Adi Dardikman ’11

Posted on October 17, 2023

My name is Adi Dardikman. I am a clinical psychology student at Tel Aviv University. In normal times, I spend most of my time on my academic studies and at an internship at a mental health clinic in Jaffa, working as a research assistant. On the horrible day when the war began, I was in Greece, which was supposed to be the start of our wedding week. [Adi is engaged to be married to Max Weiss, an American alum from 2011 whom she first met during their Bronfman mifgash.] Instead, we woke up to a dark and unimaginable reality. Our flight that evening was canceled, and we spent the early days of the war in Athens, glued to the news.

On Tuesday evening I landed in Israel and by Wednesday I had already joined my friends from my clinical psychology studies at Kfar Maccabiah Hotel, one of the hotels hosting families from the south and the Otef Gaza. Kfar Maccabiah turned into a temporary city, filled with volunteers, activities, and food; a point of light in the midst of a great darkness. Thanks to a community full of determination, we integrated into the mental health system operation on-site. We helped bring order to the chaos and organize the dozens of independent therapists who arrived at the location. We made sure that each therapist had the appropriate qualifications, facilitated efficient documentation, and organized communication between the hotel guests and the therapists. In the four days we were there, over 100 therapy sessions were conducted.

Once official government bodies finally took responsibility for managing the mental health situation, I actively began looking for other hotels with fewer volunteers, where we could bring a bit of the light we experienced at Kfar Maccabiah. In recent days, my fellow students and I went to Sea Tower Hotel in Tel Aviv, which also hosts families from the south. We set up a children’s club and even managed to collect donations of art supplies and games. The situation on the ground changes every day, and we assess where we are needed and where children and parents would greatly appreciate a few hours of distraction and relief.

In recent days, I experienced the spirit of Israeli volunteerism up close. While it can be difficult to find a place to volunteer because many are already filled with other good-hearted people, our post seeking donations for children’s games received dozens of responses within less than an hour (we ended up having to turn some of them away). Because of this immediate response from so many, when requesting assistance or volunteers, every inquiry becomes irrelevant within hours. But what amazed me most of all was not just the willingness to help but the ability of the Israeli public, organizations, and private citizens to stand on their own two feet even in times of crisis, to organize independently, and to fill all the gaps and vacuums created by the shock and by the government’s slow response. Our strength as a community and as a nation gives me a lot of hope in the midst of great pain.

A week and a half after that dreadful Saturday, I still can’t digest it, and there’s no time to stop and feel. I’m at our home in Jerusalem in the middle of maternity leave with my third child, who is two months old today. My older children are five-and-a-half and three years old. My partner is with us at home these days, working from home and taking care of all of us.

On the evening of Saturday, October 7, I joined a volunteer group called Chamal (Jerusalem Emergency Volunteer Organization, Chamal HaChirum HaYerushalmi), which started as something small and now provides ongoing assistance to thousands of families in the country. I try, through personal connections, to help with more complex needs that arise: assistance for a family from the south to connect to the local community, therapeutic help for a child in need, assistance for a family with children with special needs, help for a father with PTSD, and more.

In addition to that, on Sunday I returned to my professional job as a project manager for a children’s community in the municipality. We have a team of ten coordinators whose regular task is to build a sense of community for young families and encourage activism. My understanding was that this is the best infrastructure at the moment to provide on-the-ground support for families on the home front, including reserve-duty families. In just three days, we formed local assistance groups, activated neighbors to knock on doors, set up activities in the bomb shelters together with residents, and distributed thousands of craft kits to children at home.

In reality, my day starts in the middle of the night with Shaked, the baby, breastfeeding or sleeping in a baby carrier. Thoughts begin to flow. In the morning, I start the day with coffee to maintain my sanity. As soon as my hand touches the phone, I’m busy with connections until the evening. I receive a message with an inquiry, and within three or four messages or phone calls, I respond. Usually, there are several requests with challenges in both Chamal and my job. There’s a smell of food in the air all day as my partner cooks for friends who are alone with their children (and for us, of course), and there’s the noise of the older girls playing.

Almost all this time, Shaked is on me, nursing or sleeping in a baby carrier. People come and go to collect and distribute craft kits or consult about work matters because I can’t get to the office more than once a week. If it’s a better day, we try to go out with the girls to the nearby playground to meet friends, because it’s been three and a half weeks without any daycare [due to the Jewish holidays and now the war]. If it’s a more challenging day, there will be a lot of TV time.

The goal is to keep busy to avoid thinking or feeling; there will be time for that later. To maintain routine for the girls. To stay sane. This includes changing clothes in the morning even when we’re not going anywhere, taking a shower every day even if we don’t leave the house, breathing, and being patient with everyone in the house. And to quietly pray in my heart that those who are still alive will come home safely.