Shai Pizam dreamed of being a father since he was a child and eagerly awaited to fulfill that dream, which lasted only two weeks. "He talked a lot about children and family, planned where he would take them on trips, what he would teach them, how he would educate them, and what our home would be like," says his widow, Ma’ayan.
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"It was really hard for him to wait until Yarden Uri’s birth, and he was so happy when it happened. For about a month and a half, both of us were in reserve duty. When the labor began, I called him in the morning, and at night Yarden Uri was born. He was with us for two weeks. He managed to play with her, and hug her. From the moment she was born, they were best friends. He cherished every moment with her. He was dedicated to her and also to me."
Ma’ayan never imagined she would be a widow at the age of 23 with a two-week-old baby. Other women have also become victims of the war in Gaza, forced to cope with a two-folded pain: the pain of losing their husbands who fell, and the pain that their infants won’t know their fathers.
"It's hard to sum him up in a few words," says Pizam, who was married to Shai for the last four and a half years. Just three weeks after giving birth to their daughter, she received the devastating news: Shai was killed in fighting in the Strip.
They knew each other from a young age and officially became a couple in the ninth grade. "We invested a lot into our relationship from a young age," says Ma’ayan. "About a year after we finished high school, we got married. A year later, we both enlisted in the IDF. I was stationed in the Intelligence Corps and Shai in the Armored Corps. We were discharged together, and then we returned to Ein Hanetziv. Our hearts are tied to the kibbutz."
Two weeks after the birth, Shai returned to Gaza, where he was killed in battles in Khan Younis. "I woke up in the morning and fed Yarden," Ma’ayan recalls. "My dad came in the room and told me what happened. I told to myself that no matter what, I'll finish feeding Yarden, and then I'll deal with everything else.”
“I finished feeding her, went to the living room, and there I met the officers who informed me of Shai's death while holding Yarden in my hands. Shai's parents live nearby. I immediately went over to them, and we've been together since," she added.
Pizam says her daughter is helping ground her, and that she feels her husband has missed out on a lot. "During the Shiva, she began smiling, and we could see a happy little girl," she says. "He missed her first smile, but we try to focus on what he did manage to see. Shai lived a full life and cherished every moment. He returned to the military being happy, leaving me the task of raising Yarden. He said he was going to fight for her."
Dad is a hero
Anat Meir is another woman widowed in the war. Her husband, David, fell on October 7 when fighting against terrorists in Kfar Aza. Today, their son, Shaked, is already ten months old, and has been orphaned from his father for three months.
They met through mutual friends, and Anat describes their relationship as something out of a movie. "We went on quite a few dates, and got married when I was 28 and he was 29," Anat recounts.
"David was the kind of man every woman dreams of. A leader, someone capable of doing everything, independent, good at sports, sensitive, cheerful, and full of love. People who saw him with Shaked were always amazed. His mother told me she had never seen such love before."
David's connection with his son was special, which Anat says she found natural: "It was clear to me that he’d be an amazing father. Maybe others were surprised because of his image as a soldier in the Sayeret Matkal unit. The relationship between him and Shaked was amazing. He knew how to express his love. He used to talk to him and sing to him."
Anat can’t forget the day David left for reserve duty. She had just finished her maternity leave and planned to return to work. They used the last week of her leave, which was also the Sukkot holiday, to be together as a family and meet with friends.
"On Friday, we were at the synagogue," she recounts. “After dinner with friends, we went home and went to sleep. David made plans to go pray with Shaked, and suddenly my phone rang. David asked me to answer, and suddenly we started to understand that something was happening. I started to cry when I saw him leaving by the door. He came back to give me a hug and a kiss and left. I didn't know where he was going. I was naive, and he didn't want to worry me."
Meir wrote to her husband just before his injury. He told her that everything was fine, and she felt somewhat reassured. However, when he didn't contact her on Sunday morning, she began to worry. At midnight, the news of David’s death had arrived.
"His team was sent to Kibbutz Be’eri. He was seriously injured and was kept in the field for a long time until being extracted under fire before arriving at the Soroka Medical Center, where he succumbed to his injuries. He told his friend to tell me, 'I love her and our child, and I'm sorry.' He felt awful leaving us alone."
Alongside the unbearable pain, Anat holds on to Shaked, their son, who resembles David. "Shaked gives me strength," she says. "Everyone loves him. He’s an amazing and easygoing child. He started crawling on the day David was killed. This feeling of loss is terrible. I try to imagine his reactions to Shaked growing up. He would’ve been ecstatic. The mind and heart can’t comprehend this."
Meir is already processing David’s loss and tells Shaked about him despite his young age. "I consulted with a professional, and they understand more than we think," Anat says. "I show Shaked a video of David singing to him, and I'm sure something there is familiar to him. Things will require a different perspective as he grows, but for now, it's mainly about telling him that Dad is a hero, and saved many people."
An amazing father
Kinneret Dvash, 37, was left alone with three children, with her youngest, Tahel, being only seven months old. "Kobi was an amazing husband and father," she says, "and also a principled man who never missed a day of training in his reserve unit."
Since October 8, Kobi enlisted to reserve duty and returned home periodically. Kinneret, on her part, imagined the worst, especially over the last month, before the dire news arrived. "I had a very bad feeling," she says. "Every time he came back home, I made an effort to take pictures of him, alone and with the children because I had a feeling something would happen.”
“Unfortunately, my greatest fears came true. I talked to him about it casually. I said, 'Kobi, God forbid if something happens to you, where do you want to be buried?' He reassured me and said, 'Nothing will happen to me.'"
Dvash remembers the moment she was informed of Kobi's death, holding Tahel in her arms. "I opened the door, I was alone with a seven-month-old baby at home," she recalls. "Three officers came in, and I immediately asked, 'Did something happen?' They told me, 'Kobi was killed.' It was hard to accept and digest."
Kinneret says, "It hurts that Tahel won't know her dad. I can't believe he won't hear her say the word 'Dad.' He won't get to her growing up. It could be she already feels his absence. Suddenly he's gone. If I didn't have children, I’d be depressed. They give me strength. Tahel gives me power despite being only eight months old. Every one of her smiles gives me the strength to continue. Everyone who sees her says she resembles Kobi."
'She resembles him perfectly'
Hadas Levinstern, the wife of Elisha Levinstern who fell in Gaza, is a mother to six children who is still adjusting to her life as a widow including Ruth, a ten-month-old baby who will only know her father through pictures and stories.
"I'm adapting to a new life, and many people want to help me," she says. "People arrive here all the time and talk to me. I understand where it comes from; the Israeli public feels responsible for widows and orphans. I get emotional about every person who comes and reaches out."
Hadas says, "I can't process this tragedy at all. I talked to a therapist and told her that I want to stay in the denial stage and don't want to go through the stages of grief. Eliyahu wasn't here for two and a half months, and I've already observed Shabbats alone. I know what it's like to be alone with the kids.”
“I asked her if it was normal for me to stay in the denial stage. She said my soul knows what’s normal. It's not denial in the sense of shutting the door to the world, but a conscious choice not to dwell on the loss and pain and move forward instead," she says.
Ruth, however, showed signs of distress during the Shiva despite her young age. "When Eliyahu went to war when she was only seven months old, she reacted strongly," her mother recounts.
"She resembles him perfectly, more than any of the other children. She fell ill from the day he was killed. For ten days, she had an ear infection, then an inner ear inflammation, and a stomach virus. She was the only one who couldn't talk, so her body spoke instead.”