When war erupted in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, Orya Marriott was in Bournemouth in England with her husband, Reuven, and their toddler daughter. What was meant to be a pleasant vacation spent with their English family turned dramatically as the shocking news arrived from home.
Within hours, Reuven had booked a seat on the next midnight flight back to Israel, determined to report for reserve duty in the Israel Defense Forces. Orya stayed behind, not knowing what would happen next and with a child too young to understand why her father had vanished overnight.
To help bridge the growing emotional gap, Reuven’s mother compiled a small photo album, a handmade notebook filled with snapshots of Reuven. “So she won’t forget his face,” his mum explained.
Since that day, Reuven has spent months at a time stationed in Gaza and elsewhere as part of Israel’s war effort. Finally back at home after two and a half months in Bournemouth, Orya’s reality shifted, from managing a growing agricultural startup alongside her husband to becoming a solo parent of two, juggling diapers and deliveries while dodging missiles.
Reuven made aliyah from England in 2014 when he was 18. He studied at a yeshiva, served in the Golani Brigade and married the Israeli-born Orya. They first settled in Otniel, a community in the Judean Hills, and later moved to an Orthodox community in southern Israel, where they are now raising two children and building the family business.
The couple founded Israel Microgreens in 2020, an innovative vertical indoor farm cultivating nutrient-rich greens. Their microgreens, tiny edible seedlings that mature in just over a week, quickly earned a reputation for their quality and freshness. They delivered to restaurants and produce stores across the country.
Since the war, they’ve faced a different kind of growth: emotional endurance, logistical gymnastics and constant unpredictability.
“We had just come back to full operation after a tough summer and a long closure,” Reuven wrote in a social media post. “Our farm stood in disarray after enduring the dry season followed by relentless rains, which wreaked havoc, claiming tables, tents and equipment. But we refused to bid farewell to the spirit that defined us.”
That spirit is being tested again and again. Due to security threats, especially during periods of heightened tension, such as the ballistic missile attacks from Iran between June 13 and 24, many weddings, functions and large events have been canceled.
The ripple effect has harmed vendors such as Israel Microgreens, which often fills large, time-sensitive catering orders. Left with trays of unsold greens, Orya ensures nothing is wasted. With the help of friends and neighbors, she donates the produce to Leket Israel and other food rescue organizations.
Even while heavily pregnant with their second child, she made deliveries herself. Now, with a five-month-old baby strapped to her and a toddler in tow, she relies on a neighbor, volunteers and a new driver to keep the business alive.
When she tried to offer her children even a small escape from the stress, danger intervened. A recent fun day trip to Haifa was cut short by air raid sirens. Reuven, speaking from Gaza, urged her to head straight to her parents’ home in central Israel and seek shelter.
“These aren’t one-off disruptions,” Orya says. “This has become our life now.”
Life on the sidelines of war
The Marriotts’ story is far from unique. Since Oct. 7, more than 500,000 IDF reservists have been called up to serve alongside soldiers doing their national service. Currently, according to the IDF, some 300,000 reservists, men and women, are serving. This marks the largest mobilization in Israeli history.
For the reservists’ families, it has meant adapting to long-term single parenting, managing household expenses on one salary or none at all and navigating the psychological toll of uncertainty.
Miri (her last name has been withheld at her request), a 38-year-old mother of four from the Jerusalem area, knows this all too well. Her husband was called up the day after the initial Hamas assault and he has served for hundreds of days since.
“Transitions over the past months have been brutal,” she tells JNS. “Our three-year-old cries to sleep, only asking for daddy. There’s no end in sight. With every round, we keep saying: maybe this is the last.”
One of the most painful questions she faced came when her newborn was only a month old: “How can you let him go?”
Her answer: “Because I have no choice.”
What she most needs, she says, is not just sympathy, but solidarity. “What you need is to be seen and embraced by the Jewish community all over the world, so we do not feel alone.”
When the community steps up
In some communities, that embrace has taken a tangible form. From cooked meals to coordinated child care, a patchwork of volunteers across the country has risen to support those left behind.
One WhatsApp group in Jerusalem has grown to more than 400 members, coordinating Shabbat meals for reservist families. Originally launched at the beginning of the Swords of Iron War, the group has now expanded to include weekday dinner request rotations as well.
From a different WhatsApp group, a young mother with a sick baby posted a message on a recent Friday afternoon that she could not prepare for Shabbat. Before candlelighting, there were meals and snacks for a few days delivered to her front door.
Before Passover, Camp Yachad in the Jerusalem area hosted a special girls’ program just for daughters of reservists. The initiative provided both emotional support and practical relief to mothers already stretched thin. This summer, for the second time, they’ve expanded to include more programming to ensure that these children also experience joy, play and a sense of normalcy.
From online advocacy to grassroots impact
Hadassa C. Goldberg is also intimately familiar with this balancing act. Her husband has also spent hundreds of days on reserve duty over the last two years. A mother and digital media strategist, she’s used her platform to raise awareness and funds for displaced southern families.
She has coordinated emergency donations, helped boost small businesses, and served as an emotional anchor for many women in similar situations. Still, she says, it’s not enough.
“The funnels are not coming the way they used to,” Goldberg warns. “The Anglo community needs to show up. We cannot afford to go silent.”
Back at Israel Microgreens, the team continues planting trays of green sprouts. Orders are delivered to customers who value freshness, nutrition and an enterprise rooted in resilience. Volunteers have become lifelines. When Orya can’t make the deliveries, someone else steps in.
“Our family business, like many others, has suffered from the ongoing war and we appreciate any help we can get from our amazing volunteers. I value the fact that my husband is taking a very active role in this holy war for our people and our land,” Orya says. “I happily take responsibility for our business and our family. We all have a role to play.”
She adds, “We thank Hashem that the future is bright and pray that things will improve and get better.”
Despite the fear, exhaustion and ongoing conflict, Orya chooses to plant their microgreens, sometimes with her husband back home, and hope that he is not called up again.
As the war drags on, stories such as Orya’s, Miri’s and Hadassa’s offer a vivid reminder: Not all battles are fought on the front lines. Some are waged at home, in kitchens, playgrounds and in quiet moments of endurance.
These Israeli women and hundreds of thousands like them are the quiet heroines of the home front, nurturing life, love, their families and their communities until the war ends.