‘Ani Lo Medaber Ivrit’ (I Don’t Speak Hebrew)
During my more than 25 visits to Israel, I’ve said the phrase “Ani lo medaber Ivrit” more times than I can count — to taxi drivers, waiters, and strangers on the street. Each time, I’ve said it with a mix of apology and humility, forcing Israelis to switch to their second or third language in their own country.
I heard those same words last week in a place I never expected: the President’s House in Jerusalem, during the IDF Widows and Orphans Organization’s annual Bar and Bat Mitzvah celebration. Forty-nine twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys and girls gathered to meet with President Isaac Herzog and the First Lady.
As the President asked each child to introduce themselves, a young Bedouin girl named Haviva shyly answered, “Ani lo medaberit Ivrit.”
The President of all the people of Israel immediately transitioned to Arabic, and her face lit up in a smile. He told her how much the country owed to her father and family and thanked her for having the courage to be there.
She had earned the right to be thanked. Her father served in the southern division of the Gaza brigade and was killed on October 7 by Hamas terrorists. They did not care about his faith or his language — only that he was an Israeli. He left behind eight children, all of whom, along with their mother, are now part of the IDF Widows and Orphans Organization.
For 35 years, the IDF Widows and Orphans Organization (IDFWO) has been the sole body recognized by the Israeli government to represent the spouses and children of Israel’s fallen heroes. Its board is made up entirely of widows and orphans — those who understand, from within, the cost of Israel’s survival. Its members come from every corner of the country — from kibbutzim in the north to Bedouin villages in the Negev, from high-tech cities to small agricultural towns.
Since October 7, 2023, 351 widows have joined the organization, along with 885 children — 250 of them under the age of five. They are religious and secular. They are conservative and liberal. They are Jews, Muslims, Druze, and Christians. In short, they are the nation of Israel.
Later in the day, the children left the President’s House and proceeded to the Old City of Jerusalem. Most of the children went to the Western Wall, while Haviva, her mother, and other family members went to the Dome of the Rock. In that moment, two sacred sites — steps apart, worlds apart — became symbols of one nation bound by shared grief and shared hope.
This program is one of many that the organization provides for the families of fallen soldiers. There are job-training programs, psychological assistance, widows’ retreats, and summer camps. Above all, there is a sense of community — an opportunity to be with people who understand, without words, what you are feeling.
The evening ended with a party and presents for all of the kids. They ate hamburgers, played music, and reconnected with friends they had met at IDFWO camp or on last summer’s trip to the United States. Looking at their smiling faces, they looked exactly like what they were — young kids enjoying a party with friends.
At some point in the evening, I saw Haviva with her mother. I walked up to her and said, “Gam ani lo medaber Ivrit.” (I also don’t speak Hebrew.) We smiled at each other shyly and ate our dessert together in silence.
As we stood there, two people from utterly different worlds — united by loss, by love for Israel, and by a shared lack of Hebrew — I realized that this, more than anything, is Israel: a nation of many languages, one heart.
It was a small moment in the midst of a difficult year, but one I will never forget.
The author is the executive director of IDF Widows and Orphans USA
