Donation to the Or-Lev family: The mother suffers from PTSD due to prolonged childhood abuse

Hello, my name is Oriya Mevorach. I’m sorry for the length of this post. I simply want to be transparent and share everything I know. I have a couple of close friends from the north. I’ll call them Ahuva and Eitan Or-Lev. (These are pseudonyms, of course. I chose “Or-Lev” because that’s exactly who they are: light and heart.) I met Eitan several years ago. Today he is 37, working in a profession that is entirely about giving. The kind of job where the salary is never enough, chosen purely out of a sense of mission. Eitan and Ahuva met shortly after being discharged from the army, during a shared volunteer project. They discovered that both of them carry a deep passion for giving. Like Eitan, Ahuva also works in a profession devoted to caring for others. Not a prestigious profession. One that meets life from the ground up. Eitan and Ahuva fall in love, get married, move to the north, and begin their life together. Four children are born to them. At some point, Ahuva begins to develop symptoms that we now know are characteristic of PTSD. When I first met Eitan and Ahuva, none of us knew the source of these symptoms. Why Ahuva wakes up at night in terror, screaming. Why every time there is heavy rain, Ahuva is overwhelmed by intense anxiety, like a frightened child during thunder and lightning. Why sometimes she freezes in the middle of a sentence, and when spoken to she doesn’t respond, as if she isn’t in the same room with us—and when she “comes back,” she can’t say what happened. About a year ago, I received a phone call from Eitan. He was shaken. When Eitan is shaken, he is still very grounded and steady (which is why I chose the name “Eitan” for him). He told me that something new had appeared in Ahuva’s symptoms: instead of waking up at night screaming without knowing what nightmare caused it, suddenly she was able to describe what the “nightmare” was. Trigger warning: sexual abuse I write “nightmare” in quotation marks because it turned out this nightmare was real, and had happened to Ahuva countless times from the age of five until she was eighteen. The nightmare was actually a collection of repressed memories that suddenly surfaced. In these memories, Ahuva’s father—the admired man from a respected family—is with her in his study: dark, cramped, suffocating, and he rapes her. Eitan continues, saying: Oriya, listen. Ahuva called him. She confronted him. He admitted it. He admitted it. He said he was sorry, then he yelled at her. When she asked him why he did it, he apologized again, then shouted, cursed her, and hung up. Oriya, we now know what happened to Ahuva. End of trigger Immediately after this discovery, Ahuva began intensive and remarkable mental-health treatment that has helped her greatly. She is also seeing an exceptional psychiatrist who supports her with carefully adjusted medication. But Ahuva’s inner world collapsed. For an entire year, she has been descending into a deep abyss. She remembers so much. And there are things she still cannot remember. Body and soul respond in total chaos. The symptoms are no longer “just” momentary anxiety or dissociation. During the episodes when Ahuva falls, she reaches the very bottom—crashing into a black space ruled only by despair, complete silence, and death. Sometimes she manages to lift her head and function for several days. Sometimes she can’t even remember what it feels like to be in those depths—but it never lasts more than a few days at a time. The darkness stalks her daily, threatening to drown her. Most days over the past year, Ahuva has spent on the living-room couch, unable to function, in endless mental pain, shame, and longing for who she once was. Ahuva had to leave her job. After a few months, when Eitan realized he needed to be more present for his wife and children, he left his job as well and took a temporary position with very low pay. I stay in close contact with Eitan and Ahuva—checking in, talking, sending love from afar. About a month ago, I traveled north to visit them in their home. When I walked in, my heart sank. They live in a 55-square-meter apartment: two parents and four children. Physically, the home is in chaos. For the first time in my life, I saw Eitan cry. He told me he was ashamed. I told him they had nothing to be ashamed of. I asked how they were managing financially. Eitan said the state helps—Ahuva receives a disability allowance. His wonderful parents help as much as they can. The neighbors help too. As he said this, he cried, and I understood there were things he wasn’t saying. I asked him to tell me how much they had in their bank account. He explained that there is no account balance. No savings. Everything is swallowed—by therapy, by food—one huge, bottomless pit. The incredible help from kind people is not enough. They are sinking. And they are not spoiled people. They drive a car they bought ten years ago for 9,000 shekels. “So you understand,” he said, “we’re not poor. Once every few months, when there’s a holiday, we might buy the kids a treat or a yogurt.” I told Eitan I couldn’t accept this. That I know there are people in this country who are pure light—who are also “Or-Lev.” People whose hearts will not agree to let this continue. People who will want to help. Eitan and Ahuva absolutely refused. No. They were not willing to take other people’s money. There are so many people in need now after the war. Let the money go to the heroes who lost body and soul in battle. I couldn’t accept that. I had to say one word—sadly, the word that finally made them agree. That word was: the children. Eitan and Ahuva are extraordinary parents. Truly an extraordinary couple. They shower their children with love. But they cannot raise four children under these conditions. I told them: I don’t understand why you should be ashamed of the horrific acts committed by a monstrous man who happened to be called “father.” This is not your fault. Not your fault. You are people who give endlessly—it’s time you allow yourselves to receive as well. And they agreed. I contacted an organization called Zikaron Rafael, which enables anyone who wishes to donate specifically to Eitan and Ahuva Or-Lev’s family and immediately receive by email an official tax-deductible receipt under Section 46. The tax year is ending right now—this is a meaningful opportunity to donate and receive a tax credit. I thank everyone who is able to donate, even a small amount, to the Or-Lev family: Eitan, Ahuva, and their four sweet children. Thank you, dear people. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are helping lift an entire family out of a pit—a family of some of the very best people we have in Israeli society. A family that is currently sinking.