A Journey Through Crisis: Facing Challenges with Faith

On the eve of Simchat Torah 5784, as the Jewish people prepared for the festival with much excitement, Tal Schmidt found herself sitting at home in Shavei Shomron, sighing in pain. She had no idea of the upcoming war, just like no one else could have predicted it. But there was another reason for her suffering.

At that time, Tal was in the early stages of a highly challenging fifth pregnancy, suffering from severe hyperemesis. "Hyperemesis, for those who aren't familiar, is a condition of extreme nausea during pregnancy," she explains. "For some women, it passes by the 20th week, but for others, like me, it lasts the entire pregnancy and causes weight loss, dehydration, and even fainting. I experienced the most extreme level. It felt like nine months of hell, and I'm not exaggerating."

Tal had experienced hyperemesis in her previous pregnancies and was prepared for something similar this time. What she didn't anticipate was the outbreak of war and her husband's enlistment into a significant and sensitive role: commanding the transport of casualties at Shura Base, responsible for identifying and bringing fallen soldiers back to Israel.

"He asked: 'Can I go?'"

Tal and her husband have been married for fifteen years. She works as an emotional therapist and coach, while her husband manages a yeshiva. Never did they imagine facing a moment so crucial and sensitive in their lives. "On the morning of Simchat Torah, I was lying in bed after a very difficult night, infected hand linked to an IV," she recalls. "I was dazed, hearing vehicles and my husband's phone ringing nonstop. I felt that something was happening, but dismissed it, thinking maybe I had an overdose of medications. I mean, it's Simchat Torah, how could cars be moving? Shortly after, my husband came in and briefly told me that war had broken out, terrorists had infiltrated communities, and the situation was very serious. He asked: 'Did they call me?' I replied yes. He checked the calls and realized he received an emergency call-up and had to leave. I was sitting there, while the IV dripped into my arm. He looked me in the eyes and asked: 'Can I go?'"

Tal explains that the question was warranted because she was classified as 100% disabled and required constant care from her husband. "If he had explained the situation, it's likely they would have let him stay, both of us knew that, and it was clear the decision was mine. To be honest, I didn't think long. Although at the time we didn't anticipate the extent of the massacre in the south, it was clear that the situation was critical, and I understood that anyone else could care for me—my mother, my mother-in-law, even neighbors—while the people of Israel needed my husband's service and his command role. Within minutes, I gave my consent, and we parted ways. Since then, he has been mobilized, returning home only late at night, if at all."

"Initially, my mother-in-law came to help pack and move us with the children to their home. I couldn't even pack due to the infection in my hand. We stayed with them for three days. Meanwhile, my hyperemesis manifested in every possible way, and I needed hospitalization several times. The problem was that all the clinics in the community were closed, nothing functioned. Even paramedics and first responders were called up for reserves. It was the peak of the war, and I couldn't drive out of the community for medical treatment. Eventually, we moved to my parents in Petah Tikva, where we lasted three weeks. Later, once routines resumed, I returned home with the kids, with neighbors and sisters-in-law caring for me, and my husband coming for short rests, trying to help as much as possible."

The Soul Suffers

"We started adapting to a new routine," Tal continues. "For long hours, I'd be home with myself, passing time with unending nausea, and especially troubled thoughts about my husband and what he was going through.

"While he wasn't fighting inside Gaza, he had many trips to the border to bring back the fallen, which stressed me out. I asked him to promise me he wouldn't go on such a mission without letting me know, because if he didn't, I would imagine him there constantly. So it's better if he tells me when it starts and ends. Throughout, I was very concerned about his mental well-being. He is naturally very strong, but no amount of strength can shield you from such terrible scenes. Every time he came home, I saw how traumatized he was; he couldn't sleep or eat, functioning like a machine, losing interest in things he once loved.

"One day, he told me he's going with his team to a 'resilience workshop.' I was relieved, as despite wanting him home, I understood how crucial such a workshop was for his and the team's mental health. Right after, the tragic event in Gaza occurred, where 21 soldiers were killed. He didn't even return home after the workshop, but went straight back to Shura. Throughout that time, we barely spoke. He would usually answer my calls, but the conversations were short: 'I can't talk,' then disconnect.

"I found myself mainly texting him, addressing them to him but also to myself. That's how I vented my feelings, anger, sadness, and frustration over the situation. One day I texted him: 'I'm in a pit,' referring to being deep in my hyperemesis attacks, and added: 'At least if I were in a pit in the Kirya, I could help someone.' Or: 'I can't eat, but the captives in the tunnels are starving for food!' And many more messages, some joking, some serious.

"After the birth, I decided to review how many such texts I had sent, assuming there were about 50, only to find out there were more than 300. These messages, along with many insights I gained during our ordeal, became the basis of a support book I published called 'My God, My Soul,' which captivates numerous women and aids me significantly in my therapeutic work."

Light and Life

Were there times of respite, where he could take leave?

"Unfortunately, there haven't been any such times yet. Since my husband holds such a senior role, there's no 'Shift A' or 'Shift B' for him, unlike some reservists—he's always on call, without any breaks. Not only that, but as the war progresses, his position becomes even more crucial, and if at the start he commanded 15 soldiers, over time, this has increased several-fold. Even when he's home, there's no peace, constant phone calls, even on Shabbat, where the phone must be on the Shabbat table, always dealing with the most urgent matters.

"His role is physically taxing, but equally mentally draining. He encounters the most horrifying scenes, even being exposed to their internal messages is psychologically damaging, and consider how he not only has to care for himself but also the resilience of all his soldiers. I deeply appreciated him, and must say I felt he was with me all the time, even if from afar. I hardly recall times he didn't respond to my messages, usually a short reply—a heart emoji, or simply: 'Appreciate you.' He was distant, yet within all the chaos and harsh scenes, he tried to be there for me and the baby on the way."

If you were waiting for the next chapter involving the birth that brought immense relief and joyous light, the reality was quite different.

"While we planned the pregnancy and had some idea of what to expect, we never imagined facing challenges post-birth," Tal adds. "It was incredibly stressful when right after the birth, our baby was diagnosed with 'Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn,' meaning his lungs weren't functioning, requiring intensive care. It was the last straw. I couldn't fathom returning home to tell the kids they couldn't see the baby, my husband struggled enormously with postponing the brit, and as if it were not enough—an additional hospital stay awaited us due to complicated jaundice. At that time, it felt like our strength was utterly depleted.

"I remember at some point looking up to the heavens: 'Master of the Universe, can't you count? How is it that you bestow children on others so easily, and they carry on with life while we're bogged down with difficulties?' Then, in a moment of clarity, I suddenly understood. This, indeed, is what 'Heavenly calculations' are about, which we can never truly understand. But we can believe these trials are our mission, and thus our duty to fulfill."

Honestly, what kept you going throughout these months?

"The main thing that kept me strong was understanding that my family and I live in this world with a mission, and it's now my role to send my husband to serve in the army in such a vital role, because I know from the closest perspective that his work significantly shortens the time before a soldier can be buried."

For those focused on the pregnancy aspect, Tal clarifies: "Even before conceiving, I was aware I'd need to close my clinic for at least nine months, that I'd be incapacitated, feel awful, and considered practically needing care. Still, we didn't pass up the chance to bring a new soul into this world.

"One of the things that encouraged me to conceive despite the anticipated challenges was the knowledge that the Holy Or HaChaim, to whom we feel a deep connection, didn't have children. I remember asking myself, 'Would the Or HaChaim have been willing to endure nine months of nausea for a child?' I answered that he would gladly bear even nine years. When the war broke out, despite all the difficulty, the intense yearning to bring life abundantly surged. This is partly why we gave our baby the name 'Uriah Chaim,' in honor of the Holy Or HaChaim, and to express the light and life the Jewish people so desperately need right now."

In this context, Tal recalls that during one of her ambulance trips to the hospital, her husband managed to join her. "He entered the ambulance grinning ear to ear, and the paramedics were amazed at his reaction to seeing his wife in a state of exhaustion. But my husband explained to them: 'I spend the day opening ambulances with bags, yet here in this ambulance, there's a woman with a child—life within life. Yes, she's suffering, but she's alive, and she'll return to live, and soon there will be another child in the world.'"

In closing, Tal wishes to offer strength to other military wives facing similar, if not as severe, challenges: "Are you in a tough period when your husband is away for a long time? Are you caring for kids and juggling endless tasks? Try to simply strengthen yourself. Didn't he buy you a gift for the holiday? Don't complain, just treat yourself to perfume or something else that brings joy; Isn't he helping clean the house? Indulge yourself with a few hours of a good housekeeper, and take the time to refresh. Think about what would make you happy, and when you care for yourself, you'll inherently be stronger. You'll also see that your relationship will be much stronger, because when you give him his space, and he gives you yours—the partnership will become robust and powerful."