During the stormy nights of winter 2024, when wind howled outside and lightning lit up the skies, Maayan Rabinovitch would wake up startled, get up, peek through the door's peephole, and return to her bed. "For three months, I laid in bed with my ears straining for any sound at the door" she described. "I would get up five times a night because I heard the wind and thunder and thought they were knocks. And then I'd feel stupid because everything was fine, so why am I being hysterical?"
In a pleasant apartment in central Tel Aviv, I meet the Rabinovitch family: Maayan (38), Elishav (37), and their five cheerful daughters – Ori (17), Hallel (15), Raz (12), Shiri (9.5), and Tenne (6). Maayan is a social activist and manages a fellowship program for new immigrants at the Nevo organization, while Elishav works in financial consulting, though in the past year, he has primarily served as a medic in the evacuation and supply platoon of Battalion 460. He has completed two rotations in Gaza, and the third has already begun.
I asked the girls how they experienced their father's prolonged absence from home. "For me, it was actually difficult when dad came back," Hallel confessed. "We got used to a certain system at home, specific duties, and dad wasn't necessarily aware of the patterns. It was also hard to adjust to a routine with him when we knew he'd be leaving again soon."
Ori said: "We've always known our parents to have such a warm and beautiful relationship, and when dad wasn't here, we saw how much it affected mom. It was hard and sad for me to see her missing him, dealing with all the fears while worrying about us all."
Q: And were you afraid or worried about dad?
"Yes, very," Tenne said.
Hallel added: "At first, he didn't tell us much about what was happening. We were sure he was taking ice baths at some base."
Raz: "Only later did we find out he was entering Gaza. I wanted to know everything on the one hand, but on the other hand, just knowing about it weighed heavily on my mind and that was hard too. People around us didn't really understand the confusion we were experiencing. Sometimes I felt they saw us as pitiful, and that was burdensome too."
Elishav admitted that military service has less glamorous sides, accompanied by psychological difficulties. "To be honest, there's dead time when we're just a bunch of guys playing backgammon and waiting for a call. We're on standby for that one-in-a-hundred case when someone is wounded and needs evacuation, and when it happens, we really enter the eye of the storm. But there are hours when we're just waiting, and I know that meanwhile, Maayan is working very hard at home. Questions arise – does what I'm doing now justify Maayan working so hard and me not being there for my daughters? Sometimes I work much less hard than she does, and I'm also in a safer place. Tel Aviv is more dangerous today."
Q: Is that difficult for you?
"Sometimes. You know, soldiers in regular service don't ask themselves "is what I'm doing worth the time." But when you have a family and know they need you at home, and you understand what your time is worth in the job market, it raises questions. The IDF might be the most inefficient organization out there, but with hundreds of thousands of people involved, you can't really point fingers."
While Elishav serves in the south and Gaza, Maayan is left to run the household under challenging conditions. "For three months, we lived with constant rocket sirens," she described. "Each time I had to pull someone out of the bath with a towel and run to a shelter because we don't have a safe room. I had to plan every shower around the possibility of a siren. Suddenly I realized that I'm going through the most challenging period of my life without the person I've lived alongside for 18 years."
Q: How did you handle the burden of responsibilities?
"We found suitable mechanisms. For example, we used taxis because I realized I couldn't juggle all the girls' rides to activities. We started ordering from Wolt [food delivery app] occasionally. There are also many things I never thought I'd do that I've now learned to do. I bought a car by myself after ours broke down. I learned to set the Shabbat timer. And suddenly Elishav came back and discovered a home with different habits. And he was like 'Wait, what happened here while I was gone?' And I was in such a survival mindset that every question felt like criticism of my management. It triggered me, even though it wasn't criticism."
When I asked if they had help, the girls described a train of cakes and treats that flowed into the house. "It was fun when dad was in reserves because we got ice cream," Tenne smiled.
Hallel: "At first, when we thought dad wasn't in a dangerous place, we didn't understand why people were pampering us so much. Only later did it sink in."
"We're very embraced," Maayan confirmed. "My parents helped a lot, and friends brought meals for a long time. But I see a big difference between the reserve rotations. In the first rotation, there was high awareness and we received a lot of help; in the second rotation, fewer offers came, and it flew more under the radar; and now in the third rotation, there's again a general war atmosphere, so there's more support. I remind myself that it's okay to accept help and that being in reserves affects many, not just us. I don't want to feel dependent, but on the other hand, there's a need for help, and it's a bit of a tangle. It's a very vulnerable time, and even small things can throw you off balance. Some people ignored us, and there were good intentions that actually made things harder, like when a friend offered to bring dinner and forgot. I'm sitting at home with the girls, waiting for food to come – I won't start cooking and then have her come in with a pot and feel redundant – but she doesn't arrive.
"Beyond that, there are tasks that are just ours as parents, with no room for outside help. Like listening to the girls, being there for them, hearing about their day and about their friends. And it's really draining to handle that alone. It was very hard to contain my daughters' war upheavals by myself. What they've been through this year is too much for even two parents to handle, let alone for a mother who's barely coping herself. I went through a crazy period of raising five daughters alone, during times of constant rocket sirens, without a safe room, when each of them was experiencing the war in her own way. The reality of reserve service infiltrates every corner of our home life – bedtime stories, making lunch for school, everything. Having their father away serving is a constant reminder that there are still enemies we need to fight."
She drew strength and encouragement from helping others. "There were days when I didn't get out of bed. I wasn't really functioning at work. What helped me was, for example, going to visit Noa Argamani's [former Gaza hostage] family. I managed to peel myself out of bed for them. Or for organizing a bar mitzvah for an evacuated family from Sderot who was here. Or starting a project to help families from Kiryat Shmona [an evacuated northern city]. In general, I try not to complain. Instead, I focus on how I can help others."
According to Maayan, people's responses weren't always as understanding or supportive as you'd expect. "There are frustrating moments. When I told a friend that Elishav was about to return for yet another rotation in Gaza, she asked: 'What, there are still soldiers there?' I was shocked. I realized she was completely oblivious to what families of reservists go through. What really gets to me is when people say things like, 'Oh, you poor thing. I would never let my husband go. He has five children, how can they keep calling him up?' They think they're being sympathetic, but comments like these just tear you down. If you want to show real empathy, say something like 'We really appreciate what your family is sacrificing.' We're facing a brutal enemy, and someone has to step up. I feel both a duty and an honor to be part of this fight, to be part of making history. I wouldn't have it any other way – I couldn't live with myself if we weren't doing our part.
Q: What about WhatsApp groups for wives of reservists?
"The WhatsApp groups have plenty of supportive women sharing their struggles, including stories about marriages falling apart. I try to stay away from these groups though – they're meant to be supportive, but I find them draining. I understand the hardships, but I don't see myself as a victim. Knowing that what Elishav does is crucial keeps me going. Some women say things like 'I can't handle this anymore, I'm going to tell him to come home.' That thought never even crossed my mind."
She finds her outlet on Facebook, which has become her wartime journal this past year. She shares deeply personal reflections, sometimes in poetry. In one post she wrote: "I write these words with trepidation. We all have these gut feelings, but they're not prophecies. Hundreds of thousands of women, mothers, and fathers are dreading that knock on the door. After a tragedy, families often say they knew – they felt it was the last conversation, sensed what was coming. Many of us carry that feeling now. But having these fears doesn't mean they'll come true. These awful premonitions are part of war – they're normal, expected, but they're not prophecies."
In another piece she wrote: "What becomes of our 'almosts'? Those moments that almost were. Each close call leaves its mark – another wrinkle, another pound gained, as we slowly build up our armor. These 'almosts' circle like vultures, taunting us, playing their cruel games, spreading fear before they vanish."
"You learn to protect your heart," she explained. "You build up these defenses. But then when he visits or after he leaves, it's so hard because you have to break through all those walls you've built – walls between yourself and the world, between yourself and Elishav. I retreated into my shell because I was just so scared."
Elishav spoke about his struggles returning home. "The first time, it took me about 10 days to recover. I just couldn't function mentally."
"People would ask us 'So, does he have PTSD?'" Maayan added. "It became gossip. I think it's like postpartum depression – you have a small number of mothers with clinical depression, and many more with the baby blues. It's similar here. These feelings are real, even if they don't meet the clinical definition of trauma. They still disrupt your daily life."
Q: How did it affect your relationship?
"Ironically, the actual reserve duty was easier on our relationship than the week or two after he came home. The second time was even harder. It's like having a second baby – with your first, everything's new and overwhelming. You're learning about parenthood, dealing with sleep deprivation, everything's chaos. But then with the second baby, you think 'I've been through this before, so why am I still so overwhelmed? Haven't I learned anything?'"
Q: When was it hardest?
"When I realized I'd lost control of my life and couldn't plan anything. Elishav might suddenly get 24 hours of leave, and I wanted to be free to spend that time with him. When he does come home, I don't want to be stuck in meetings, so I cancel everything and rearrange my schedule. Thank God my work is flexible enough for that. But it means I can never plan anything because he might come home at any time. And it gets even more complicated because Elishav tells me not to change my plans, he says 'Just go about your day as usual, if we don't get to spend time together, that's fine.' It leaves me constantly uncertain. And I haven't even mentioned how the military keeps changing the times he can come home. Even when one rotation ends, you know there'll be another and another. You can't plan anything. This shadow hangs over everything.
"Before our wedding, Rabbi Dov Singer told us: 'Whenever you come home, assume your spouse had a harder day than you did.' I tried to follow this during the war too, but after 100 days, 150, then almost 200 – it became impossible. I needed support too. We were both going through incredibly difficult times in very different ways and sometimes we just couldn't be there for each other the way we wanted."
Elishav mentioned, "I know three guys who got divorced during this period, but they all had relationship problems before."
"Even strong relationships can be damaged by war," Maayan added. "There are couples who could have had a good life together if not for all this."
Q: Do you feel you get enough support from the military?
"There's more awareness now, and they do offer mental health support sessions," Elishav saןג, "but they're not always appropriate. My brother's unit cleared Nir Oz [a Kibbutz attacked on Oct. 7, 2023], and they treated their session like it was after a routine West Bank duty. These soldiers had to deal with horrific scenes, but didn't get the serious support they needed afterward."
Maayan responded: "There's so much room for improvement. I wish someone from the military would keep in touch with families, and keep us updated regularly. But with everything the country is dealing with right now, I don't think our needs should be the top priority. There are more urgent issues.
"I'm grateful for those who helped us. But the state? That's complicated. Government systems usually don't work well, but I realized that focusing my energy on complaints wouldn't help me get through this. Besides, others have paid much higher prices than us and that keeps me humble. We have friends who were wounded, disabled, or lost loved ones. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a lot."
Elishav concluded: "War comes with extraordinary costs. People die, and people are wounded and disabled for life. People's savings get depleted, relationships are strained, and children miss school, and develop anxiety. These are the costs of war, but they shouldn't be headline news.
"Everyone talks about how we were abandoned on Oct. 7 – but who did the abandoning? Who is this military that didn't show up? It's us – you, me, all of us. We let ourselves down. So now we have to see this through to the end and make it right, no matter how difficult it is."
