This article is the second in a series titled “HER,” an ongoing project by photojournalist Chen G. Schimmel, exploring the lives and inner worlds of the wives of Israeli soldiers.
For Shiri, “it is the little things” that can make the difference between managing and flourishing.
Throughout the war, she has been navigating a reality that once felt unimaginable: caring for three young children, holding together a household, and moving repeatedly while her husband bounces between reserve duty and civilian life. On some days, she carves out beautiful memories with her children and manufactures a sense of normalcy, but on other days, getting through is enough.
Shiri and her husband, Z., were living in the northern city of Zichron Ya’acov when he was called up to serve on October 7. Pregnant with their second child and alone, Shiri had little choice but to wait, as Z. took their car in the race to protect the northern border from Hezbollah.
Without a mamad (safe room), Shiri explained to The Jerusalem Post, she was blessed they were in a “sweet spot” of the country that was hardly disturbed by sirens until after she relocated to her parents’ home in Caesarea. Although she was not directly affected by the missile fire across Israel at that time, the situation still took a toll.
“That time period was very, very difficult for me,” she said. “Being pregnant and having a toddler at home just felt very lonely, and it was tough. I didn’t have much of a community at that point.”
She described missing the type of basic support a reservist wife could expect from her community and support circle: someone checking in regularly, hot meals being dropped off, and offers to help pick things up from the grocery store. Other communities were quick to band together to create meal trains and offer babysitting for the wives of reservists, but Shiri found that took a lot longer to reach her.
Care packages from friends in the United States offered some relief and helped lift her spirits during her second pregnancy, but she still struggled with the day-to-day, feeling like a “single parent,” managing everything on her own.
At the beginning of the war, then-three-year-old Mikaylah was able to understand many things that Shiri “couldn’t hide,” including her father’s absence and her mother’s emotional state. The disturbances led her to regress in some ways, forcing her to return to diapers despite being potty-trained.
Shiri broke down when she spoke with the Post about the memory. What should have been a time to enjoy her pregnancy and time with her growing family was instead colored by isolation, confusion, and fear.
What compounded the strain was the constant uncertainty. She did not know how long the war would last, when Z. would be home, or whether he would remain safe serving in the Paratroopers Brigade as the fighting intensified.
While she missed him at important milestones, like her and her children’s birthdays, the distance wasn’t as difficult an adjustment for her as one might expect, but was almost nostalgic in the way she would look forward to his phone calls.
Shiri met Z. in 2013, when he was still stuck for weeks at a time on an IDF base, and the pair could only connect through infrequent and sometimes awkwardly formal phone calls.
“At the time, I felt like he was talking to his mom; he was just telling me about his day, and it was very hard to progress,” she joked, but added that formality didn’t take away from the fact that she knew he was “the one” when she laid eyes on him.
While Z. said he cannot remember much of the night they met, after having been to at least three bars beforehand, Shiri remembers it clearly. She was out for a girls’ night when she ran into an Israeli man she had previously worked with at a camp in the US. With him was Z.
“He [Z.] started talking to my [girl]friend, and I was really happy for her, because she had never had a boyfriend at that point, and then the conversation just kind of fizzled out with them, and he sat next to me, and we started talking, and then we just spoke for the rest of the night,” Shiri recounted, adding that the two had little in common at the time, but something “just clicked.”
Shiri is no longer a young American living “every girl’s dream” by “dating a soldier.” With three children and the demands of wartime reserve duty shaping their lives, that early unpredictability has given way to a different kind of relationship, one built less on long conversations and more on managing the weight of daily life together from a distance.
Now more accustomed to the situation, Shiri seemed less emotional when she spoke about the struggles she faced after giving birth to her youngest, who was only two months old when the latest Iran war began.
With the preschools closed, she was suddenly a full-time mom of three without the space and breaks that daycare provides. She has had to get creative when it comes to helping her kids burn off their excess energy, avoiding going out to the park for much of the war, due to the unpredictable timing of missile attacks.
The situation has taken a significant toll on both Shiri and her baby, who is in the 1% weight category for his age. Shiri has repeatedly been told that the lack of sleep, altered routine, and war-related anxieties likely contributed to this issue.
With her other two children to manage and Z. away for reserve duty, breastfeeding became an intense challenge. Needing her hands free to manage daily life, she began supplementing with formula, a personal and often weighty decision made out of necessity. This reduced the time it took to feed, but created even more tasks for her already full days.
“Postpartum is a really big transition physically, mentally, and emotionally,” she explained, adding that all of this comes in addition to the necessary cleaning, house maintenance, and tasks expected in normal civilian life.
Strain relentless on new mother amid sirens, reservist husband
New mothers often already struggle to get enough sleep, but combined with being without her husband’s help, sleeping in the mamad with all three children, bearing the “sole responsibility” of keeping them safe when sirens sound, and managing midnight feedings, the strain had been relentless.
“I was just constantly being pulled in so many different directions,” Shiri said, adding that five-year-old Mikaylah might be more independent than her younger children, but still needs her mother’s attention.
“Postpartum is supposed to be a period of healing and rest, bonding with your baby. Maybe a cup of coffee with friends here and there, and I didn’t really get that.
“It’s very scary to be living through all of these things and being responsible not only for yourself. Waking the kids up to go to the mamad, or having them sleep in the mamad... and just realizing, as a mother, how this is affecting your kids and how they’re growing up,” Shiri explained.
“It’s like second nature for them, hearing a siren and knowing that they have to get to safety,” Shiri said, noting the way their early life experience was so different from her own back in New York.
Despite the exhaustion, Shiri listed the things she is grateful for. She was able to spend her maternity leave bonding with all her children, time she otherwise would not have had.
“Liam and Mikaylah are best friends now, and it’s really because they only had each other” during this difficult period, Shiri commented.
During Post photojournalist Chen Schimmel’s visit, Shiri and her family were also able to hold a delayed birthday celebration for Liam, after the war overshadowed his first.
Now living in Or Akiva, she has found the sense of community she had desperately missed in Zichron Ya’acov, and the war has made her feel “more connected to the country and the people.”
“The community has been amazing and supportive, and all my neighbors have just been in disbelief at how I was managing with all the kids home, with Z. away in reserve duty,” she shared. “All the support they gave me, with hot food and cleaning my house, and coming over just to hold the baby for a second while I gave the other kids a bath, it warmed my heart and made me feel so supported during this time.
“I’m home with the kids; I feel very much like I’m fighting, too, for our country, on the home front. I don’t need to feel like I’m not Israeli enough anymore,” Shiri continued.
It is the little things, including conversations about expectations and needs, that have allowed Z. and Shiri to maintain a sense of partnership, even while facing very different battles. As Z. prepares to return to Lebanon in the coming weeks, he trusts Shiri will hold things together on the home front, and they can trust each other to show up in the ways they need when the family is whole.
“He makes his time at home feel really special, spending quality time with the family and making beautiful memories. I can relax at home with him there, spend more time enjoying life with him and our kids together,” she said, speaking on how the time they share together has changed since it became a precious resource.
When Z. is home, Shiri can take a much-needed break from the pressures of maintaining the household, share the burden, and take a pause to appreciate the life they built in their new home.
Now better adjusted to the uncertainty, Shiri continues to manage the sleepless nights and constant demands of raising three young children largely on her own. She holds the family together until the day Z. can hang up his uniform for good. Until then, she remains on the home front, carrying the life they built together, motivated by her love for Z., their children, and her country.