From Childhood Loneliness to a Life of Meaning

Orly Goldklang is an Israeli journalist. She is married with children and lives in Ofra.

A childhood story that has stayed with you?

“My grandparents were originally from Damascus, Syria, and immigrated to Argentina when they were young. My parents, my brother, and my two sisters were all born there — only I was born in Israel. In addition, I was the youngest sibling, with a seven-year gap between me and my sister.

The strongest experience from my childhood was a sense of loneliness, mainly because I carried a deep and constant longing for my older siblings. We didn’t have many years living together in the same house. At every stage I reached, they were already far ahead and no longer there.

When I was little, they were in yeshiva and seminaries, and by the time I reached that stage, they were already married with children. In certain ways, I grew up almost like an only child.

The period before my brother’s wedding, who was the first sibling to get married, was the most beautiful summer of my childhood. Everyone was home, happy, cleaning together, laughing together. It’s an experience I try to recreate regularly for my own children at home.”

A Jewish figure who inspires you?

“Rabbi Aryeh Levin. I’ve drawn inspiration from him from a very young age. The elementary school I attended was called ‘HaRaL,’ named after Rabbi Aryeh, and we learned a great deal about him there. Rabbi Aryeh greeted every person with warmth, and that’s one of the most important lessons I took from him and something I truly try to live by, both in life in general and in my work in particular.

A newsroom is naturally a stressful place, but at Makor Rishon we try — and succeed, to maintain a very respectful attitude toward people.

Beyond that, there are stories about Rabbi Aryeh that you hear once and they stay with you for life. For example, the story about his wife and the phrase ‘my wife’s leg hurts us,’ or the dialogue between a husband and wife where he said, ‘You don’t know how much light and strength pass through a handshake from Rabbi Aryeh,’ and she replied, ‘You don’t know how much light and strength one receives from Rabbi Aryeh’s gaze.’

Of course, he was extremely careful with the laws of modesty and did not touch women, but he still sought to strengthen and comfort them through his presence and his eyes. As a child, I promised myself that I would name one of my children after him — and indeed, my son is named Harel.”

Judaism, for you, is…

“Everything. I don’t see where a line can be drawn between Judaism and me — where I end and it begins. It isn’t something specific in my life, because it is everything. It’s who I am. It’s so fundamental and all-encompassing that it becomes one’s very identity.”

A mitzvah especially dear to your heart?

“There are negative commandments I love, and there are positive ones. A negative commandment that is especially dear to me is: What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. It’s an incredibly wise instruction, with enormous power to bring goodness.

As a child, there were situations where I felt that the adults didn’t understand me, and that they had forgotten how it felt to be my age. I remember very clearly that I promised myself that when I grew up, I would remember how I felt in those moments and relate more empathetically to my own children.

To this day, I truly try to do that. It doesn’t always succeed, but thank God, many times it does. I succeed in understanding what my children are going through better by recalling my own childhood feelings in similar situations. I think the key is to observe, to see, to understand what hurts people — and to make every effort not to do that. It’s not easy, but it at least shows the right direction. It’s important to ask yourself how you would feel standing in someone else’s place.”

What do you especially love about Shabbat?

“Shabbat is the positive commandment I love most. It has a sense of wholeness. That oxygen, and the ability to breathe freely, exists only on Shabbat.

Shabbat is a bit like a mini Yom Kippur. It closes the door on the frustrations that accumulated during the week and opens a new one.

For me, the sweetest thing about Shabbat is disconnecting from my phone for one day a week. The freedom of Shabbat isn’t just about not going to work. Even when there’s time off work, it’s nothing like Shabbat — not Purim, not Independence Day, not Chol HaMoed.

Shabbat is something else entirely. And it’s strange, because often we don’t actually rest that much — setting the table, cooking, cleaning, synagogue, and classes require a lot of presence. And yet, there is something different. As we know, it’s hard to put into words, but very easy to feel.”

A favorite holiday?

“Sukkot. Ever since my son turned three, I wanted him to experience sleeping in the sukkah, and then his sisters joined. It turned out that all of us slept in the sukkah together. Today, thank God, he’s 19, I have six children, and we still all sleep in the sukkah together.

It’s a full week-long holiday, with a Shabbat in the middle that’s also unique and special. You can travel during Sukkot because the weather is usually perfect, and overall there’s something magical about it. It’s a very family-centered holiday. Everyone is together, out in the open, in a kind of large, holy, embracing tent. And most importantly, we’re all together as a family. I’m crazy about it.”

Professionally, are you where you imagined you’d be?

“Not at all. My whole involvement in journalism happened completely by pure Divine providence. We live in Ofra, and I was asked to write something for a community event celebrating the town’s anniversary. That led to a one-time column in the local paper, which became a regular column, and from there to Nekuda, and then onward.

By the way, one of my close friends once told me she was at a parenting group where a mother said she was embarrassed that her daughter talks so much. My friend replied, ‘You may be embarrassed now, but when an editor asks her to write 300 words in half an hour, she’ll be the one who can do it easily.’

I jumped up and hugged her emotionally and told her that my entire life I hated this trait in myself — that I talk a lot — but now I realize that I actually earn my living from it. God gave me fluent speech and easy writing so that I would do something with it, use it for good purposes. That was a defining moment for me.”

How present is God in your life, and how does that influence your work?

“I divide it into two parts. I try to do good things, and I also try not to fall where God wouldn’t want me to fall. I do journalism as a journalist, not as a preacher — but the work itself is done with fear of Heaven.

Just as I make sure lunch is kosher, I make sure my journalism is ‘kosher’ as well, and that it doesn’t contradict my faith.

We try to maintain very high standards of integrity in the newspaper, and not to sink into sensationalism, to write gossip or slander. Beyond that, I strongly believe in Divine providence, and I feel that I’m on a path God has set for me.”

A biblical figure you’d like to meet?

“Joseph the Righteous. I admire him for many reasons, but especially for his ability to forgive his brothers despite what they did to him. In my opinion, that’s the greatest reason he’s called Yosef HaTzadik — even more than all the trials he endured. Not only did he choose not to take revenge, he forgave them with a full and loving heart, and cared for all their needs.”

An especially meaningful meeting or conversation you’ve had?

“One of the most powerful interviews I conducted was with Avner Shimoni. He was the head of the Gush Katif council during the disengagement, and a year later he suffered a stroke. Because of this, he spoke very little — simple speech was a tremendous effort for him.

The article was long, and much of it was based on what I understood and interpreted from his gaze, movements, and body language. The responses to the piece were deeply moving. He and his wife are truly remarkable people.

In addition, I’ve had quite a few meetings with secular left-wing individuals — people I once thought terrible things about. After meeting them, I discovered they were wonderful people. We simply think differently.”

A book or song that influenced you deeply?

“‘Hishba’ati Etchem,’ performed by Ishay Ribo. It deals with the ‘Three Oaths’ in Tractate Ketubot. People talk a lot about those oaths, but not enough about the fourth and most explicit one: ‘I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, tell him that I am lovesick.’

My feeling is that for 2,000 years the Jewish people waited, generation after generation, and in recent generations we have found the Beloved again — we have returned to the Promised Land. It’s time for this oath to burst forth above the others: to seek connection, not suppress love.

If we love Him so deeply, and rejoice so much in the miracle of the ingathering of exiles we’ve witnessed, and rejoice so much in returning to the Holy Land, how can we leave it? That’s why I don’t leave the country.”

A life lesson you’ve learned?

“That there is no person from whom there is nothing to learn. Sometimes it’s something good to adopt; sometimes it’s something bad to remember not to do. But from everyone, there is always something to learn.

In general, I used to be embarrassed by how influenced I was by others, but over time I learned to accept this with calm and love. It takes a lot of patience to identify what is worth taking from a particular person. But it’s always worth it.”

Your favorite prayer?

“The Priestly Blessing. I come from a family of Kohanim on both sides. Those moments, when the Kohanim bless the congregation, always feel incredibly powerful to me spiritually and energetically.

After that, I would mention Aleinu and Mizmor LeTodah, which is said after Baruch She’amar. Aleinu because it’s a beautiful and precise summary of the entire prayer, and Mizmor LeTodah because sometimes — even on a bad day, it reminds you that there are many things to be grateful for.”

After 120 years, what would you want to know you did and left in this world?

“I have six amazing children, and I’m confident that, God willing, they will contribute greatly to society and beyond. That’s the most important thing.

It’s uncomfortable to admit, but sometimes we think we’re very important — yet in history we’ll be just a comma. That’s true of our work, our personal achievements, all of it. It will likely be forgotten.

Journalism, my profession, is important, but it’s also very current, and very temporary. My children are continuity; they are eternity. That’s why the most important thing is educating your children.

In the newspaper we make an effort to pass on values and to educate — but before anything else, you must educate your own children. If you managed to write something beautiful in the paper but failed to educate your children, you’ve missed the essence.

I believe in my children deeply. They are talented, kind-hearted, and meaningful to their environment. I constantly pray that God will protect them and give them the tools to realize the immense potential within them.”