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!
