As told to Tova Point Only after her precious daughter was murdered at the Nova Festival on Oct. 7 was Sandra able to fully appreciate the gift of a child born late in life
than I did, and asked, “What is the Ari?” I explained to him that he was a great rabbi
and that it is a segulah to immerse in his mikveh. Meanwhile, I sat on the steps
leading down to the cemetery. I felt that I was at a crossroads, facing two choices, neither of which I wanted. I raised my eyes to the heavens and cried out, "What are you doing to me? I don’t
When I was 15, my parents began their journey toward a more religious life, and I
want an abortion, but I also don’t want another child. What should I do?" Tears streamed down my face as I poured out my confusion and pain. I asked Hashem to send me a sign.
found myself attending an
Arachim seminar for single women. Dr. Eli Schussheim from the EFRAT organization gave a lecture about abortions, a topic that, at the time,
As we were leaving the cemetery, we saw a bus with a huge EFRAT ad on it. The sight of it made me even more upset. It felt like Hashem was mocking me, pushing me in a direction I wasn’t ready to go.
seemed distant from my reality. Little did I know that this lecture would have a profound impact on my life years later.
I got married young, at 19, and had three children, two sons and a daughter. At a certain point, my marriage broke down and we got divorced.
Despite the pressure from everyone around me to have an abortion, I ultimately couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. Every time I called the abortion clinic, I felt actual pain in my stomach. Suddenly, the memory of Rabbi Dr. Schussheim’s lecture resurfaced in my mind. I realized there was a living, growing being inside me, and I couldn’t ignore that. What I had seen and heard at the age of 15 was now influencing me almost thirty years later! In the end, I decided to have the baby. It wasn’t an easy pregnancy, but in the end, I gave birth to a beautiful boy. I raised him with love, but I admit that the feeling of frustration lingered. I hadn’t been ready, I hadn’t chosen this path consciously, and it was hard for me to accept.
After my youngest turned 17, I was ready to embrace a new phase of life, one where I could focus on myself and enjoy a newfound sense of freedom. It was then that I was shocked to discover that I was pregnant. It was a moment of deep turmoil for me. At 43, I had declared long ago that three children were enough for me. The idea of starting over with a baby felt like a heavy chain around my neck, pulling me back into a role I thought I had left behind. I consulted with friends, and their unanimous advice was to have an abortion. "Are you crazy?" they asked. "Why would you go back to this at your age?" Their words echoed my own fears. I felt trapped, as if a burden had been placed on my shoulders just when I
wanted my independence. It seemed unfair, and I was angry and confused.
One week after discovering my pregnancy, my boyfriend and I decided to take a vacation. It was at the height of Covid, and the only place we could find was in Tzfat. It wasn’t my first choice for a vacation, but since we were there, I suggested we visit the ancient cemetery. Though I’m not religious, I’ve always had strong faith, and the idea of visiting such a holy place felt right.
Three years later, tragedy struck. It was October 7, and my wonderful daughter, Moriah, zichrona livracha, had
At the cemetery, I suggested to my partner that he immerse in the mikveh of the Ari. He knew even less
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