From Israel’s Health Newsroom to a Life of Faith: Carmit Reuven-Betzalel’s Journey

If you also hear the name Carmit Reuven-Betzalel and immediately think of the evening news or major reforms at the Ministry of Health, that’s no surprise.

For years, Carmit served as a health correspondent on Reshet Bet and as a news anchor on Galei Tzahal. As a journalist, she broke numerous exclusives — especially in healthcare, interviewed fascinating figures, and led impactful investigations.

About eight years ago, everything changed. The energetic reporter did something that seemed utterly irrational to those around her: she left her job and Tel Aviv social circle, married her husband, and chose to invest in one thing only — building a family. Today they are parents of four, living a Torah-observant life and meticulous about mitzvot, from the lightest to the most demanding.

It’s a storyline you wouldn’t find in any interview Carmit once conducted, or any plot she covered. “Quite simply,” she smiles, “because even the wildest novelist couldn’t have imagined it.” Now, in her first candid interview with Hidabroot, Carmit reveals what unfolded in those years and led her from the heart of secular media to a life of teshuvah.

Chapter One: From the Kibbutz to the Media

“I grew up on a kibbutz, with everything that implies,” Carmit begins. “Not only was I disconnected from anything Jewish — my parents and even my grandparents were as well. I was third-generation secular, and awareness of God simply didn’t exist for me. Truthfully, deep down I had some kind of faith, a sense of connection to a higher power I couldn’t even name — but I never told anyone, because I was sure they’d think I was crazy.

“As I grew older, my secular identity intensified and turned into complete hostility toward religion and religious people — even though I had never actually met a religious person. I did enjoy Bible classes because the stories interested me, but they were taught through totally distorted interpretations, focusing on literary analysis — ‘look at the imagery the author used’ — without even naming who the ‘author’ was, and often with mockery toward sacred texts and believers. My ignorance was so deep that for years I thought a siddur was a book only old people used; it never occurred to me that young people might pray from one too.”

Carmit’s first close encounter with teshuvah came when her cousin became religious and married a religious man. “As a family, we were really worried about her,” she recalls. “I personally took it hard and told everyone, ‘She’s going to disappear from our lives — we’ll never see her again.’ Not only did she not disappear; within a short time she and her husband organized a shared Shabbat for the cousins, planning to give us a small taste of Judaism.”

Carmit came for that Shabbat, and was shocked to discover that her cousin’s husband was warm and respectful. “All Shabbat I tried to trap him with questions and arguments, but he didn’t argue back the way I expected. He even complimented my way of thinking. When Shabbat ended, I rode back to Tel Aviv with them and spent the entire drive asking questions about the Bible and Moshe. At some point my cousin tried to stop me, but her husband silenced her: ‘Don’t you see there’s a great soul here?’”

Those words etched themselves into Carmit’s heart, and still accompany her today.

At the end of the drive, the couple invited Carmit to spend future Shabbatot at their home. The husband added, “I heard you’re studying communications — if you come, you’ll meet Zvi Yehezkeli, who sometimes joins us on Shabbat.”

The name intrigued her. “My life’s dream was to be a journalist,” she explains. “Even though I excelled in my studies, I had no idea how to break into the top media outlets. This was the first time I realized Zvi Yehezkeli was getting closer to Judaism — at the time it wasn’t public, and that surprised me. But what really interested me was meeting him and maybe getting advice or help entering a major channel.”

A few weeks later, she found herself back at her cousin’s home — with Yehezkeli there. “But the truth is, we didn’t talk about journalism all Shabbat,” she says. “There were things far bigger than my dream of being a reporter. It was the first time I saw authentic Shabbat up close, and it deeply impressed me.”

She was still far from observing Shabbat, but when invited to weekday gatherings and Torah classes for secular young adults, she agreed. She attended occasionally, barely noticing that she was the only secular participant — until someone asked what she planned to do for a living. When she said “journalist,” he asked, “How will you keep Shabbat as a journalist?”

“That sentence threw me a thousand steps back,” Carmit recalls. “Suddenly I realized where I was headed — and it was not what I had planned. I quickly returned to my original focus: becoming a journalist, nothing else.”

Chapter Two: A Senior Health Correspondent

Ironically, Carmit’s entry into journalism did come through Zvi Yehezkeli. “He promised to give me a tour of Channel 10, and he kept his promise. But the whole time he kept repeating, ‘I don’t recommend this profession. I don’t know what you’re looking for here. It’s better to do teshuvah, get married, and have children.’”

She wasn’t ready to hear it. “The only question I asked at the end was, ‘What did you do to get into the channel?’ He answered, ‘I studied at Koteret School.’ I enrolled immediately, and within three months I was a reporter at Reshet Bet of Kol Yisrael. Shortly after, a health correspondent position opened, and that’s how I got the role.”

She took the job seriously. “It was 2009, just after the elections, when a new Deputy Minister entered the Ministry of Health — Yaakov Litzman. I attended the ministry’s first conference and, for the first time in my life, met a Haredi up close. I wanted to speak with him professionally but didn’t know if it was allowed, so I asked his aide, Yaakov Izhak, if the new deputy minister could speak to women. He laughed and said, ‘If you’re a reporter, you’re welcome to interview him — he’ll meet you in his office.’”

The meeting surprised her deeply. “We talked at length — off the record, but it allowed me to meet a remarkable Jew with strong values who shattered many stereotypes I’d attached to Haredim. Professionally, it also gave me access and sources.”

Not everyone approved. “One editor asked me bluntly, ‘Why are you so respectful to the deputy minister?’ I said I believed he did his job faithfully — and mentioned that he woke before dawn to do surprise inspections at hospitals, after going to the mikveh and praying. She pushed back with political slogans, and suddenly I understood the environment I’d entered: there was no room for a new reporter to present a different view.”

Around that time, Carmit’s younger sister also began a journey of teshuvah. They met often in Jerusalem and spent Shabbatot with Haredi families. “I discovered a world of deep, thoughtful people, with answers to so many of my questions. I began to understand that everything was true, and now I had to choose: continue living a lie, or move toward truth.”

She started by keeping kosher, which proved difficult after years of eating freely while working as a flight attendant for El Al and traveling the world. “But the difficulty itself made me feel how much I was advancing and drawing closer to God.”

Chapter Three: The First Shabbat

Months passed, and Yom Kippur arrived — the day that changed her life. Her sister was sick and prayed at home. “I heard her saying Al Chet… beating her chest and crying. Listening to the list of sins, I felt overwhelming shame. I had done everything listed. That moment shook me — I wanted to leave sin and be in the right place.”

Soon after, financial difficulties brought Carmit back to live with her parents in Tel Aviv. She left Kol Yisrael and became a Friday news anchor on Galei Tzahal. One rainy Friday afternoon, returning from work just before Shabbat, a thought struck her: Why not start keeping Shabbat? She had five minutes before candle-lighting. She microwaved a single sweet potato for a “Shabbat meal,” borrowed candles, lit them with excitement, and then sat bored on the couch. No siddur, no hot plate, no plan.

The next morning was harder without coffee. She decided to go to synagogue. “The first small shul I found moved me beyond words. I sat quietly, looking at the names of the Tribes of Israel on the walls. ‘Reuven’ — my family name, jumped out at me. I felt I belonged. This was my place.”

A woman invited her to the kiddush. “You’re saving me,” I told her, because I had nothing to eat. They shared a beautiful meal, and from then on she made sure I always had hot water — and even cake.”

Chapter Four: In the Right Place

Despite her progress, Carmit resisted calling it teshuvah. Her mother, who had struggled with her sister’s change, whispered to her, “It’s okay if you return.” Carmit cried, and returned.

She immersed herself in Torah learning, listening endlessly to lectures by Rabbi Zamir Cohen, Rabbi Yuval Asherov, Rabbi Ofer Gisin, Rabbi Shneor Ashkenazi, Rabbi Yaron Reuven, and Rabbi Ephraim Kachlon. “Like a thirsty person in the desert who found a spring.”

Reading Tanach for the first time, she discovered depths never taught to her. Eventually, she accepted taharat hamishpacha. Two months later she met her husband, Ran Betzalel; three months after that, they married.

“Looking back, I see how God led me through the media world so I could fulfill my dream — and realize it wasn’t for me, so I could truly serve Him.”

Fulfillment

Carmit still feels occasional nostalgia for journalism. “That’s why I run a health website at my own pace — and record Tehillim for YouTube, so people can listen even without a book. An organization for the blind uses it, and that makes me happy.”

“But my greatest joy is watching my children come home before holidays with songs and knowledge — receiving what I never had. I thank God every day for the place I’ve reached.”