Yael Serlin, 42, is an artist and art lecturer. She is married and the mother of seven children (19, deceased; 18; 16; 14; 11; 4; and 1). The family lives in Beit Israel, neighborhood in central Jerusalem.
"I found out I was pregnant on my 41st birthday and I was in shock because I thought I was done having children. The baby clothes had already been packed away on a high shelf for future grandchildren.
"Two weeks later, during Sukkot, my husband Ran was serving in reserve duty in northern Israel. Yosef, my oldest, came home from the army. I thought to myself, 'There's no way I can keep this to myself. I'm telling Yosef.'
"He was lying in the sukkah, half asleep. I said, 'Yossi, I need to tell you something.' He looked at me and said, 'What is it, mom?' Then he looked at me again and said, 'Mom, really?'
"He understood immediately, even though I wasn't showing yet. I said, 'Yes, I'm pregnant.'
"I didn't know how he would react, but he said, 'Mom, that's amazing! That's wonderful!' He encouraged me so much. He was so sweet. During the holiday I told the rest of the children. After that, Yosef kept asking for updates and checking how I was feeling.
"I was born in Haifa and from the age of 7 I grew up on Kibbutz Yir'on. I started drawing, sculpting and sketching at a young age. When I was 11, my parents divorced. It was a major crisis in my life, and every night I prayed to God that I would one day have a loving family. I lit Sabbath candles, which was unusual on the kibbutz.
"Ran was a grade ahead of me in high school, and we've been friends since we were 15. I studied art and dreamed of becoming an artist.
"When I joined Beit Yisrael, a pre-military leadership academy that brings together secular and religious young adults, I began studying Judaism. During my army service, I worked there as an education soldier through the Nahal program, and I gradually became religious. I no longer thought I would become an artist because I wasn't sure art would fit with my new way of life.
Yosef Haim Tzvi Serlin, killed during a hand-to-hand combat training exercise in the IDF
(Photo: Courtesy of the family)
"I was afraid of losing Ran, who grew up in a secular home, but he agreed to observe Shabbat with me. Every week we studied the Torah portion together, and when we reached the story of Joseph, we fell in love with the biblical figure. We said that if we ever had a son, we would name him Yosef.
"After I completed my army service, Ran and I got married. We moved to Beit Israel, I worked as an instructor, and a year later Yosef Haim Tzvi was born. Tzvi was named after Ran's grandfather, a Holocaust survivor who died young. Haim, meaning 'life,' was added as a blessing that he would live a long life.
"He was a beautiful, radiant redheaded boy, sensitive and full of strength. Everyone loved him.
"I still didn't know what I wanted to study. One day I was walking with Yosef in a baby carrier when I came across a work of art. I felt my heart pounding. After receiving my rabbi's blessing, I enrolled in a bachelor's program in education and art at Emunah College. By the time I graduated, we had two more children.
"I joined a group of religious women artists called Studio and began exhibiting my work. Only at 27 could I finally say to myself, 'I'm an artist, and I'm making time for it.' I taught art in high school, later completed a master's degree in art with honors at Hamidrasha School of Art, and eventually became head of the art department at Emunah College. Along the way, I gave birth to three more children.
"Yosef attended the Regavim yeshiva high school in the Golan Heights. Every time he came home, he made sure to spend time with each of his siblings, who adored him. Before enlisting, he chose to attend the Beit Israel pre-military academy, just as we had. There he met Daphna, who became the love of his life.
"Before his enlistment, he was selected for Unit 504 of Military Intelligence. He enlisted as a combat soldier and completed an extremely demanding training program.
"Since October 7, I had attended many funerals in Section 18A of Mount Herzl Military Cemetery. I felt I was carrying the grief of so many women around me.
'"I created an artwork called Lullaby, showing 26 women covering a plowed field with white burial shrouds'
(Photo: Avi Kagan)
"I created an artwork called Lullaby, showing 26 women covering a plowed field with white burial shrouds, the way you cover a child before bed. When we filmed it with a drone, I said, 'Oh my God, this reminds me of Section 18A on Mount Herzl.' It terrified me.
"The night before filming, I dreamed I was walking hand in hand with my late rebbetzin, who told me, 'You will have seven children, and I will help you raise them.'
"A month later, there was a knock on our door at 4 a.m. Three soldiers sat us down on the couch and said, 'Your son, Yosef Haim Tzvi, died during a hand-to-hand combat training exercise.'
"It came completely out of nowhere. We thought he was somewhere safe. I told myself: Yosef didn't just die. He was killed.
"We had to tell all the children. I think their cries could be heard to the ends of the earth. Then I had to tell Daphna, Yosef's girlfriend, who was at the Shizafon military base without her phone. Her father drove there to tell her.
"I was eight months pregnant. I never knew such heartbreak existed, yet I also knew I was carrying life inside me and had to protect it.
"Thousands of people accompanied us at the funeral, and Yosef was buried in Section 18A on Mount Herzl. It was chilling. I realized my soul had known something before I did.
"The IDF conducted an internal investigation, and the case is still under investigation by the Military Police Criminal Investigation Division. What is clear is that Yosef was killed during a training exercise that deviated from military procedures.
"We were invited to the graduation ceremony for his training team, and when we arrived, we discovered it was held directly above the same field where I had filmed the women with the burial shrouds. I was stunned. I could have filmed that work in a million different fields.
"Suddenly I realized I was in my ninth month of pregnancy. In grief, time stops, but the pregnancy kept advancing and the birth drew closer. It was hard to go to doctors in that state. One doctor looked at us and said, 'Come on, it's not Tisha B'Av.'
"Before I gave birth, someone asked, 'Will you name him Yosef?'
"I said, 'No. I already have a child named Yosef. I'm still Yosef's mother.' We remain mothers even when our children are no longer in this world.
"On the morning I went into labor, although my contractions were still mild, we drove to Mount Herzl as we did every week. Standing by Yosef's grave, the contractions intensified, so we went straight to the maternity ward. I brought one of Yosef's shirts with me because it still carried his scent.
"On May 26, exactly two months after Yosef was killed, Benjamin was born.
"The birth was incredibly powerful. For a moment, it was like holding life at both of its ends, and I felt Yosef was with me.
"I dressed Benjamin in the same clothes Yosef had worn as a baby. They were completely worn out. I'm sure people saw them and wondered why I wasn't buying him new clothes, but I don't want to part with them.
"All of Yosef's friends came to the brit milah, circumcision, performed in the Jewish tradition on a baby boy on his eighth day of life, and there were so many tears. Benjamin was born into a grieving family, to heartbroken parents, at the height of our mourning.
"I would wake up at night, nurse him and sob. But in a way, he kept me going because I had to care for him. I couldn't simply stop.
"I'm sure people around me share my pain, but they don't always know what to say. Some people saw me with a baby and said, 'At least you have this,' or 'Here's the replacement,' or 'Now you'll be happy.'
'Library' video work by Yael Serlin
(Photo: from the exhibition Four Cubits, curated by Meital Manor)
"I feel joy and pain at the same time. What helps most is simple, sincere participation in both.
"Every time the military announces another fallen soldier whose name has been cleared for publication, I feel it in my bones. When I read that the mother of Staff Sgt. Nave Habshoosh, who was recently killed in Lebanon, said in her eulogy that she was pregnant, I wanted to hug her, tell her I was with her and hold her in my heart.
"Art has been my anchor throughout my life, especially this past year. Through art, I grieve, long for and continue to love Yosef. I still carry him within me. Death is not the end.
"My solo exhibition, Four Cubits, curated by Meital Manor, opens July 17 at the Jerusalem Artists' Studios as part of the Manofim Festival and will run for three months.
"It's not an exhibition about my son, and I don't think it's about bereavement either. But it came from my deepest core, and it contains unbearable pain. It gives a voice to mothers like me. The exhibition is designed like a home and presents my private space, as though you're walking into my soul."
Bottom line: "I never imagined I could contain these opposites, life and death, but today I see that it is possible."