Adina Nach was born with a visual impairment. During her childhood and teenage years, she lived almost normally. Adina shares, “I grew up in Ramat Gan, ‘almost’ like any other regular girl. Yes, there was the fact that I had a visual impairment… It manifested in the inability to see distant figures, read from the board, or signs from afar. I read close up, and always wore sunglasses in the sun due to the glare. In class, I had to sit in the front row, which slightly frustrated teachers who didn’t know me and preferred changing seating arrangements. I was a lively and mischievous girl, fully integrated into society—participating in youth movement activities, class parties, and more.
I didn’t spend too much time thinking about the fact that I had a visual impairment. It never occurred to me that it would impact things like relationships, motherhood, or starting a family. After all, I studied in regular schools, achieved high academic success, and received compliments both in school and at work.
After high school, I studied education and became a special education teacher. During those years, I became religious and started thinking about marriage and building a home. It was a challenging time. In the ultra-Orthodox world, relationships are not formed naturally but through arranged matches (shidduchim), and my visual impairment became a major issue in the eyes of matchmakers, potential grooms, and their families. I encountered many stereotypes about visual impairments and doubts about the ability of a visually impaired woman to manage a household. It’s a whole story within itself.
The hardest part was dealing with people who didn’t know me, as they often introduced me to unsuitable matches. Then, at the age of 35, thank God, I got married.”
As time passed, it became clear that she was struggling to conceive, and she turned to a specialist at her health clinic.
Adina shares: “We received a recommendation for a doctor in Tel Aviv. We heard he was a professiona and had great success in many cases.
It seemed promising, so we booked an appointment. We waited two months, and those months were filled with prayers, thoughts, and dreams about what would happen and how it would turn out. When the big day finally arrived, I went to the clinic with my husband. We waited our turn (which was a bit nerve-wracking), and when it was time, we entered and sat down across from the doctor (after I said a silent prayer to the Almighty).
We handed the doctor all our documents, and he briefly reviewed them. Then he turned to me and asked, ‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ I’m used to these questions, even when those kinds of questions have nothing to do with the service I’m seeking. I told him the name of the eye condition I’ve had since birth. He wrote it down and asked a few more questions about it. The questions gave me the impression that he didn’t really know much about my rare condition.
Then, to my surprise, he said, ‘I’m not sure I can treat you.’
In my anxious state, I got confused and asked, ‘Why?’ My heart sank. I thought the worst—that this must be a serious problem, that maybe we wouldn’t have children, God forbid…
But his response stunned me: ‘What do you mean, why? Because of your “problem.”’ He didn’t even call it by its name.
My husband and I responded together, ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
He replied, ‘I don’t think I can support bringing children into the world if there’s no one to care for them.’
My husband said, ‘Where did this theory come from? Are you an expert in eye diseases? Is that what you studied?’
I responded, ‘This is ignorance. I have no intention of explaining myself. This is just a stigma about disability. I only have one request—if you’re not going to treat me, at least sponsor me a plane ticket to Greece. Specifically, to Sparta. I’ll go there and ask to be thrown off the mountain like they used to do with the disabled and elderly.’
I told my husband, ‘Let’s get up and leave.’
I was shocked and even devastated. I had never encountered anything like that before. It affected me for days, even months. How could a doctor, who’s supposed to be educated, be so full of prejudice? How dare someone interfere with my life and try to deny me the natural right to be a mother?
It didn’t stop me or my husband.
We approached Rabbi Schlesinger in Jerusalem, a fertility expert, and he met with us. He encouraged us and told my husband it was a mitzvah to bring joy to his wife. He then recommended another doctor.
The professor was professional as well as supportive empathetic and encouraging, and my visual impairment was never a significant issue during the treatment. He never made any remarks about my abilities or my right to become a mother.
“And, thank God, today we have three wonderful children!”
Translated to English by Natanel Yermiyahu