Ruchama Hershkovitz is the mother of Yossi Hershkovitz, the highly esteemed principal of a Jerusalem high school who fell in battle in Gaza. On Holocaust Rembrance Day, she and her husband Yaakov led a session of ‘Zikaron Ba’Salon’ [a social initiative of informal gatherings in private homes] speaking about Yaakov’s parents’ Holocaust experience.
People from across the spectrum of Israeli society came to hear Yaakov speak movingly about the self-sacrifice and faith of his mother, Chaya, a Holocaust survivor, who would give up her nightly cup of diluted coffee in the camps so that she that could use it to fulfill the mitzvah of ritual hand-washing in the morning. Yaakov’s parents survived the Holocaust, married, and made Aliyah.
The presentation had been prepared by Yossi, of blessed memory, who researched the Holocaust and was very close to his grandparents. At the end of the evening, Yaakov showed the audience his parents’ ketubah, the Jewish marriage contract, relating how they had held onto their faith under horrific circumstances, and had subsequently produced 254 descendants, including 43 great-grandchildren.
At the conclusion of Yaakov’s presentation, a young woman approached him. “I’m planning to get married in a month from now,” she shared. “I originally had no intention of marrying in accordance with Jewish law, but after hearing about your mother, I’ve changed my mind. I want to get married as she did, with a ketubah.” The woman’s mother also came up to Yaakov and told him, “This has been a painful issue in our home for several months. And now, you have solved the problem.”
Ruchama summarized the experience: “My husband Yaakov’s mother survived the Holocaust and passed away. Our son, Yossi fell in the war. And now, in their merit, a new couple will establish another Jewish home.”
The Fear Behind the Frame
A teenage girl recently stopped me at a gas station to take a selfie. I’ve gotten used to the way teens often contort their faces in photos—deliberately making themselves look odd or unappealing. I think that this practice is usually rooted in insecurity or body image struggles. One girl once gave me a painfully honest explanation: “If I make fun of myself first, then others won’t do it online.”
But the girl at the gas station showed me something new. She held up her phone, positioned me at the center of the shot—and then shifted herself almost entirely out of the frame. I moved over to give her space, but she refused to step in. Only her ear and a tiny part of one eye were visible. The message was unmistakable: she was ashamed of being seen. Not just of how she looked, but of her very presence. This isn’t just her personal issue. It’s a reflection of a wider, troubling trend.
Last Shabbat marked the date of death of the extraordinary Israeli poet Zelda. One of her young relatives, David Zvi Hilman, was privileged to receive letters from her. Long before the selfie era, before filters and TikTok, she wrote to him about something deeper: true self-worth and spiritual independence.
“You were created to bring happiness into the world, and to receive sacred, genuine love,” Zelda wrote to him before his bar mitzvah. “Sometimes I think the darkest and most terrible sin is when a person thinks poorly of themselves. That’s not humility—it’s weakness. It’s a retreat from life, and I believe that building a life is one of Judaism’s deepest foundations.
Nurture a love for your inner Divine spark and your talents—they are droplets from the Source of eternity. I believe in your strength and in your future. Life can—and should—be precious and magnificent.”
If I could find that girl again, I’d read her those words.
Last week’s Torah portion says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” But before we can truly love others, there’s a basic assumption: that we first love ourselves.
Why Are We So Happy?
“Why Are Israelis So Happy?” That’s the title of a recent piece by former Soviet refusenik Natan Sharansky and historian Gil Troy, published in Tablet magazine. In it, the authors explore a surprising finding: According to the newly released 2025 World Happiness Report, Israel ranks eighth among the happiest countries in the world.
This would be remarkable in any year—but especially now. In the wake of a devastating war that has claimed the lives of over 1,800 people, Israel has still managed to outpace countries like the United States (ranked 23rd) and Britain (24th), while war-torn Ukraine sits at 111 and Lebanon near the bottom at 145. Even more striking: 91% of Israelis surveyed said they were satisfied with their lives.
So what’s the secret? Sharansky and Troy offer three key explanations:
Affirming Life
In the shadow of tragedy, Israel has experienced a baby boom. While birth rates in most Western countries continue to decline, Israelis are embracing life—literally—by bringing new children into the world. This deep-seated resilience, a refusal to surrender to despair, is woven into the national fabric.
Living Tradition
A staggering 96% of Israelis recently participated in a Passover Seder—the oldest continually observed ritual in the Western world. For Jews, tradition is not a relic of the past but a living inheritance.
The Passover story is not remembered; it is re-lived. As Sharansky and Troy note, "Prayers, songs, food, and other rituals invite Jews to see themselves as having been personally redeemed." Despite deep political rifts, Israelis remain bound by a shared story and a collective mission: to pass that story on.
Meaning and Hope
While youth in many Western nations struggle with an epidemic of despair—losing pride in their countries and stories—Israeli children are steeped in meaning. Schoolchildren conduct shorashim (roots) projects, exploring their family history. Mourning rituals for fallen soldiers and terror victims are public, communal, and deeply moving.
Thousands turn out to comfort bereaved families—often strangers—and the grieving respond by building “living monuments” that carry their loved ones’ values forward. Inspirational quotes from the fallen are printed on bumper stickers and shared across the country, offering daily reminders of courage and purpose.
For Sharansky, this national clarity of identity, peoplehood, and history echoes the values that sustained him during his imprisonment in the Soviet Gulag. He concludes with a message for the West: Learn from Israel. Strengthen your sense of community, of connectedness, of historical pride. In short—learn how to love your country.
Translated by Yehoshua Siskin, Janine Muller Sherr
Want to read more by Sivan Rahav Meir? Google The Daily Thought or visit sivanrahavmeir.com