work after maternity leave, and her husband isn’t home to help with this challenging transition. He is back in miluim.
I think of the woman who started dating a young man moments before he entered Lebanon. They married this summer, and now, in their first year of marriage (remember when the shana rishona held a special status?), he is already back in miluim. She consults us on how to navigate the laws of taharat hamishpacha (family purity), so new to them, within the reality of short leaves from the army.
Then there is the woman whose husband is finishing training in the haredi Hasmonean Brigade. The world of the IDF is foreign to her; she has no friends with experience with whom she can consult, and doesn’t know what to expect. She asks what to do if her mikveh (ritual bath) night falls on a time when he cannot leave base. While the army tries to give special consideration to mikveh night, in today’s reality, she knows that a quick leave from the base isn’t always possible.
Another woman calls about the mikveh. Her husband is on his way home from the base. He will arrive late because he went to a wedding first. They had a fight on the phone that morning, but despite the tension, she found the strength to go to the mikveh. Now she has a question about whether the immersion was valid.
And the woman who calls on her way back from the mikveh. She feels terrible because during her “seven clean days,” her husband had a panic attack. Working in the therapeutic field herself, she knew a firm hug would help him. She shares that they later went for a walk, he had another attack, and she hugged him again. Afterward, they went home and slept in separate beds as usual.
She is plagued by guilt over the physical contact during the prohibited days. Now, on her way home from the mikveh, she explains with a trembling voice, “I just need to consult… just need to vent.” I don’t know if her husband is officially defined as “wounded in action,” but I know that both of them are war heroes.
There is the heroism of the battlefield, and there is the heroism of the silence.
The heroism of the everyday – of living in the wake of trauma, of holding a family together, of sustaining a marriage, of coping without complaint. Of trying to return to a routine, even when that routine looks nothing like it used to.
We are used to saluting our soldiers – and rightly so. But we must also remember to salute the women, the couples, and the families who have returned from the war but are not yet over it.
This heroism is often transparent. There are no budgets for it, no community meals, no childcare assistance, no special benefits or understanding from employers. Sometimes, there isn’t even an inquiry from friends or close family. It’s no one’s fault; we are all on a new journey, struggling to return to normalcy.
They are not “wounded,” but their heroism is demanded of them every single day.
As my son’s commander, the late Maj. Eyal Shuminov told his Givati soldiers during one of their leaves from Gaza, “We hear about all those brave soldiers fighting, and we imagine heroic, extraordinary deeds. But let me tell you what heroism is in my eyes.
“Who knows how the most important book of Jewish law, the Shulchan Aruch, begins? The very first law opens with the first moment of the day: ‘One should act heroically like a lion to get up in the morning to serve his Creator.’ Regarding this simple act of waking up, the language of ‘heroism’ [yitgaber] is used.
“A hero is not someone for whom nothing is difficult. Everyone finds something difficult. Even the battalion commander has difficulty. Each person struggles with something else.
“A hero is someone who has a difficulty and knows how to deal with it. He doesn’t break because it’s hard. He doesn’t ask to leave the front. He faces the difficulty. And when it’s hard for him, he reaches out to help the friend for whom it is even harder.”
We must recognize and salute this everyday heroism that continues after coming home. As a community, we must continue to support these magnificent families who remain heroes on the home front.
The writer is a yoetzet halacha at Midreshet Nishmat and director of Nishmat’s Yoatzot Halacha Fertility Counselors project in partnership with Gefen Fertility.