When G. talks about the most painful time of her life, her voice breaks and she cries. She is a 57-year-old cancer patient living in Tirat Carmel, northern Israel. When G. was young, she became pregnant by rape and due to hardship, had to give up her baby for adoption. Now, a mother of two and a grandmother with several grandchildren, she wants to meet her firstborn, from whom she was separated decades ago, hopefully in time before the disease catches up with her.
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G. grew up in a traditional home in Haifa. In 1982, when she was 16, she became pregnant. When her condition began to show, G.'s father kicked her out, fearing the judgment of others.
G. spent her pregnancy at a shelter in Jerusalem that catered to pregnant women in difficult situations, until giving birth. According to G., workers at the shelter, which closed at the turn of the millennium, pressured her into giving her daughter up for adoption immediately upon birth.
The baby was born at Jerusalem's Bikur Cholim Hospital.
"For three days I held her and even gave her a name - Ortal. I was young and confused. I'm not sure I fully understood what I was doing when I signed the adoption documents."
When G. returned home, without her daughter, she was pressured to marry.
"It didn't feel right, and two days after the wedding I ran back to my parent's home. After that, I went through many challenges, but at the age of 19 met a good man who supported me, and we had two children."
According to G., over the years she contacted authorities repeatedly, begging to find out about her daughter.
"I left her letters in the adoption file, with photos and updates about my life. I shared with her over the years about my children who were born and my grandchildren. But the authorities claimed that she never contacted them to receive access to her adoption file. I have a hard time believing and accepting that. I've heard of cases when the letters and photos never reached the child.
"I feel, like other mothers in my situation, that they never viewed me as a human, as someone who deserves to find out about her daughter. And now, even in my condition, the state never helped me. Not psychological aid, not rent, nothing. I've always felt that they simply didn't see me."
G's daughter is supposed to be 41 years old now, but she knows nothing about her.
"Perhaps she is a mother herself, and I assume that her adoptive parents gave her a different name. Now that I'm sick, it is very difficult for me. I am begging the authorities to put me in touch with her, to tell her about me, to send her my photos and letters. That I will at least see her once in my life – before it is too late".
"Don't judge me"
G. is just one of the thousands of mothers, who due to various challenges, had to give up their babies for adoption, and have since lived with constant longing, a sense of lack, and maternal curiosity about their children's whereabouts and lives. Biological mothers who feel that the state neglected them physically, financially, and mentally and did not do enough to support them throughout pregnancy and subsequently. They say that had they received the necessary support, they would never have given their children up for adoption.
As per the official policy of the Welfare and Social Affairs Ministry, it is preferable to return the child to the biological parents following rehabilitation rather than give him or her up for adoption. If, however, that is not an option, the authorities will find the child a new home. The policy is designed to offer the child a permanent home and stable environment. Unfortunately, according to official data, only 10% of the children removed from the home return to their biological parents.
Fewer than 100 adoption cases are registered in Israel annually, half the number compared to the 1960s. Adoptions are usually permanent in Israel, also known as "closed adoption." As such, biological parents are not allowed to contact the child, even after he or she becomes 18. According to the law, only the adopted child can reach out to the biological parents. In some cases, the adoptive parents agree to an "open adoption," under which the biological parents can have contact with the child and receive updates on them. These, however, are quite rare.
Over the years, the status of Israeli women who gave up their baby for adoption due to difficult circumstances has not changed. According to the latest State Comptroller report published last month, 91% of the mothers whose children were removed from the home in 2017 did not participate in any rehabilitation programs funded by the Welfare and Social Affairs Ministry. Moreover, of the 970 million shekels ($267 million) allocated for rehabilitation for children who were removed from their homes, only 2% was spent on the parents.
Miri Cohen, 55, is a resident of Beit Shemesh and a single mother of three children from her first marriage. When she was 35 years old, she gave birth to a son – Matan – whom she gave up for adoption. She has not stopped thinking about her child, who is now 20 years old, most likely serving in the IDF, since.
"During my divorce, I was already a mother of three, and I was in a bad mental and financial state. In those days, I met someone from whom I became pregnant with Matan. As soon as I learned that I was pregnant, the father wanted nothing to do with the child and disappeared. In fact, there was no one to give me financial support during and after the pregnancy."
Q: Did social services not help you?
"They did not mobilize to help me get back on my feet, and ignored my basic requests under the pretext of 'no budget,' despite repeated pleas. I lived only on the alimony I received from my divorcee, NIS 2,000 [$550] a month. It was terrible: one day there was no running water in the house, another – no electricity. One day we had food to eat, the other we didn't. When I came to social services and said 'I have no way to give the child medicine', 'I have nothing to give him to eat' – they ignored me. I was in a daily war of survival, but they didn't look at me. I probably wasn't important enough in their eyes.
"After I gave birth to Matan, a social worker came to the hospital and asked me to give him up for adoption. I flatly refused. In view of the situation, my brother offered to take the baby into foster care with him, but it did not last. When Matan was one, he was returned to me, but the social services said such instability was not good for the baby. I signed the papers with a broken heart, I simply had no other choice. I was desperate.
"It's been 18 years since then, and I've waited to hear from him. I didn't know at the time that there was even such a thing as an 'open adoption,' and the workers didn't bother to explain it. In my opinion, that is what they should have recommended."
Q: And Matan has not requested to see his adoption file?
"I'm in touch with social services all the time, trying to find out whether he did. Have they changed his name since then? They tell me nothing. I put letters and photos in his adoption file and attached my phone number, but in the meantime – no response."
Q: Perhaps he does not want to know who his biological mother is.
"There's no doubt that the child's wish stands above all else. I don't expect him to give up the parents who raised him with devotion for so many years. I just want to see him, that's all. What will happen next? I don't expect anything. I am torn by longing for him. I didn't sign the agreement to send him for adoption because I didn't want him. I really wanted him, but I faced so many difficulties that I simply had no choice.
"Had I received mental and financial support from the state, I might have raised Matan with respect and joy. Do you think any mother is happy to give up her child? I fought with all I had not to give him up for adoption. I promised that I would do everything to give him a good life, but unfortunately, I couldn't do it alone. I tried, but I didn't have anything to give him to eat. I didn't even have baby formula, I had to boil some milk with water for him. Because I always had his best interest in mind, I preferred he grew up in a place where his basic needs would be met."
Q: And all these years you've been in pain.
"I cry and close off. I have no friends. Potential partners hear my story and run away. The society also judges me, 'How could you give up your child?' They should be judging the one who abandoned me without the ability to stand on my two feet. I haven't had a single happy day since Matan left. Not one. I hope I can meet him one day and have closure."
Twenty-four years of longing
Doron Abramowitz, 48, from Netivot, southern Israel, had five children when he was young. His three sons were given up for adoption as toddlers, and he knows nothing about them, and two daughters, who are 20 and 21, with whom he is in touch.
"I grew up in Beersheba, and when I was 17 I met a girl my age," he said. "We dated for a few years and got married. At the age of 20, we had twins, and later two daughters and a son. Then the chaos began. There was severe neglect at home. I worked from morning to evening, as the sole breadwinner, while the mother spent her days in the street. The children were in the kindergarten from seven in the morning until seven in the evening. At some point, I approached social services because I simply realized that we could not continue living this way,that it is impossible to raise children this way.
"With their well-being in mind, I realized that it would be better for them to grow up in a more stable and safer place. I signed an agreement to give them up for adoption, as did the mother. This happened when the twins were three years old. We later divorced, and there is no contact between me and their mother."
Since he was separated from his sons, Doron has lived without peace of mind.
"I am torn with worry and love. From the first moment they were taken I missed them. I don't sleep well. All the time the thoughts. However, I don't regret it, because I am sure the children are better off today. I hope they don't lack anything. That's what matters.
"I tried to find out from the social services if the twins, who are 28 today, and the younger son requested to unseal their adoption file. The answer I received was, 'We have no idea, we don't know.' I put letters and photos in their adoption files, but I have given up, because I feel that there is no one to talk to. I ask to put in new letters, to explain myself to the children so that they will not be angry with me, so that they will understand that I acted for their benefit, not for their harm – but social services are not willing to help or allow me to add more letters. They need to take active action so that my children know that I am looking for them. Maybe they don't even know they're adopted.
"This is how I've spent decades longing. I dream of his day and night. To see my children one more time, not more, and then they will go on with their lives."
Q: What is your situation like today?
"I work and earn a living, and continue to pay off heavy debts from the past, which were created when the entire burden of the household economy was on my shoulders alone. I live with a loving partner who works in a kindergarten, and my two daughters are independent. It breaks my heart that my five children did not grow up together as siblings."
"I began to contemplate suicide"
Esther Shukran Gigi, 63, from Tiberias, a holistic therapist by training, also spends her days longing.
"The child I reluctantly gave up for adoption is supposed to be 43 years old today," she says. "He was born in 1980 when I was 19. When I got pregnant, my partner chose to disappear. Because of my fear of the reaction of my father, who has since passed away but who was a difficult person, I spent the pregnancy period at a shelter, where they tried to convince us that it was best to give the child up for adoption after birth. I refused, and at one point, began to contemplate suicide because of the incessant attempts at persuasion.
"Giving birth at the hospital was a scary experience for me. I was alone, and my family came only after everything was over. I named the baby Eitan. After three days, they told me that he had jaundice and that I should return to the shelter. I had to sign the discharge documents, and I think at the same time they made me sign the adoption papers, without my knowledge or consent.
"They told me that the baby was in the incubator, but when I checked, I saw that he wasn't there. I shouted and yelled, but they calmly claimed that I had signed the adoption documents. I decided not to remain silent and started a fight. I contacted a lawyer in Haifa, with Eitan's father, who was back in the picture again, but we were unsuccessful.
"I turned to the rabbis, I uprooted everything. There was nothing I didn't try to do to find this child. Social services told me that he didn't request to unseal his adoption file. To say that authorities did not help me would be an understatement. But I don't give up, and I will not leave this world until I see him."
In the years to come, Esther got married and had four daughters.
"I met an amazing man, my husband, and my girls are amazing too," she said. "I get nervous every time I talk about my struggle. My late husband, who passed away a year ago, was a full partner in my search and pain. At one point, we even thought we found out what Eitan's ID number was, but that didn't lead to any breakthroughs. From social services we only found out that he lived in Jerusalem, so when he celebrated his bar mitzvah, we went to all the event halls, but couldn't find him."
Q: How would you expect the state to treat biological mothers in your situation?
"To take responsibility. Just as they knew how to 'disappear' the children without leaving a trace, they should also know to correct this injustice. Of course, I will respect my son's decision either way, but I just want to see him, even just once. Just sit with him and have closure. To ask him for forgiveness and to leave this world in peace when my time comes. I want him to know that today he has a big, good family, with a big heart, nephews, uncles, cousins, brothers-in-law, siblings – everyone is waiting for him, everyone wants him to come back."
Berta Bormad (Butbul), 71, is also engaged in a desperate search for her daughter.
"At the age of 23, I finished my hotel management studies in Jerusalem, a field in which I have been involved for almost 40 years. I was a naive young woman who did not understand much about life, a new immigrant from Morocco, and after meeting a guy for a few days, when I was working as a clerk at a hotel in the Dead Sea, I found myself pregnant.
"From the first moment, I knew that I would not be able to raise the baby. My parents and my immediate family knew nothing, and I was not financially stable at all. My friend referred me to a shelter, and I arrived there eight months pregnant. They sent me to spend the rest of my pregnancy in the home of a lady from South America.
"I gave birth in March 1976 in a hospital in Jaffa. I remember the baby coming out of me. Full black hair. They didn't put her on me, even though I really wanted to see her. At night I got out of bed and crept into the children's room. I recognized her by her hair. That was the first and last time I saw my daughter.
"After two days, someone came with adoption papers – and I signed them. She asked what I would like to name the baby girl, and I answered without hesitation 'Orli'. I celebrated her birthday in my heart every year."
From the day her daughter turned 18, Berta has waited impatiently for her to reach out.
"I left her letters in the adoption file and a phone number. I wanted to tell her that I only got married at the age of 53 and that I didn't bring any more children into the world, because for years I felt that I didn't deserve it. When I was 43, I became sober and wanted to conceive, but then I was diagnosed with a tumor in my cervix, and I had to shelve the dream forever".
Berta revealed her secret to her family only four years ago, years after her parents passed away.
"They never knew they had a firstborn granddaughter. For years, I beat myself up thinking maybe they would have accepted her after all."
After revealing her secret, Berta stepped up her efforts to find her daughter even more.
"At some point, my brother even suggested that we hire a private investigator. I sent an email to the authorities to find out whether my daughter was alive and living in Israel. They said 'yes.' Orly should be 47 now, and I may even be a grandmother.
"When I meet her, I want to ask for her forgiveness and explain to her that I always wanted what was best for her. I gave her up for adoption because I knew nothing about myself and I did not want to drag her into an unhappy life. Sometimes, over the years, scary thoughts seeped into me: what if she wasn't adopted right away? Was she lonely? Did she move from one foster family to another? But I tried to not go crazy. I always prefer to imagine her surrounded by a happy and loving family, so much so she doesn't wish to unseal her adoption file and find out who I am.
"I want to talk to her and hear that she is well. It will bring me comfort. So that she doesn't think I'm some kind of drug addict, God forbid, and that I abandoned her. Let her know that I've learned and developed in life and that I'm waiting for her with open arms."
Quiet after the storm
Sharona Duchne is the founder of Adoption Wisdom which works with adoptive and foster parents.
"It's like the quiet after the storm, when you give a child up for adoption, there's a deafening silence. The voice of the biological mothers is not heard, and if it is, there is no proper response. A child being taken away from his or her mother is a dramatic event for both. Biological parents also require care and they need to make their voices heard and receive rehabilitation in the hopes of healing.
"As far as I know, there is no dedicated body that provides full care to mothers after the child leaves. Many factors are involved in the processes, everyone wants the best, but the response given is not enough. The tragedy the mother is going through is unimaginable. Before the delivery, her condition was precarious, and the taking of the child further undermines her.
"The rehabilitation process of the mothers is their right – and our duty as a society. Most of them will become mothers again in the future, and hence their rehabilitation may also help in raising their future children. The treatment of the trauma experienced by the mother must be done by trauma experts. "
According to Duchne, open adoptions have become more common.
"It is fitting that the relationship between an adult child and his biological parents, usually his mother, should be much more accessible and simple than it is today. Every process of bonding is different, and therefore there is no need to establish a uniform format, but to be attentive to all parties."
Tsachi Bardugo, 52, knows the other side of the equation – that of the adopted child. Having grown up as the only child in an adopted family, he requested to unseal his file at the age of 47, which is when he learned that he had siblings.
He never met his biological mother, who passed away before he unsealed his file, but got to reunite with his biological father. He even wrote a book about his adoption story that was published in 2022.
Today, Bardugo works as a mentor to adult adoptees who decide to unseal their files and get to know their biological parents. He also advises adoptive parents and lectures about his life story.
Q: In your opinion, what is the biggest change the state needs to adopt with regard to biological mothers?
"To support them. I, as a child given up for adoption, allow myself to believe that no mother gives up her child willingly. Rather, it is a mother in need who had no one to support her. The state and the adoption community in Israel must give biological parents a constitutional status, to recognize their trauma and help them heal the unseen emotional disability. To help them raise their heads from shame to pride and confidence."
Q: What would you say happens to a biological mother the moment her child is taken away?
"Adoption – whether at the initiative of the parent or social services – is an excruciating life-changing event. My biological mother, for instance, died at the age of 62 without ever telling her four children about me. Today I know that she was tormented and used to visit the hospital where I was born. She planned to take me back, but reality slapped her in the face. I realized that she had been misled. This gave me peace of mind: all my life I lived with the feeling that she had given up on me, and in fact, I discovered that she actually desperately wanted to see me."
You see, "biological mothers are not prioritized. They are not taken into consideration at all. Even various associations have only recently begun to give attention to their needs, but it's nothing compared to how adoptive parents and children are supported.
"Society has always looked at these mothers with contempt and accused them of abandoning their children. They never made a real attempt to understand the reason for giving up the child. However, it is important to stress that the system prioritized the child – and rightly so. No one claims that children were given up for adoption lightly. The children were taken away after a comprehensive examination, and when it was clear that the biological mother was unable to raise him."
According to Bardugo, when biological parents succeed in making contact with their child, things do not always go smoothly.
"Even when the 'happy end' occurs and a meeting is set between a biological mother and child that have not seen each other in many years, the gaps that were created due to neglect and lack of consistent treatment can create secondary pain.
"In many cases, the biological parent sees that the child has been given a much better life than he could have offered him herself, and in response, she develops a certain emotional numbness toward the child. Sometimes it is difficult for the biological parent to bungee jump into the life of the child who has grown up in the meantime.
"The adopted child also faces his own difficulties in the late meeting with the biological parent. I am currently working, for example, with a woman who is in the process of unsealing her adoption file and getting to know her 83-year-old biological mother.
"The mother is thrilled that she suddenly has a daughter who calls, cares, and visits, but the daughter, for her part, expected greater devotion from her mother – and was disappointed. She hoped to receive much more affection and interest from her, for her to participate in all aspects of her life, including the financial ones. Oftentimes, what the adopted child thought his or her relationship with the biological parent would be like, it does not go the expected way."
Bardugo also shared the painful statistic that "in Israel, about 400 adoption cases are unsealed every year. Today there are about 10,000 adult adoptees who have not yet opened their files. In other words, there are many biological parents who are still waiting to hear from their children. Will the State of Israel finally reach out to them?"
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Rachel Gross, 74, from Kiryat Ata, northern Israel, is one of the lucky biological mothers who managed to reach their adopted child.
She became pregnant at 19, while in the military, but her father prevented her from marrying the father, Rachel's good friend. When she realized that she would not be able to return home with the baby, Rachel gave her up for adoption. For fifty years after that, she lived "with half a heart," she said.
"I searched for my daughter for years, all over the world. I left letters and photos for her in the adoption file but in vain. Like others, I too have hard feelings about the conduct of the social service workers. As a biological mother, I often felt that after the child was taken from me, I was no longer worthy of care."
After 50 years of searching, Rachel found her daughter without the help of social services.
"The meeting with her, and with the grandchildren I had from her, was euphoric and full of emotions. At the meeting, she told me that she never received the letters and photos that I made sure to put in her file. I am comforted by the fact that I met my beloved daughter after all these years."
The Welfare and Social Affairs Ministry said in a statement in response to an inquiry by Israel Hayom that adoption was a complex and difficult process focused on what is best for the child.
We review the State Controller's recommendations and continue to refine our methods, including budgets. With regard to the adoption file, the adoptee is the only one, per law, that can unseal it. We are examining changes to the law, and the possibility of sharing information with biological parents will also be considered.
