Iris Haim waited until the end of the traditional first year of mourning for her son Yotam before beginning a process she hopes will result in a grandchild, born from the sperm of her son, who was kidnapped to Gaza in the October 7 attack and mistakenly killed by Israeli forces. During this year, her grief turned into growing anger toward the country’s leadership, toward public celebrations when other hostages returned home, and toward those who branded her an “abominable Bibist,” a derogatory term for ardent supporters of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Now, she says, she has no doubts: Everyone, including Netanyahu, must step down to make way for new leadership, which she believes could even include her. Iris Haim cries every day. And when she cries, the blue in her eyes becomes even more vivid. We met at her new apartment in Mevasseret Zion, near Jerusalem, her fourth residence since the October 7 massacre. It’s a significant day for her, a day on which she takes a major step toward fulfilling the mission she set for herself: ensuring the continuity of her son Yotam Haim in the most meaningful way for her and her family. She sits down for an exclusive interview just a short time after submitting a petition to the family court in Be'er Sheva, requesting to use the sperm of her late son, who was mistakenly killed by Israeli fire after escaping Hamas captivity along with Alon Shamriz and Samer Talalka, 70 days after the three were abducted. “We have sperm, which is incredible and helps a lot,” Haim says. “At least our son left something behind. We have something physical, beyond ‘Beit Yotam’ (House of Yotam), a rehabilitative music school in southern Israel that supports people coping with mental illness, and all the other ways we’re commemorating him. "I can build Beit Yotam without him being physically present, and people can name their children after him, but with the sperm, his lineage can truly continue. Thankfully, we were able to preserve it, and now we’re looking for a mother. Not a surrogate who’ll carry the child and let us raise it. We’re looking for someone who wants to be a mother. Get the Ynetnews app on your smartphone: Google Play: https://bit.ly/4eJ37pE | Apple App Store: https://bit.ly/3ZL7iNv >> "The child who will be born will have a father figure. The mother will be able to talk to the child about his/her father, Yotam, and the child will have a family—us. That gives us a lot of hope and light in this darkness." What kind of woman are you looking for? “We’d be happy with a redheaded grandchild, but that’s not a serious request,” she says with a laugh. “I haven’t imagined her, I’m a practical person. She has to be someone who truly wants a child and wants us as her family. That’s the most important thing, because we’ll be the grandparents, and the child will have uncles and aunts too. We have so much to give, and that’s what will connect us.” What about the woman's personality traits? “She needs to have love, compassion and maturity,” Haim says. “Bringing a child into the world through a story like this isn’t simple she has to be someone with deep emotional strength." Did Yotam want to have children? “Sure, he really did. We’re not doing this on a whim. I have three children, and Yotam was the only one who ever talked about having kids. Tuval, the eldest, told me, ‘I don’t want to have children.’ But Yotam used to say, ‘Mom, don’t worry. You’ll have grandchildren from me.' He wanted a long-term relationship and to start a family. He said he wanted to be a father like his own dad." So, you’ve begun fulfilling his wish? “We have to go through the court, and it’s not a natural thing to request permission,” she says. “But people need to understand that we’re in a different era, and young people approaching military service should have the option to sign a document allowing the use of their sperm, just like you sign a will or an organ donor card." Yotam told me: 'Mom, don’t worry. You’ll have grandchildren from me' "A young man could choose to say, ‘I donate my organs, and I donate my sperm to ensure continuity, to give life to another person'. On both a personal and national level, it’s important that we continue our lineage, our existence." Why did you decide to file the request now? “We were told not to even discuss it during the first year since he died. A year needs to pass so you’re more grounded and not caught up in your emotions. It’s not simple, it’s a whole process. Not everyone has the ability to deal with lawyers, meetings and court filings. Not everyone is ready, and not right away. One of Yotam’s close friends once said, ‘I want to be the mother.’ A year went by, and she said, ‘I can’t do it right now'." That's understandable. But there’s no doubt about your readiness to be a grandmother. “We very much want to have a grandchild, maybe even more than one. For us as a family, it would bring tremendous hope. I believe it’s a national calling right now, that in the aftermath of October 7, there should be more children born in Israel. It’s part of rebuilding our society, especially in light of so many people who were murdered so unjustly. There should be a way to use sperm from the deceased without so much red tape as there is now." Does it trouble you that this child won’t have a father? “On the contrary! The child will have a father." The child will have a memory. “No. The child will have a figure, a story about a father. A child conceived from an anonymous sperm donor doesn’t know who their father is, and they grow up with a constant sense of absence. They have no paternal family, no grandparents from that side, only a mother and her family. This process is more balanced: the child will have a father figure, Yotam Haim. And the father has a story he was a hero." 'It's certainly better than a child who has nothing' The entire country has come to know Iris Haim's fortitude, but even she knows the road ahead will be long before she can wrap her arms around a grandchild - either a boy or a girl - born from her son Yotam’s sperm. She is prepared to walk that challenging path, driven by the hope of that moment. Haim believes that the benefits far outweigh the challenges of raising a child without a father, and that Yotam’s presence will extend beyond photos in an album. “It’s much more than a picture,” she says. “A child born after their father has died can grow up with their father as a real presence in their life. That’s certainly better than a child who has nothing. "Sperm donation has become very common women reach 35, give up on finding a partner, and sperm donation becomes a very straightforward solution. What’s better? A child who knows nothing about their father and isn’t even allowed to find out, or a child who knows, who has something to hold onto? There’s a family. There’s me. I’ll be there to care for and embrace the child. What could be better than that?" The one who will be standing there beside her is Yotam’s father, Raviv. Though the two separated, they remained close friends and partners and are navigating this process together. “We’ve been together for 40 years,” says Haim. “I left our home in Sde Nitzan on November 1, 2022, but we never divorced. We’re very, very close friends. I moved to Kibbutz Or HaNer in southern Israel, rented a small apartment and was very happy there." Haim was in her apartment in Or HaNer on what Israelis now call the “Black Saturday,” Oct. 7, 2023, when her son was kidnapped from Kibbutz Kfar Aza during Hamas’ assault. “It's a seven-minute drive from where Yotam was,” she says. “Of course, I couldn’t help him. I texted him, ‘It’ll be over soon, and I’ll take you to Sde Nitzan, to Raviv.’ The terrorists didn’t reach that area. At the time, we didn’t understand anything. We had no idea what was happening.” Since then, Raviv has returned to Sde Nitzan. “And I’m here in Mevasseret. This is my fourth home. It won’t be my last, that’s for sure. I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the south. Even now, I feel I can’t live in that area. A disaster of this scale shakes you to your core. It makes you clearer about your personal needs. No one planned for Yotam to die at 29. It forces you to realize life is short, you can’t afford to drift." How has that been reflected in your and Yotam's father's lives? “We each became clearer on what was good for us and what wasn’t. Being together wasn’t good for either of us. For many years, I managed everything alone, even when I was married. We stayed together out of convenience, habit, the kids - Tuval, Yotam and Noya, who were our huge joint project. Yotam somehow held us together and wouldn’t let us separate. We always had something to do to try to save him, to support, help and lift him up. Raviv and I were a great team, but we weren’t a good couple." Did you stay together for Yotam’s sake? “Maybe that’s what we felt, like it was our role, but in the end, he saved himself. He went through anorexia at 18, couldn’t enlist in the army, and was hospitalized at the Center for Eating Disorders at Sheba Medical Center. We thought we could save him. "It was very difficult for him there. Raviv drove there every day just to try and convince him to stay. In the end, they told him, ‘Go. We don’t have enough beds.’ I broke down when he came back home - what do we do now? "Looking back, Yotam knew better than we did what he needed. I say in my lectures that maybe we thought we were helping and saving him, but eventually, he did it all by himself. Though we were in the background, and maybe that hope of saving him is what kept me with Raviv." Raviv, Yotam's father, wrote in statement to the court: 'Yotam told me that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted us to have a grandchild from him, to be his continuity' Raviv Haim, who describes himself as the quiet one in the family, shared with the court the moment he received what he considers Yotam’s will for continuity. It happened during one of the open conversations he had with his son about death, following a near-death experience Raviv had at the age of 28. “I told Yotam that during a soccer game, another player accidentally punched me in the neck and I lost consciousness. I had a near-death experience where I felt like I was flying through a warm, glowing tunnel filled with an incredible sense of pleasure. There was no sense of time, and nothing hurt. At the end of the tunnel, I saw the face of my sister, who had died the year before, and she motioned with her hand for me to go back to life. At that moment, Yotam told me that if anything ever happened to him, he wanted us to make sure we would have a grandchild from him, that this would be his continuity." The statement of Yotam's father was submitted to the court, along with declarations from other family members and friends. “I even obtained a statement from Yotam’s therapist,” says Adv. Nili Schatz, who is representing the family alongside Adv. Shimon Haski and Adv. Romy Knebel. “This is a rare case in Israel, and I hope that under these extraordinary circumstances, the state will not reject us. It owes them that much." The deceased’s wish for continuity, as described in Raviv Haim’s statement about his late son, carries legal weight in the proceedings. “The key is convincing the court that the deceased wanted to have a child after his death,” says Adv. Schatz. “Such a request has only been approved once in Israel, in 2016. There’s no legislation on this, we rely on court rulings and a 2003 directive from the attorney general, which is outdated." "Something changed after October 7. Israel has never experienced a second Holocaust. The courts must adopt a new approach to this kind of request. Enabling a child to be born from the sperm of a fallen soldier or hero should be seen as a national obligation - both to the victims and to their families." 'There's joy around me. And what do I have? Disappointment' In Israel, a country obsessed with childbirth, where fertility treatments are more subsidized than anywhere else in the world, Iris Haim knows that every Israeli is a critic, and that her decisions and statements might provoke objections. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s faced backlash. Just recently, Haim compared her emotions surrounding the hostage return deal to those of a stillbirth. In a Facebook post on February 8, she wrote that she suddenly understood what parents feel when they leave a delivery room empty-handed while others cradle living newborns wrapped in blankets. "Let me ask you, what do you think of celebrations held for returned hostages?" she says. "Imagine a mother who gives birth to twins - one lives, one dies. Do you celebrate? I remember seeing Eli Sharabi, Ohad Ben Ami and Or Levy standing there, thin and wearing sweatuits, and I was jealous. I want my son. I waited, I believed, I hoped, I traveled on missions. Why didn’t I get him back? That’s when I thought of a mother who carries a child in her womb, expecting. Around her, joy floods social media, releasing updates about the gifts the returned hostages receive. And what do I have? Disappointment." At this point, her face turns red, and her eyes fill with tears. "It's heartbreaking. And that contrast, the joy, was the hardest part. People are joyful and celebrate. It’s good to celebrate a baby is born, and the whole family rejoices. But what if, beside the new mother, lies a woman who knows her baby is stillborn? Maybe the new mother would tell her family, 'Let’s step outside to celebrate and not rub it in her face?' It was very difficult for me, and I know that other parents who lost their children felt the same. They support the joy, but they can’t bear to see it out in the open." How did you cope? "I muted all notifications about returning hostages, which featured reports on what they ate, what they drank. I didn’t want to see it. It destroys me. Not because I think they shouldn’t have come home. It’s good they did, but it’s hard for me. I have this defense mechanism that helps me separate myself from the emotion. If I stay emotionally connected all the time, I’ll just cry. When I cry, I open this little lock inside and connect to the story. It could be because of the kidnapping." Can you give an example? "A few days ago, I was with Karina Ariev. We stayed in touch. Ever since she met with us, I knew I’d be in touch with her. Because of Yotam and that deep bond, she spoke, and suddenly, I burst into tears. I don’t fall apart instantly, but I cry almost every day. "In my lectures, I talk about the farmers who cultivate the land, and I cry. It’s very emotional for me. I show videos of the peanut fields Yotam worked in and talk about how the Gaza border region is coming back to life, that the fields are blooming again. To me, that symbolizes continuity. There’s life there, but also death. One of the people who didn’t return to work in those fields is Yotam, along with so many others." One of the many others who didn't return from this "Black Saturday" was Sgt. First Class Yosef Guedalia, a combat soldier of the elite Duvdevan unit who was killed in action in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Haim thinks of him every day, even though she never met him. "He died on Oct. 7 in the neighborhood where Yotam lived, and he passed right by Yotam’s home. I imagined Yotam looking at him, maybe hoping to be saved by him. I met his mother during the war she’s a Haredi woman, wearing a wig, and I always cry when I talk about her son. Because there's this bond of togetherness when your heart meets another heart." 'We can start building our new leadership' Iris Haim’s connection with the religious community, people she had not previously connected with, has made some people visibly uncomfortable. Having supported left-wing parties in the past, she has drawn criticism for refraining from blaming the current government or Netanyahu for the failures of October 7. But today, she speaks very differently. "They called me an 'abominable Bibist,'" she recalls. "Someone said that I was 'shining in TV studios since her son was executed.' I remember that sentence clearly. This person, a teacher from Herzliya who wrote it on X, later apologized and met with me. "I think I’ve gone through a process since October 7. I had a very strong belief in our country, we have an army, we have a state. I was born here and was raised with this sense of security that I live in a functioning country with a strong army and good intelligence. That’s what I genuinely felt, and I said so in the media, even after Yotam was killed. I said, ‘Okay. It was a mistake. We didn’t know. We didn’t understand.'" When did you understand what had happened to Yotam, Alon and Samer? "In the first weeks, before we received the debriefing, we didn’t know what had really happened. We thought it was a chaotic escape, that the IDF troops saw figures among terrorists and they fired at everyone, so the three also got killed. That was the image I had in my mind. Yotam's head was shaved I didn’t know that at the time. "We were told just four sentences: 'Yotam was killed by friendly fire while escaping Hamas captivity and was mistakenly identified as a terrorist.' What do you imagine? Total chaos. As a mother, you construct mental defenses - you picture your son running, escaping, like in a movie, and someone misidentifies him and shoots him." You say you’ve gone through a process what does that mean? "I kept saying there would be a time to deal with the failure and hold people accountable, but that wasn’t the time when our soldiers, both reserves and regulars, were out there defending us. I felt that one of our roles on the home front was to foster a unifying dialogue, not a divisive one. That was my way, and I still believe in it. Our subconscious choice was to focus on healing first, on our own healing, without relying on anger. In the early days, I didn’t feel anger." And now? "Now I’m angry at these leaders. You can’t watch them go home and just say 'sorry.' Saying 'sorry' is not enough! If I ran over a child, I’d go to jail, pay a big fine or get some other penalty. This IDF chief of staff and this defense minister (Herzi Halevi and Yoav Gallant) should walk away in disgrace. No one should hire them. They shouldn’t be seen in public life anymore. They should be gone, along with Bibi Netanyahu and his gang. All of them together. That’s where I am now." Until now, you hadn’t said that Netanyahu should resign. "That wasn’t me a few months ago. I’ve shifted. I went through a process. I believe these people must be held accountable. Why? To restore trust. My son will not come back. Trust in the State of Israel won’t be restored as long as these figures have influence. That’s the correction we need." The prime minister doesn’t appear to be doing any soul-searching or stepping down. "I don’t know what he thinks in private, what he says to his wife or to Trump. But there’s no healing in Israel without the return of all the hostages. That’s non-negotiable. "I always consider who’s listening on the other side if what I say could hurt our social fabric, I won’t say it. Is it worth badmouthing the prime minister, someone I’ve never voted for? I realized that this path wasn’t right for me. I don’t insult, smear or point fingers. I can say that I want answers. I’ve never been part of the Hostage and Missing Families Forum. I wasn’t invited to the Knesset, I’m not ‘in the club.’ I follow my own path, and I believe I’ve had a big impact. If we want to restore trust, it has to start with this entire government stepping down and the formation of a new kind of leadership." You sound like you’ve arrived at the same place as Yonatan Shamriz, brother of the late Alon Shamriz, who founded the Kumu movement (a nationwide movement dedicated to healing Israel's social fabric). "Yonatan is doing important work. He wants change, and I’m glad about that. He started a bit early, but now, I’m having the same thoughts. This is the right moment. I won’t shout in the streets, ‘You abandoned us,' as that kind of rhetoric is hard for me. Today, I can say, ‘You disrespected us.’ We had to reach this point. All the new movements that have sprung up should unite. Together, they must rise and replace our current government. We’ve got about a year until elections, it's time to start building our new leadership." What kind of leadership should that be? "Leadership made up of people with integrity. People who were affected by October 7, like me, like Yonatan Shamriz, like Brig. Gen. Dedi Simchi (whose son died on Oct. 7). We’re all worthy of support." Have you decided to enter politics? What if Naftali Bennett reaches out? "I’ve said what I think about that." Would you like to see Yair Golan (leader of the Democrats party) in leadership? "Absolutely not. He was in the army did he issue any warnings? Did he do anything to save us from October 7? Anyone associated with the old leadership - no!" Still, he did go out of his house and rescue people at the Nova festival. "Take someone like Rami Davidian (who saved many lives on Oct. 7). He cries constantly over not saving more people. He has complex PTSD. And Yair Golan? People like him and Yair Lapid didn’t unite us. The people who helped were ordinary people, like me, like Dedi, like Izhar Shay. People who talked about unity. Even though I oppose this government and say this government must go, at the critical moment, when we were in crisis, there was no room for political games. Not a shred of responsibility was taken by politicians. I believe that even the opposition has no place in the new leadership. They failed to unite us, too." The hidden message in the video Talking about politics and leaders is difficult for Haim. She would much rather focus on commemorating her son Yotam and on the theme of unity. “During the shiva in Shoeva, we set up folding couches, stayed in one small room together and slept there. I said we would establish a non-profit organization in Yotam’s memory, one that would also help others. Tuval, my eldest, took on the project and started building the nonprofit. We decided to call it Chayei Yotam - Yotam’s Life Association. As someone who lived with mental health challenges, he overcame so much. But the hardest thing he ever faced was surviving Hamas captivity, supporting and encouraging others, escaping, enduring five days in the most dangerous place imaginable, fearing for his life and being a true hero." Yotam’s deep connection to music also became central to how the family chose to honor his memory. “Yotam was a drummer, and one of his dreams was to become a famous drummer performing on big stages around the world. What held him back were his anxieties. He would schedule a drumming lesson in Jerusalem, then cancel. He got accepted to Rimon (a leading Israeli music school) but was afraid he wasn’t good enough. Living in the Gaza border community, he worried about how he’d even get there. "So we decided to build Beit Yotam, House of Yotam, in the south. It will be based on a music school. We wanted to create a place where people could come to where there’s only music, no grades, no competition, but with full emotional support. It will be a huge music farm." One of the last images of Yotam came from captivity, in a video the family received after his death, one they ultimately decided not to release. “If the video had arrived before Yotam was killed, we would have published it. It took me eight months to open it. I didn’t know what I would see.” And what did you see? “He looked very thin, with a shaved head. Just seeing that was terrifying. And he wasn’t alive anymore. I was scared, I didn’t know what to expect. After eight months, I spoke to a friend who had also been his therapist. She asked me to send her the video. Then she said to me, ‘You’re probably watching it on a loop.’ I told her no, I hadn’t even watched it. ‘You have to see it,’ she said. I was home alone, and I started watching it on a loop. He smiles. A body language expert who analyzed the hostage videos told me Yotam was in control of the situation. He gestured toward his heart, ‘I’m strong.’ A smile. No other hostage smiled. And we can’t give up something that incredible." Follow Ynetnews on Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Telegram