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“I Never Saw Anything Like This.” Journal of a Volunteer at Mesamche Lev’s Pesach Distribution
We received this journal from a yeshivah student who volunteered at last year’s Pesach distribution.
Thursday, 28 Adar 2
I was rushing around the dirah last night helping the chevrah pack up for their flight home. Weiss was shvitzing because his suitcase was overweight, Goldstein still needed to pick up his kallah’s machzorim,
B’kitzur, it was a real matzav. I was feeling a little left
out, because I was staying in Yerushalayim. Then
Goldstein’s phone rang. There was a mad rush to find
it under the clutter, but I fished it out after the fourth
ring from under a pile of sefarim.
“Hello?” he said. Then he stood still. “Mesamche
Lev? Oh! I’d love to help, but l’maaseh, I’m leaving to
the airport in, like, less than an hour.”
“Any bachurim who can help? Uh, let me think.
Yes, yes, my friend. He’s staying here. Here. Talk to
him.”
Before I knew it, I’d been roped in to help out at
the Mesamche Lev Pesach distribution. I said I’d be
there between ten and two. Honestly, I have no idea
what it’s all about. I do recognize the name Mesamche Lev. I think they give out things for Yom Tov.
Friday, 29 Adar 2
My first thought when I turned the corner of Eretz Chaifetz was “Wow.” There’s this
huge white tent that takes up the whole block.
I went inside, and it’s cavernous. I found Weber,
the guy I spoke to last night, and he showed
me around. There were tens of volunteers —
bachurim who were volunteering their bein
hazmanim.
“Today we’re unpacking shoes,” he said. He
showed me how to set up the boxes, a stack of
each style and size, lined up neatly on a table.
I was surprised that the shoes were really nice,
the same ones they sell in the stores. There
were even name brands. We set up sections, big
and little boys, big and little girls. Everything is
so organized. It looks like a massive shoe store,
all that’s missing are the kids. On Sunday they
come!
Sunday, 2 Nissan
I stood behind a table helping people find
shoes in different sizes and styles. What a sight!
There were so many kids — they just kept coming and coming and coming. I never saw so
many people shopping in one place at one time.
42,000 kids are going through this tent in
the next few days. When I think of it, that’s
more than five times the amount of bachurim
in the Mir. Wow!
Weber sent me to the little boys’ section. The
kids were adorable, running around, giggling,
comparing shoes, such fun. One little boy kept
peeking inside his shoe box, again and again.
One family sticks out in my mind. They
looked so poor. The baby was in an old-fashioned, broken stroller, and he had huge hungry
eyes. I wonder if he had breakfast. The four-year-old
boy was wearing worn out girl’s shoes, I guess from
his older sister. You could see where there was once
an ornament, maybe a bow or a flower. I wonder if
he was teased in cheder for wearing them. Another
family came in with two kids in crocs. I hope they had
real shoes for the winter.
Anyway, everyone left happy.
Monday, 3 Nissan
If all the brachos I got today come through, I’ll
have a really good life. The people were so happy,
they just couldn’t stop. One grandmother from Meah
Shearim came with ten grandchildren. She went on
and on, bentching me with a good shidduch, gezunt, parnassah, hatzlachah in learning, banim u’vnei
banim oskim b’Torah u’v’mitzvos — you get the picture.
Anyway, today they sent me to help out at the
checkout counter. Totally different experience than
yesterday, but a real eye-opener. Every family had a
plastic card, like a credit card. When I swiped it, I
saw exactly how many pairs of shoes they could take.
It also calculated how much they have to pay. Every
pair is 20 shekel — that’s like five dollars.
I can see the chachmah in it. The kids saw their
parents paying, and it gave them a certain pride, like,
“I bought my shoes,” not just got it for free from an
organization. They don’t feel bad about being picky
or asking for another style in another size.
Weber explained to me that Reb Zalman Ashkenazi, Mesamche Lev’s founder, really understood
what it means to give with dignity. He thought
through every little thing. Also, he wanted the tzedakah money he raised to go 100% for shoes; nothing
else. The 20 NIS covers the hall rental and overhead.
There’s such chachmah and sensitivity here. Ashrei
maskil el dol!
Tuesday, 4 Nissan
One lady with eight kids asked me if she could
take shoes for herself. The distribution is only for kids
up to 18, so I didn’t know what to tell her. I found
someone from Mesamche Lev to ask. He took one
look at her and said “No problem.” When the
woman was out of earshot, he told me, “There
are rules and there is the fifth Shulchan Aruch. I
saw the desperation in her eyes, and I couldn’t
tell her ‘no.’”
Wednesday, 5 Nissan
The giant shoe store is closed. I hear that
before they opened here, they had a smaller
distribution for 7,000 kids in Beit Shemesh, so
the bnei Torah don’t have to shlep their families
to Yerushalayim. Gevaldig! I can’t stop thinking that every single pair that was here the
first day of the distribution is in a closet somewhere, making a kid happy.
Believe me, I know how badly the kids need
them. I mean, the things they came wearing on
their feet! I wouldn’t have believed that in 2017,
kids could be slicing the front of their shoes to
make room for their toes. One kid was wearing
shoes that were more duct tape than leather.
It’s sad, but at least now they have good shoes
for Pesach.
Anyway, today is setup day again. They’re
bringing in giant freezers for the meat distribution.
Thursday, 6 Nissan
Some bachurim spent the whole night pack-
aging the orders. When I got here, everything
was in the freezer already. It works like clockwork. My job was to find the orders. There’s a
whole computerized system with numbers, so
it’s really easy. I’m sure it wasn’t simple to set
up. You can see a lot of thought went into it.
The whole thing is such an eye-opener. People are really excited about chicken and meat.
I mean, to me chicken is such a basic, but obviously,
it’s a treat for lots of people to have a full freezer.
I still can’t get used to seeing really poor people.
One lady came with eight little boys and girls wearing the most old-fashioned, faded clothes I ever saw.
I saw just the mother’s name on her order, no husband. She could be an almanah. She opened the box
and said, “Look! Ofot! Basar! Lichvod hachag!” Her
kids crowded around the box, counting the bags as if they were diamonds.
I guess the only time they eat ofot and
basar is on Yom Tov. I feel so spoiled.
Friday, 7 Nissan
Last night I couldn’t sleep. I kept
waking up and thinking of people I
ate by on Shabbos, and the little slivers of chicken they served. It never
dawned on me that people don’t
have money for chicken. I brought my
maaser money with me, to give to Mesamche Lev. I want to pay for a family’s order. Now especially, I see how
much it means to a family to get meat
and chicken. These are real people!
Bashefer! They’re hungry!
Sunday, 9 Nissan
When I gave the money to Weber
yesterday, I felt like now I could sit
by the Seder and say kol dichfin yesei
v’yeichol, with a clear conscience.
Monday, 10 Nissan
Weber asked if I could help him
in the evening, and deliver checks to
almanos. Of course I said yes — I’d do
anything for Mesamche Lev.
The first envelope was for a family on the block of my dirah. I recognized the kid who opened the door.
He comes to the shtiebel sometimes
to say Kaddish. It breaks my heart.
When his mother heard me say “Mesamche Lev,” her face lit up. I could see
how happy she was. I’m sure she was
counting on the money.
The next almanah turned out to
be my mother’s classmate. She grew
up two blocks away from our house
in Brooklyn. The father was killed in a
terror attack maybe three or four years
ago. Eleven kids, all ages. I wonder
what they live on.
The saddest visit was when I
knocked on a door and a girl told me
to come inside to her mother. The lady
was in a wheelchair, connected to an
IV pole. She thanked me and bentched
me, and said that since her husband
passed away, Mesamche Lev is always
there for her. I feel so bad for the kids.
They don’t have a father, and their
mother is so sick. Hashem yiracheim!
Tuesday, 11 Nissan
I met my great-uncle in Geulah, and
he asked me how I’m spending bein
hazmanim. I told him I’m volunteering
for an organization, Mesamche Lev.
You should have seen his face.
“Mesamche Lev? You know what
they do?” And he told me story after
story, right there in the tiny makolet.
He remembers Reb Zalman Ashkenazi,
z”l, who started the organization. “A
tzaddik fun a Yid,” he called him.
The whole city — no, the whole Eretz
Yisrael, depends on Mesamche Lev, he
said. They give and they give and they
give. Food and shoes and chasunos for
yesomim, mamash so much. And you
know what’s amazing? They never ask
you where you daven, what color is
your kippah, what kind of hat do you
wear, what group you belong to. “It’s
just ahavas Yisrael, pure, pure ahavas
Yisrael.”
Wednesday, 12 Nissan
I thought the distribution is over.
Not quite. There’s still the milchigs
“sale.” It’s in three locations, so it’s
convenient for everyone.
I went to Ezras Torah. Huge Tnuva
trucks unloaded every milchig product you can think of. Milk, yogurt, butter, 5% cheese, hard cheese, cottage
cheese, pudding — the works. They’re
selling everything for a third of the
price. A leben that usually costs about
4 NIS is 1.30. A 15-shekel pack of butter
is just 5. It’s affordable!
When you think of it, if a family
can’t buy milchigs, what do the kids
eat on Pesach? Expensive matzah?
Come on. They starve! A week ago, I
wouldn’t believe it, but after seeing the
people who depend on Mesamche Lev,
I have no doubt.
I’m thinking of the yogurts in my
dirah. The chevrah and I — we buy
every product in the makolet, and
never check the price. This week
changed me. At the very least, I’ll try
to appreciate having so much for a little while.
Friday, 14 Nissan
There’s no place in the world I’d rath-
er be on Erev Pesach than right here in
Yerushalayim. After all the hustle and bustle of the past few weeks, there’s a serenity,
a kedushah in the air. The kids, the streets,
even the doorknobs are scrubbed cleaner
than clean, and when I see a child coming
towards me, I find my eyes looking downward to check if he’s wearing new shoes.
When I walk down the streets in the
poorer sections of the city, I smell chicken soup wafting out of windows. Don’t
tell the chevrah, because I’m not the sentimental type, but I have to swallow hard
not to cry. This is Pesach. This is Mesamche Lev. I was part of it.
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