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12 Cheshvan 5765 - October 27, 2004 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family


Memoirs
Jewish hospitality at its inherited best... Also about Bris Mila...

by Rachel Leah Perlman

Once when I was at the Kosel, something happened that brought fond memories to my mind.

I had just closed my siddur and stood up to leave when a woman approached me and asked, "Do you know Raizel Pheterson?"

"That's my mother's name!" I answered, quite surprised. Apparently, I did resemble her, may she rest in peace.

"I'm so glad to hear that," the stranger continued. "I've been longing to find someone who knows her, just to talk about her and say what she means to me. Do you have a moment or two?"

I sat down again, pointing to an empty chair next to mine. She sat down. "I collect tzedoka for poor families. Most people are kind and give me what they can. They sometimes wish me success in my efforts, say `Shalom' and close the door. Raizel Pheterson invited me into her home the first time I knocked at her door and has ever since then.

"In the winter, she gives me a hot drink. In summer, she gives me a cold drink and invites me to splash some water on my hot face and hands. We exchange a few words and when I'm ready to leave, she wishes me success in my efforts, gives me her donation and bids me farewell. And now I am so happy to have met you, her daughter."

This truly happened many years ago. Along with this memory come many others which I would like to share with you.

My parents made aliya and settled in a nice apartment in Katamon which consisted of a kitchen, a living room-dining room and two bedrooms, each with twin beds. My parents were hoping for the frequent visits of their children [who hadn't made aliya yet] and grandchildren [who were studying in Jerusalem].

My mother was about to sit down one Shabbos at her seat in the nearby shul when she noticed a woman in advanced pregnancy crying bitterly. She rushed over to her and asked, "Can I help you? Why are you crying?" The young woman explained that the landlord had given her notice to leave. When they had first rented the apartment, it had been under the condition of No Babies. "So now we have to move within the week and we can't seem to find another apartment." And she broke down sobbing.

"Stay right here, honey," my mother said. "I'll be right back." She returned a few minutes later and said, "My husband and I agree to have you and your husband come and live with us until you find something. Your baby will also be welcome! Come and see our apartment; it's nearby."

That solved this couple's problem. Let's call them the Sterns. When the baby was about to be born, my mother accompanied Chavi Stern to the hospital. When the nurse wheeled Chavi into the labor room, she turned to my mother and asked if she was the would-be grandmother. My mother began to stammer, "No, no, no," but Chavi butted in, "Yes, yes! She's the grandmother!"

Chavi gave birth to a healthy baby boy. My parents and their friends arranged the bris and made it a wonderful simcha. They also organized the pidyon haben. Many years have passed since then. Mr. and Mrs. Stern have other children and all is well. When my mother celebrated her 80th birthday, Mrs. Stern composed a beautiful poem which we all reread and cherish.

That bedroom was eventually vacated to make room for other mitzva occupants. But my parents' lives were full of all kinds of good deeds. At this time, a group of immigrants had freshly arrived in Israel from a Third World country. A reporter had done a write-up about their miserable living conditions. Winter was coming and these homes were very poorly constructed. When my mother read the article, she went to investigate for herself and discovered that nothing had been exaggerated. They really needed help.

Off my Mom marched to the mayor's office, confident she could improve the situation. She had a bare smattering of Hebrew. But she made herself understood, and in turn, was made to understand as well that there was no municipal budget to do what needed to be done. Only half the cost could be covered. She went back home distressed.

Reading the paper that evening, both she and my father noticed that there was a doctors' convention taking place in Jerusalem. My mother decided she would talk to these doctors about the situation. She felt it was urgent. And so she went to the hotel where the convention was being held and asked to be permitted to speak to the doctors.

Two doctors came over to talk to her and to everyone's surprise, they agreed to give her fifteen minutes' time. They even brought out a chair for her. Weak at heart, full of stage fright, she nevertheless described the harsh living conditions she had seen by these new immigrants. And Hashem answered her prayers.

A committee of three doctors traveled with her to the site of the `shanties' and saw, indeed, how inadequate they were against the coming winter rains and cold. The doctors donated enough money to cover the other half that the municipality could not provide to turn these shanties into proper homes.

My mother's success at her first try at getting help from strangers made her bold enough to speak successfully to other groups when help was needed. She, herself, said she never dreamed she could do it. "Boruch Hashem," she would exclaim each time. "Our Heavenly Father helped me!"

My dear brother Yosef now lives in Jerusalem but while he still resided in the U.S., he helped with any necessary things my parents needed, one of which was dealing with their Social Security affairs. He received and deposited their checks into my mother's bank account each month.

One time, he received a letter stating, "We find we have erred in our payment benefits to you and hereby enclose a check for $200."

Yosef deposited the money and sent off a letter to my mother about the good news, enclosing their letter in his own. Some time later, my mother attended the wedding of Sora, a young woman who had lived with them for some time. The bride looked unusually downcast and my mother asked her why. "Someone broke into my apartment," she revealed, "and stole $200 which I had been counting on desperately to meet the wedding expenses."

Joyfully, my mother turned to her and said, "Oh, Sora, do you know that just today, someone paid me money they owed me. I never expected this money back, so now I am giving it to you and your husband. It's $200!" And she quickly wrote out a check for that amount.

Mother knew how to give tzedoka!

 

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