You never know who’s holding up the world.
It isn’t always the people whose names are constantly heard in the streets. Sometimes, perhaps even oftentimes, it is people on the sidelines. Their names don’t appear in the papers; no one sings their praises. They aren’t darshanim or community leaders; they’re just ordinary Jews acting out of a deep sense of mission, and they are laying the foundations for tikkun olam.
Lofty words? Perhaps — until you meet one of these anonymous heroes of the spirit. As in my chance encounter with a man whom I’ve actually known for many years, it suddenly became clear that I don’t know him at all. He’s a plain working man, and there’s nothing there to bring him glory, but it never occurred to me that his daily trade is nothing but a source of parnassah and in fact, a cover for his real life. When I caught a glimpse of what was behind that curtain, I realized I was looking at a person who walks on the peaks.
The revelation came when I stood in his store and heard him whispering to a woman on the phone, “Don’t worry. Tomorrow I hope to have the money for all of your salaries. Yes… yes… I understand the problem. But you know it’s been a bit hard lately. I mean, more than hard. Shalom, shalom — and selichah.”
He hung up the phone, sighed lightly and went quietly back to his work. And I, curious since the day I was born, came right out and asked him, “Who are you paying salaries to all of a sudden?”
In an offhand way, he replied, “To my employees.”
“Employees? What employees? I’ve never seen any hired help around here.”
He smiled a bit bashfully, and then, as if to pique my curiosity further, he explained, “I pay salaries to a psychologist and some counselors who work in a sort of home…”
I tried to conceive of what he might mean, and all sorts of suppositions ran through my mind.
Finally, I said, “Would you mind explaining?”
He laughed. “I mean the workers at Beit Naomi,” he said.
I was obviously not following him, so he elaborated.
“I’ll explain. I opened Beit Naomi as a home for chareidi girls who ended up on the streets for various reasons. And I hired a psychologist who also serves as a house mother, plus a staff of dorm counselors. That’s all…”
I was surprised, to say the least. “I see,” I said, although I really didn’t see at all. “But… what do you mean? You opened this place all by yourself? Just like that? With no organization behind you? No foundation or government funding?”
After a brief pause, he admitted, “Yes, that’s right.”
Now I was really hooked. I arranged to meet with him for a talk outside of business hours. I wanted to hear the entire story.
Like all great stories, it begins suddenly and by chance.
“I still get tears in my eyes when I remember that Leil Shabbat,” says Rabbi Yair Nahari. “A young girl came to the home of Rav Ovadiah Yosef ztz”l and asked me to let her in to see the Rav. [Rabbi Nahari was the gabbai at Rav Ovadiah’s beis medrash until the latter’s passing.]
“It was just after Maariv. The kahal had already gone home, and the Rav had gone up to his house for the evening seudah. I asked her what she wanted, and she wouldn’t tell me. She only wanted to speak with the Rav. I called the Rav’s daughter-in-law, Rabbanit Yehudit, and after a short exchange, she brought her in to see the Rav. I could see on the girl’s face that she was extremely troubled. When she saw the Rav she fell at his feet, held onto the edge of his coat, and started shaking with heartrending sobs. What she told the Rav, I don’t know. But the Rav asked us with tears in his eyes to find her a place for Shabbat with a warm family, and after Shabbat we continued to look after her. Every time the Rav asked how she was doing, his eyes filled with tears. That was how it started. Before I knew it, I was involved in something that I had never considered or even thought about.”
And then?
“From there, things developed on their own. Suddenly I was exposed to this agonizing pain that I hadn’t been aware of before. I’d heard about it, of course. Everybody hears about young girls who end up unprotected on the street, vulnerable to disaster. But you know, out of sight, out of mind. And now I was seeing it with my own eyes, right in front of me: girls from chareidi homes, mamash, with no one looking out for them. Girls from all types of families… from every type. It would shock you.”
“What’s causing this?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed myself.
“Believe me, at this moment, the causes don’t matter. What matters is that this horrific situation exists, that a girl — and again, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is — gets thrown out or runs away from home because of some story or other. And her family doesn’t care what happens to her.”
Rabbi Nahari told me story after story, and I confess it was hard for me to contain it all. Girls, products of our educational system, are wandering around forlorn on city streets carrying a small bag of personal effects, desperate for something to eat and a place to sleep, and without even wanting to, they slip to the lowest rung, Hashem yishmor, while engaged in a hopelessly complex war with their parents. I don’t want to go on about the stories. Readers can imagine what happens on the cruel streets on the cold, hopeless nights. And then someone comes along and holds out a lamp to them in the darkness. A Jew opens Beit Naomi, and they come there emotionally crushed, neglected, lacking faith in humanity and in themselves.
Rabbi Nahari describes the loving care these girls get from his staff in the warm, protective environment he gives them; and how, with professional help, they begin to recover their self-image and prepare to live healthy lives, equipped with the tools to overcome the nightmares of the past. And he speaks of the days and nights he dedicates to this holy work.
“All by yourself?” I ask.
Rabbi Nahari ignores the question and goes on telling me about Beit Naomi, leaving out the part about the financial difficulty, preferring to talk about the girls he has married off who are now building good Jewish homes.
I repeat my question: “You do all this by yourself?”
He answers indirectly: “I only support sixteen girls, but for me, I’m stretched beyond my limit. I have no funding; I have to support them myself. What more can I do?”
___
We speak for hours about chinuch, about what lies behind such troubled and dysfunctional relations between parents and children, and why this happens.
We stand on a Jerusalem street as night descends. Shadows grow long and fade away, and suddenly our conversation is interrupted by a phone call. Rabbi Nahari takes the call, and as he listens, consternation creeps over his face.
“I hear,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s your phone number? I’ll call you in an hour. Shalom, shalom.”
He puts away the phone and takes a deep breath.
“What can I do?” he says. “Can I tell her no?”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Another one. She’s standing on the street with a suitcase. Her father told her not to dare come home. What is she supposed to do? Where will she sleep tonight? On the sidewalk? On a park bench? I’ll see what I can do for her. If HaKadosh Baruch Hu directs the phone call to me, then that means I have to do something. I told her I’d try to find a solution for her.”
He gives me a sad smile. We talk for a few more minutes and we part ways.
I’m still thinking over that chance conversation. It makes me both happy… and despondent. I’m happy to have met such a great man, and devastated that his greatness has emerged through the tragedies and traumas of holy Jewish daughters.
[Rabbi Moshe Grylack - Mishpacha Magazine]
Truth is, I have a friend who does similar work for both boys and girls on the streets. For example - a Charedi girl [who was abused as a child and has serious emotional issues] became pregnant. She went to America and my friend pays a family thousands of dollars a month to let her live at their home. Then he had to invest countless thousands of dollars in lawyers fees to enable the girl to keep her baby after the authorities wanted to take it away. He has story after story. Drugs, alcohol pregnancies etc. etc. All kids from religious homes.
At one point I tried to help him financially. Not from my own vast wealth of nothing [although the donation I gave him might have covered his gas from the trip he made to see me] but from my more well to do friends. But I came up dry. [Virtually] Nilcho.
Here is my gripe. Not against the people I asked because I don't like to judge individuals. But a general proposition: Every year, Jews, religious Torah observant Jews with good hearts, children of Avraham Avinu, who have the traits of רחמנים and גומלי חסדים spend HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS of dollars on VACATIONS.
I am not against vacations. If one needs it - by all means. Let priests be ascetics and torture themselves and never get married. They deserve it after all of the evil and torture that the church has perpetrated against the Jews [Churchill defining Anti-Semitism: Hating Jews more than the proper amount]. Let us enjoy the gifts Hashem has given us.
But wait - what would happen if that money would be used for a good cause? How many lives would we save? How many girls could we save from prostitution?? How many boys and girls could we help with their emotional and substance abuse problems? How many other problems could we solve??
Let us say that a family could save their OWN child. How much would they spend? EVERYTHING. It haunts me to see how many people suffer while others spend on luxuries. They are your own brothers and sisters. If we could have spent 10 million dollars to redeem the 3 boys who were killed last year - would we have? Of course, the money would be on the table in a second. So why would we only help in dramatic scenarios?? Is there a heter to spend on non-stop fressing hotel programs when the same money could be used for pikuach nefesh??
IS ANYBODY ASKING?? Do people ask Rabbonim how much tzdaka to give and where? Why is that any less of a shyla than how to kasher a gas range for pesach?
Let us say that ONE YOM TOV all of Klal Yisrael decided to stay home and the money they would have and could have spent on a vacation would instead be used to help people. THOUSANDS of lives would be radically improved for the better. People in debt, sick people who can't afford dental treatment, kids at risk etc. etc. And the people staying home wouldn't lose out on much. Their homes are far more comfortable than hotels anyway. Instead of being in cooped up in a tiny room - they are in a mansion where they have all their things with them.
The kashrus would be better, too. As one mashgiach kashrus put "70 percent of all pesach hotels are kosher. And 50 percent are even kosher for pesach".
This is so simple to me. How can Hashem be pleased when so many of his children have so much but are not using it to help his other children?
There has to be seichel involved. When I hear that shuls invest tens of millions of dollars on renovations I am also left scratching my head.
How do people sleep well at night knowing that they could help but are not. Imagine we were living in 1941 and were told that we could buy Jews from the Nazi inferno? We would have BILLIONS in minutes. Why? To save Jews.
Oh me oh my - we can save Jews now, too. There are so many almanos with no money. How do they and their yesomim feel? Not thinking about it so I can enjoy life doesn't help them or change their situation.
If I am wrong and Hashem would rather I go to Florida than save Jewish lives then please tell me - I will see you in Florida [if you can prove it]. Alright - you won't. But you catch my drift.
And you know what - if people would be more generous, they would still have enough left over for vacations.
And I haven't even touched simchas and other Jewish spendathons....
Maybe, maybe, my words will move ONE PERSON to be more generous and less narcissistic. If so - it is worth my time and lack of sleep [at 5:09am - I can't sleep, for this and other reasons]. If not - I tried....
It isn’t always the people whose names are constantly heard in the streets. Sometimes, perhaps even oftentimes, it is people on the sidelines. Their names don’t appear in the papers; no one sings their praises. They aren’t darshanim or community leaders; they’re just ordinary Jews acting out of a deep sense of mission, and they are laying the foundations for tikkun olam.
Lofty words? Perhaps — until you meet one of these anonymous heroes of the spirit. As in my chance encounter with a man whom I’ve actually known for many years, it suddenly became clear that I don’t know him at all. He’s a plain working man, and there’s nothing there to bring him glory, but it never occurred to me that his daily trade is nothing but a source of parnassah and in fact, a cover for his real life. When I caught a glimpse of what was behind that curtain, I realized I was looking at a person who walks on the peaks.
The revelation came when I stood in his store and heard him whispering to a woman on the phone, “Don’t worry. Tomorrow I hope to have the money for all of your salaries. Yes… yes… I understand the problem. But you know it’s been a bit hard lately. I mean, more than hard. Shalom, shalom — and selichah.”
He hung up the phone, sighed lightly and went quietly back to his work. And I, curious since the day I was born, came right out and asked him, “Who are you paying salaries to all of a sudden?”
In an offhand way, he replied, “To my employees.”
“Employees? What employees? I’ve never seen any hired help around here.”
He smiled a bit bashfully, and then, as if to pique my curiosity further, he explained, “I pay salaries to a psychologist and some counselors who work in a sort of home…”
I tried to conceive of what he might mean, and all sorts of suppositions ran through my mind.
Finally, I said, “Would you mind explaining?”
He laughed. “I mean the workers at Beit Naomi,” he said.
I was obviously not following him, so he elaborated.
“I’ll explain. I opened Beit Naomi as a home for chareidi girls who ended up on the streets for various reasons. And I hired a psychologist who also serves as a house mother, plus a staff of dorm counselors. That’s all…”
I was surprised, to say the least. “I see,” I said, although I really didn’t see at all. “But… what do you mean? You opened this place all by yourself? Just like that? With no organization behind you? No foundation or government funding?”
After a brief pause, he admitted, “Yes, that’s right.”
Now I was really hooked. I arranged to meet with him for a talk outside of business hours. I wanted to hear the entire story.
Like all great stories, it begins suddenly and by chance.
“I still get tears in my eyes when I remember that Leil Shabbat,” says Rabbi Yair Nahari. “A young girl came to the home of Rav Ovadiah Yosef ztz”l and asked me to let her in to see the Rav. [Rabbi Nahari was the gabbai at Rav Ovadiah’s beis medrash until the latter’s passing.]
“It was just after Maariv. The kahal had already gone home, and the Rav had gone up to his house for the evening seudah. I asked her what she wanted, and she wouldn’t tell me. She only wanted to speak with the Rav. I called the Rav’s daughter-in-law, Rabbanit Yehudit, and after a short exchange, she brought her in to see the Rav. I could see on the girl’s face that she was extremely troubled. When she saw the Rav she fell at his feet, held onto the edge of his coat, and started shaking with heartrending sobs. What she told the Rav, I don’t know. But the Rav asked us with tears in his eyes to find her a place for Shabbat with a warm family, and after Shabbat we continued to look after her. Every time the Rav asked how she was doing, his eyes filled with tears. That was how it started. Before I knew it, I was involved in something that I had never considered or even thought about.”
And then?
“From there, things developed on their own. Suddenly I was exposed to this agonizing pain that I hadn’t been aware of before. I’d heard about it, of course. Everybody hears about young girls who end up unprotected on the street, vulnerable to disaster. But you know, out of sight, out of mind. And now I was seeing it with my own eyes, right in front of me: girls from chareidi homes, mamash, with no one looking out for them. Girls from all types of families… from every type. It would shock you.”
“What’s causing this?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed myself.
“Believe me, at this moment, the causes don’t matter. What matters is that this horrific situation exists, that a girl — and again, it doesn’t matter whose fault it is — gets thrown out or runs away from home because of some story or other. And her family doesn’t care what happens to her.”
Rabbi Nahari told me story after story, and I confess it was hard for me to contain it all. Girls, products of our educational system, are wandering around forlorn on city streets carrying a small bag of personal effects, desperate for something to eat and a place to sleep, and without even wanting to, they slip to the lowest rung, Hashem yishmor, while engaged in a hopelessly complex war with their parents. I don’t want to go on about the stories. Readers can imagine what happens on the cruel streets on the cold, hopeless nights. And then someone comes along and holds out a lamp to them in the darkness. A Jew opens Beit Naomi, and they come there emotionally crushed, neglected, lacking faith in humanity and in themselves.
Rabbi Nahari describes the loving care these girls get from his staff in the warm, protective environment he gives them; and how, with professional help, they begin to recover their self-image and prepare to live healthy lives, equipped with the tools to overcome the nightmares of the past. And he speaks of the days and nights he dedicates to this holy work.
“All by yourself?” I ask.
Rabbi Nahari ignores the question and goes on telling me about Beit Naomi, leaving out the part about the financial difficulty, preferring to talk about the girls he has married off who are now building good Jewish homes.
I repeat my question: “You do all this by yourself?”
He answers indirectly: “I only support sixteen girls, but for me, I’m stretched beyond my limit. I have no funding; I have to support them myself. What more can I do?”
___
We speak for hours about chinuch, about what lies behind such troubled and dysfunctional relations between parents and children, and why this happens.
We stand on a Jerusalem street as night descends. Shadows grow long and fade away, and suddenly our conversation is interrupted by a phone call. Rabbi Nahari takes the call, and as he listens, consternation creeps over his face.
“I hear,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s your phone number? I’ll call you in an hour. Shalom, shalom.”
He puts away the phone and takes a deep breath.
“What can I do?” he says. “Can I tell her no?”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Another one. She’s standing on the street with a suitcase. Her father told her not to dare come home. What is she supposed to do? Where will she sleep tonight? On the sidewalk? On a park bench? I’ll see what I can do for her. If HaKadosh Baruch Hu directs the phone call to me, then that means I have to do something. I told her I’d try to find a solution for her.”
He gives me a sad smile. We talk for a few more minutes and we part ways.
I’m still thinking over that chance conversation. It makes me both happy… and despondent. I’m happy to have met such a great man, and devastated that his greatness has emerged through the tragedies and traumas of holy Jewish daughters.
[Rabbi Moshe Grylack - Mishpacha Magazine]
Truth is, I have a friend who does similar work for both boys and girls on the streets. For example - a Charedi girl [who was abused as a child and has serious emotional issues] became pregnant. She went to America and my friend pays a family thousands of dollars a month to let her live at their home. Then he had to invest countless thousands of dollars in lawyers fees to enable the girl to keep her baby after the authorities wanted to take it away. He has story after story. Drugs, alcohol pregnancies etc. etc. All kids from religious homes.
At one point I tried to help him financially. Not from my own vast wealth of nothing [although the donation I gave him might have covered his gas from the trip he made to see me] but from my more well to do friends. But I came up dry. [Virtually] Nilcho.
Here is my gripe. Not against the people I asked because I don't like to judge individuals. But a general proposition: Every year, Jews, religious Torah observant Jews with good hearts, children of Avraham Avinu, who have the traits of רחמנים and גומלי חסדים spend HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS of dollars on VACATIONS.
I am not against vacations. If one needs it - by all means. Let priests be ascetics and torture themselves and never get married. They deserve it after all of the evil and torture that the church has perpetrated against the Jews [Churchill defining Anti-Semitism: Hating Jews more than the proper amount]. Let us enjoy the gifts Hashem has given us.
But wait - what would happen if that money would be used for a good cause? How many lives would we save? How many girls could we save from prostitution?? How many boys and girls could we help with their emotional and substance abuse problems? How many other problems could we solve??
Let us say that a family could save their OWN child. How much would they spend? EVERYTHING. It haunts me to see how many people suffer while others spend on luxuries. They are your own brothers and sisters. If we could have spent 10 million dollars to redeem the 3 boys who were killed last year - would we have? Of course, the money would be on the table in a second. So why would we only help in dramatic scenarios?? Is there a heter to spend on non-stop fressing hotel programs when the same money could be used for pikuach nefesh??
IS ANYBODY ASKING?? Do people ask Rabbonim how much tzdaka to give and where? Why is that any less of a shyla than how to kasher a gas range for pesach?
Let us say that ONE YOM TOV all of Klal Yisrael decided to stay home and the money they would have and could have spent on a vacation would instead be used to help people. THOUSANDS of lives would be radically improved for the better. People in debt, sick people who can't afford dental treatment, kids at risk etc. etc. And the people staying home wouldn't lose out on much. Their homes are far more comfortable than hotels anyway. Instead of being in cooped up in a tiny room - they are in a mansion where they have all their things with them.
The kashrus would be better, too. As one mashgiach kashrus put "70 percent of all pesach hotels are kosher. And 50 percent are even kosher for pesach".
This is so simple to me. How can Hashem be pleased when so many of his children have so much but are not using it to help his other children?
There has to be seichel involved. When I hear that shuls invest tens of millions of dollars on renovations I am also left scratching my head.
How do people sleep well at night knowing that they could help but are not. Imagine we were living in 1941 and were told that we could buy Jews from the Nazi inferno? We would have BILLIONS in minutes. Why? To save Jews.
Oh me oh my - we can save Jews now, too. There are so many almanos with no money. How do they and their yesomim feel? Not thinking about it so I can enjoy life doesn't help them or change their situation.
If I am wrong and Hashem would rather I go to Florida than save Jewish lives then please tell me - I will see you in Florida [if you can prove it]. Alright - you won't. But you catch my drift.
And you know what - if people would be more generous, they would still have enough left over for vacations.
And I haven't even touched simchas and other Jewish spendathons....
Maybe, maybe, my words will move ONE PERSON to be more generous and less narcissistic. If so - it is worth my time and lack of sleep [at 5:09am - I can't sleep, for this and other reasons]. If not - I tried....
