2LaneCruzer
Super Star Member
Being a cynic by nature, I am always glad to read a story such as this. Not only is humankind capable of unthinkable depravity, it is also capable of untold kindness.
Past Present
By Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Tragedy can stifle and destroy. It can also transform and inspire. A touching real-life account reminds us we're empowered to decide which attitude prevails
JewishWorldReview.com | I had heard about the family whose house burned down. Their local rabbi contacted me for assistance in organizing a fundraising campaign. I had experience with this, unfortunately, and helped him with the appeal letter.
At the end of the letter we added: "Whatever you can do to help no matter how small please help!"
After six months I called and asked my friend how the appeal was going. He replied, "Mi k'amcha Yisrae!" Donations were coming in from all over. Women were cooking meals and donating clothing to replace what was destroyed. The outpouring of help was greater than anyone had imagined.
The next week I went with him to visit the family who'd suffered the fire.
The mother greeted us, and before I could say a word she told me of all the kindness bestowed upon her and her family: Money from people she doesn't know; hot meals prepared daily; donations of furniture, clothing, and toys. "And of course, Edith Bateman (name changed) deserves a special mention," she told us.
At the name Edith Bateman, the other rabbi looked perplexed. Mrs. Bateman, he explained, was an older woman who'd never married and lived in a rent-controlled project on the poor side of town. "What is she doing worthy of such honorable mention?" he inquired.
The woman told us that every Monday Mrs. Bateman arrives to pick up the family's laundry and every Thursday the laundry is returned, folded and ironed, along with a bag of freshly baked cookies.
We knew where our next stop would be.
At the housing project we saw children riding beat-up bikes on the patchy grass. We knocked on Edith's door and an older woman in a well-worn housedress answered. The temperature was in the 90s and the room was hot and humid. The one small fan did little to help. Mrs. Bateman invited us in and offered us water. As she placed the glasses in front of us we noticed the numbers on her arm.
"We heard you're doing the Shapiro's laundry. How did you come to this kindness?" my colleague asked her.
Edith Bateman visibly straightened up. "I was in Auschwitz," she told us. "My parents and siblings were killed. With the help of The Almighty, I survived." There was a long pause. "In the camp," she then continued, "what bothered me even more than the hunger was wearing the same worn and stinking clothing every day. We were never allowed to change or clean our clothes. This was torturous for me. I made a promise that if the Divine saved me I would make sure my family always had clean, freshly laundered clothing. However, it was not to be. I never merited marrying.
"I worked as a secretary for 30 years, and now live in rent-controlled housing. My only source of income is my Social Security check. But when I heard about the fire, I wanted to help. I have no money to donate, but I realized there was one thing I could do. I could offer to do their laundry."
She looked at us. "He has allowed me, in a way I never could have imagined, and at a time of my life I never thought possible, to fulfill the promise I made to Him 67 years ago. That is why I do their laundry."
I quietly walked over to the used washing machine in the corner of the kitchen.
As I gently placed my fingers on top of it I sensed the scent of Eden mixed with the smell of laundry detergent.
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Past Present
By Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Tragedy can stifle and destroy. It can also transform and inspire. A touching real-life account reminds us we're empowered to decide which attitude prevails
JewishWorldReview.com | I had heard about the family whose house burned down. Their local rabbi contacted me for assistance in organizing a fundraising campaign. I had experience with this, unfortunately, and helped him with the appeal letter.
At the end of the letter we added: "Whatever you can do to help no matter how small please help!"
After six months I called and asked my friend how the appeal was going. He replied, "Mi k'amcha Yisrae!" Donations were coming in from all over. Women were cooking meals and donating clothing to replace what was destroyed. The outpouring of help was greater than anyone had imagined.
The next week I went with him to visit the family who'd suffered the fire.
The mother greeted us, and before I could say a word she told me of all the kindness bestowed upon her and her family: Money from people she doesn't know; hot meals prepared daily; donations of furniture, clothing, and toys. "And of course, Edith Bateman (name changed) deserves a special mention," she told us.
At the name Edith Bateman, the other rabbi looked perplexed. Mrs. Bateman, he explained, was an older woman who'd never married and lived in a rent-controlled project on the poor side of town. "What is she doing worthy of such honorable mention?" he inquired.
The woman told us that every Monday Mrs. Bateman arrives to pick up the family's laundry and every Thursday the laundry is returned, folded and ironed, along with a bag of freshly baked cookies.
We knew where our next stop would be.
At the housing project we saw children riding beat-up bikes on the patchy grass. We knocked on Edith's door and an older woman in a well-worn housedress answered. The temperature was in the 90s and the room was hot and humid. The one small fan did little to help. Mrs. Bateman invited us in and offered us water. As she placed the glasses in front of us we noticed the numbers on her arm.
"We heard you're doing the Shapiro's laundry. How did you come to this kindness?" my colleague asked her.
Edith Bateman visibly straightened up. "I was in Auschwitz," she told us. "My parents and siblings were killed. With the help of The Almighty, I survived." There was a long pause. "In the camp," she then continued, "what bothered me even more than the hunger was wearing the same worn and stinking clothing every day. We were never allowed to change or clean our clothes. This was torturous for me. I made a promise that if the Divine saved me I would make sure my family always had clean, freshly laundered clothing. However, it was not to be. I never merited marrying.
"I worked as a secretary for 30 years, and now live in rent-controlled housing. My only source of income is my Social Security check. But when I heard about the fire, I wanted to help. I have no money to donate, but I realized there was one thing I could do. I could offer to do their laundry."
She looked at us. "He has allowed me, in a way I never could have imagined, and at a time of my life I never thought possible, to fulfill the promise I made to Him 67 years ago. That is why I do their laundry."
I quietly walked over to the used washing machine in the corner of the kitchen.
As I gently placed my fingers on top of it I sensed the scent of Eden mixed with the smell of laundry detergent.
Interested in a private Judaic studies instructor for free? Let us know by clicking here.
Every weekday JewishWorldReview.com publishes what many in Washington and in the media consider "must reading." Sign up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here.
