This is a story that has shaken the foundations of one of Israel's haredi cities. At its center stand Shmuel and his wife (pseudonyms), a normal haredi couple, parents to well-educated and well-cared-for children. Shmuel, a businessman who built his home with his own hands, belongs together with his wife to the modern-haredi sector.
On the other side stands Shmuel's father-in-law, a conservative rabbinic figure, zealous and highly influential in stringent circles, who heads Torah institutions and wields broad communal influence.
For close to two decades, Shmuel and his wife tried to bridge the gaps. To preserve shalom bayis and family honour, they adopted what they describe as "dual identities", in the presence of the in-laws they wore strictly haredi dress, sent their children to the most conservative institutions, and even donated hundreds of thousands of shekels to the grandfather's institutions to earn recognition and peace. But according to the couple, the difference in hashkafa and the independence they showed became an obstacle in the grandfather's eyes.
This quiet conflict reached boiling point one Friday in the middle of Tammuz last year, in what the parents now describe as a carefully timed trap.
"We ran through the streets in 40-degree heat": The hours before the storm
"For years my father-in-law boycotted us and refused to step foot in our home on Shabbos because of our way of life," Shmuel tells Kikar Shabbat. "Suddenly, just days before, he made contact and asked to be our guest for Shabbos. We were very moved. We specially bought meat with his mehadrin shechita, spent a fortune, just to honor him."
That Friday morning, things began to unravel. The eldest daughter, a seminary student, finished Shacharis which had lasted close to three full hours. The parents gently remarked that the length of the tefillah was unusual, and the girl went out for air, agitated.
At 12:00, the parents sent to collect their younger daughter, a two-year-old toddler, from nursery. But at the nursery a message awaited them that froze their blood: "The older daughter took the baby an hour ago."
"It was an exceptionally hot day, terrible heat," Shmuel recalls. "We went on a frantic search mission across the neighbourhood. We scoured shopping centres, air-conditioned shops, supermarkets, nearby forests. The community police officer told us that because it involved a toddler we had to issue a media alert with their photographs. We begged him not to, we feared that publishing the picture of our daughter, a student at a leading seminary, would cause her irreversible damage. We called the grandfather to ask if they were with him, and according to us, he answered with chilling indifference: 'Of course not, why would they be with me?'"







