Better Together דור לדור by Ramaz School

BETTER TOGETHER

‫דור לדור‬

A collection of essays by Ramaz sophomores about their experiences implementing a comprehensive intergenerational program together with their peers from the Tehilla-Evelina School in Jerusalem

FORWARD The Ramaz Upper School and the Tehilla-Evelina Secondary School in Jerusalem were awarded a generous grant by Legacy Heritage Fund to implement a comprehensive intergenerational visitation program for tenth grade students. Through a year-long study of a curriculum specifically designed for this program, “Eldercare in the Jewish Tradition,” written by Dr. Moshe Sokolow, Associate Dean of the Azrieli Graduate School of Education at Yeshiva University, together with ongoing, personal interaction with seniors, the students are learning that they can alleviate social isolation among the elderly, and develop relationships with seniors that will continue beyond the duration of the program. The unique aspect of this pilot program is that it included two opportunities for connection when the participating students from Ramaz went to Jerusalem and when the students of Tehilla-Evelina came to New York City. In Tel Aviv, for example, the students met with Shmuel Wilenberg, the 93 year old single survivor of Treblinka. He shared his story of his miraculous survival, and his arrival in Israel in 1950 after rescuing hidden children at the end of the War. In Jerusalem, the students were in awe of meeting Ari Avrahami, the septuagenarian, the architect of the restorations at the Tower of David. They shared workshops with elderly Russian and Ethiopian olim at Yad LaKashish, “Lifeline for the Old,” and sang and danced to Yiddish and Russian songs with senior citizens from the former Soviet Union at the Diplomat Hotel. Our teen participants transferred their learned sensitivities to others when they visited chayalim in Tel Hashomer Hospital, interacted with teenagers at Kishorit on its 125-acre sprawling campus that is “home” for troubled youngsters and challenged adults; and at Shalva where children and teenagers with disabilities are given phenomenal care and opportunities to develop their strengths and talents. The Ramaz sophomores bonded quickly with their Israeli peers and had fun exchanging stories, singing and learning about their cultural differences and lifestyles, and sharing their experiences with the elderly. Everyone is looking forward to continuing this unique relationship, way beyond these first encounters. Enjoy reading the students’ essays, they inspire and encourage emulation. Kol Hakavod to our tireless volunteers! DeeDee Benel Project Coordinator

Jacob A. Reflections

Throughout the course of my involvement in the Better Together program, I have been blessed

with the opportunities to meet a diverse group of inspiring individuals, ranging from Shmuel Willenberg the last remaining survivor of the Treblinka extermination camp to the members of Kibbutz Kishorit who lead productive and fullfilling lives despite their disabilities. I also encountered the chayalim of Tikvot for whom the fight on the battlefield was only the first part of their struggle, but they are upbeat and they smile. Back in America, I was privileged to meet my Dorot senior Patricia Barrack-Goz.

Mr. Willenberg was born in Poland to a Jewish father and a formerly Orthodox Christian

mother in 1923. When the Nazis invaded, he served in the Polish Army and was redirected to face the oncoming, simultaneous Soviet invasion. He was injured and sent to the hospital, but eventually he rejoined his family. They were sent to the Opatow Ghetto, where the family traded Mr. Willenbergâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s paintings in order to scrape by and survive. Eventually, they received forged identification papers and returned to their hometown. There his two sisters were seized and sent to an extermination camp though Mr. Willenberg, by virtue of his non-Jewish appearance was not selected. When the Opatow Ghetto was liquidated, Mr. Willenberg was sent to Treblinka. He would have perished there if he had not had the astounding fortune to encounter an acquaintance from his hometown who was working as part of the unloading crew. This friend advised him to tell the Nazi registration official that he was a bricklayer, thereby proving his worth to be greater alive than dead. Out of the entire transport of Jews that day, he was the only one to escape death in the gas chambers, and was assigned to a unit of the camp Sonderkommando.

After some time at Treblinka, Mr. Willenberg participated in the famous revolt at the camp,

which resulted in its eventual shutdown. The uprising was enabled by the commissioning of a new door to the camp armory, whose lock mechanism was built by a Jewish locksmith also serving on the Sonderkommando. The locksmith surreptitiously machined a second, identical key withholding it from his Nazi supervisor. When the time came, one of the Jews assigned as a servant to the camp commandant smuggled out arms to his co-conspirators, and approximately 300 inmates escaped. While most were quickly rounded up, Mr. Willenberg managed to make his way to Warsaw where he met his father and joined the partisans. He survived the war and then re-enlisted in the Polish Army.

Mr. Willenberg made Aliyah to Israel in 1950, along with his mother and his new wife. There he

began to cultivate his lifelong interest in art. He earned a degree in sculpture, and used the medium to express the horrors that he endured during the Holocaust. When I met with him, I was awed by the emotional strength that he exhibited, plowing through tough memories, just as he persevered through

the horrors of the Shoah.

I was in awe of the members of Kibbutz Kishor, individuals with special needs are able to live

lives with the highest degree of normalcy possible. They work ordinary jobs to the best of their abilities, operating a world-class dog kennel, as well as a goat farm and a horse stable. These activities have the added bonus of being highly therapeutic for the kibbutz members. They also produce their own weekly television news program, detailing news from both inside the community and from the outside world.

I was particularly impressed by Masha Roth, a member of the kibbutz with moderate Down

Syndrome. While there were some obvious quirks about her behavior, she easily interacted with our group, proudly displaying her martial arts accomplishments to us. This experience was made all the more powerful by the groupâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s meeting with Rachel Roth, Mashaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mother and a survivor of the Holocaust. She told us how difficult it was for her to make the decision to send her beloved daughter 7,000 miles away, but she knew that at Kishorit Masha would thrive as an independent person. She explained that she viewed Israel as a single, extended family, one that would be more than up to the task of caring for her daughter. She made a personal sacrifice in order to ensure the best possible life for her daughter.

When I went to Tel HaShomer Rehabilitation Hospital to meet the recuperating chayalim, I was

somewhat apprehensive about the visit. I am not the biggest fan of hospitals as I usually associate them with childhood trips to the emergency room to receive stitches after episodes of clumsiness. However, when I walked through the doors, I was overcome with gratitude for all that the chayalim had given for the preservation of the State of Israel. Though I met chayalim who had lost fingers, ears, even major limbs, every one of them expressed the fervent desire to eventually rejoin their units. Despite their injuries, they continued to see themselves as parts of a military devoted to the protection of the Jewish people, and one to which they still wanted to contribute. After the visit to the hospital, our group proceeded to Tikvot, a nearby rock climbing facility designed to help our chayalim in their rehabilitation process. There, we rejoined some of the chayalim from our previous stop at Tel Hashomer who were acting both as safety personnel and as fellow climbers. I was especially floored by the head climbing instructor, who, during his service as a commander in the IDF sustained severe leg injuries, eventually resulting in the loss of one leg above the knee. In spite of his severe impairment, he is world-ranked in both rock climbing and kite sailing. While the majority of us were experiencing great difficulty with the most basic of rock walls, he appeared to have the skills of Spiderman, deftly maneuvering from one minuscule handhold to the next. At one point, he even began to climb the most challenging setup in the building (which just so happened to be set horizontally on the roof of the climbing gym) with the ease of a person with three legs, not just one. In my eyes he represented a personification of the

Jewish people throughout the ages, persevering through whatever obstacles in their path.

While all my experiences in Israel were conducted with a large group of program participants,

my monthly visits in New York with Ms. Goz were made with just a single partner. When I first walked through the door to her apartment, I experienced a slight feeling of trepidation, but that was quickly assuaged by her warm welcome. She introduced us to her dog Poppy who is trained to assist her with her hearing as she has severe auditory impairment. While we learned many things about her life, she was much more interested in learning about us and our families. However, she was very eager to discuss her two grandsons, Daniel and Jacob, who live in Gothenburg, Sweden. I was privileged to meet Daniel as his visit to America coincided with my session with his grandmother, and I was amazed to realize that he was the operator of my favorite YouTube channel, thus proving correct the “Law of Jewish Geography.”

One of the most poignant interactions that I have had with Ms. Goz was when my friend and I

assisted her in setting up a telescope that she had purchased. We placed it on her porch, and I have never seen a smile greater than the one that she gave us after we enabled her to see One World Trade Center. It condensed all of what makes Better Together so wonderful into a single moment. The purpose of this program is to be better together with other generations, and I can truthfully affirm that all of the people I have encountered have significantly affected me. I hope I have also had a positive impact on their lives. Every one of these seniors has persevered through obstacles, whether physical, psychological, or emotional, that would have crushed the average person, or made sacrifices for the greater good of those around them. I can only hope that, if presented with the same circumstances, I could be as strong.

Shelli C.

An Eye Opening Experience

Being a participant in Better Together has opened my eyes to see people in a different and

better way. I never had any interactions with the elderly aside from my grandparents, and I therefore generalized my thinking about senior citizens. I imagined that most would be like my mother’s mother who had Alzheimer’s for eight years and couldn’t remember my name towards the end of her life. She could hardly talk or move or eat, and she was extremely frail. That picture of my grandmother, before she passed away, stuck in my mind. I think that when someone younger sees an elderly person in that condition, the image of their being handicapped and disabled stays permanently and they think of all the elderly in that way.

My image of the elderly as frail, physically infirmed people completely changed at Yad LaKashish,

a non-profit organization in Jerusalem that provides work for immigrant senior citizens. As I watched people over the age of 65 design beautiful jewelry, cards, mezuzot and many more things that I couldn’t even try to make, I realized I was completely wrong about the elderly, and that there are many older people who are physically active, like my father’s mother Shelli who is perfectly fit and energetic, always out of the house, playing golf, bridge and shopping. I never considered her to be a senior citizen because she’s so healthy. My mother’s father, Isaac, is older and has some hearing issues, but he’s still out and

about: exercising, grocery shopping and actively pursuing his interests. By watching women at Yad LaKashish needlepointing challah covers with intricate designs, I realized that age doesn’t matter. Even if people are older, it doesn’t mean that they are physically disabled. Even if they are disadvantaged physically, they can still give to the world in their own ways. I have my limitations too, even if they aren’t physical, and I’m trying to give what I can to the world.

It seems strange to me now, after

my experiences in Better Together that the weak picture of my grandmother was how I thought of most old people, when really most of the elderly have so much to offer. My grandmother was a special case because of her illness, but most elderly, even if they are not well, can still share their memories. It’s important for the young and old to interact and share and compare stories of how the world has changed. It is especially important to hear Holocaust survivors tell of their experiences. I am part of the last generation that will hear first-hand the incredible and horrific stories of survival.

When I heard Dov Goldstein, 86, speak about his struggle to survive, and how he watched his

family members being taken away to their deaths, I felt a sense of responsibility. I felt that I had a role to play—to pass on his story and to teach my children about the horrors of the Holocaust; it’s a part of our Jewish identity. Listening to Dov Goldstein made me feel like I’m part of something bigger and more important. Even though we’re of different generations, I felt a sense of unity; we are one people.

Watching the Shalva kids perform was also an amazing, heartwarming experience. Even though

they all had developmental issues or disabilities they still create beautiful music that almost brought me to tears. The girl who sang had a magnificent voice and every child put so much heart into the performance. It made me so happy to watch people, whose abilities are doubted, show their amazing talents. I was one of those who also thought that kids with special needs really didn’t had much to give, but I’m so happy that I was proven wrong. When I watched the children perform, I felt like I was at a private Jewish concert. While the music was extraordinary, what made this event so special for me was seeing how the children were so happy, enjoying doing what they love to do, which inspired me. I have so much to learn from them.

Although the pressure of homework, tests and essays is constant, we have to make time for the

things that we enjoy: playing sports, singing, playing an instrument, dancing, doing chesed or anything else. I think those activities are equally important because we make the biggest impact on the world when we are doing something we are passionate about.

This program has affected how I see others and myself. We’re all human, each with our own

weaknesses, and no one should be labeled because of them. My experience in Israel has made me reexamine how I want to continue my journey through high school. There is so much looking to the future

and working towards today’s goals in order to work towards other goals tomorrow. Right now I’m just in high school and I need to enjoy myself much as the Shalva kids were. I want to have happy stories to tell my grandchildren, ‫לדור‬

‫דור‬.

Annaelle E.

My Diamonds

As I sit on the plane on the way home from Israel, I reflect on all of the life-changing people that

I met on a special program called Better Together. Better Together is an intergenerational program that gave us the ability to meet with these fascinating individuals. Before leaving for Israel, I didn’t know what to expect from this program; I was intimidated but I was open for a new opportunity.

As I think about all of the amazing people I met, the words determination, resilience, and bravery

all come to mind. The people I met were like diamonds, each was special and precious in his own way, with unique stories to share that inspired us. Diamonds are authentic and exquisite, diamonds are forever, just like these individuals. I will never forget the impact they have had on me; the passion and strength with which their life stories were told makes me want to do something great in my lifetime, something as great as they did.

The first diamond, Kadesh Goldberg, 84, showed us the resilience and bravery he employed

by deciding to change his whole way of life. With a law degree, and job opportunities at his door, he decided to choose another path, change his life, and live as a farmer on a Kibbutz in Israel. During the 1950’s this was a big deal because the State had just been founded and not many people were willing to go there on a whim. Picking up and leaving the only place you know because of the love of Israel isn’t easy, yet Kadesh had enough commitment and love for Eretz Yisrael that he did. This overwhelming devotion to our homeland is an amazing quality that many should strive to posses. I will always remember Kadesh’s story, and will apply it to my life in any way I can.

The next diamond was Ari Avrahami, also an immigrant to Israel with the intent to live a good

life in our land. Not only did he do that but he created the most extraordinary and unique work of art: the remarkable Sound and Light Show at Migdal David. It is quite famous, having thousands of visitors watch it every day. It looks amazing and is so well conceived, but behind the making of this spectacle comes an enormous amount of work and creativity. This all came from Mr. Avrahami. He started from scratch, figuring out every single detail to make the Jerusalem Sound and Light Show the marvel that it is today, taking many years to make it the best it could be. Ariel Avrahami’s special dedication and devotion to his art are qualities I would like to develop.

The next unique diamond is Shmuel Willenberg, 93. Mr. Willenberg went through the Holocaust

as a child and young adult. He was in the Treblinka concentration camp, and is now the last survivor from that camp. In a daring move, Mr. Willenberg escaped Treblinka and then joined a Nazi resistance group in order to help fight the Nazis. Hearing about his fearlessness and resilience was extremely moving. Looking into his eyes and seeing the strength and courage it took for him to survive and help his fellow Jews through the Holocaust filled me with awe. He had a miserable childhood because of the Holocaust. He suffered tremendously, yet he found a way to help others. I hope to emulate Mr. Willenberg’s bravery and courage in my lifetime.

Another precious diamond, Dov Goldstein, 86, also went through horrendous events during the

Holocaust. He was put in a concentration camp but, against all odds, survived the war. After the war, he was determined to go to Palestine but his ship was intercepted by the British, and he and his fellow passengers all Holocaust survivors, were sent to an internment camp in Cyprus. Not only did he have to go through the war, but then had to deal with this aftermath. With so much suffering in his life, it would have been understandable for him to renounce God and faith; but not only did he continue to believe, he became a Torah scholar and devoted his life to the teachings of God. I am impressed by Dov Goldstein’s motivation and steadfast belief, and hope I can somehow reach his level of devotion to God and Zionism.

These people—my diamonds— have all given me a unique and special perspective on life

and helped me to distinguish what is truly important in life. Their smiles, even their wrinkles, and the conviction with which they told their stories will always stay with me. Their stories inspire me with determination to accomplish equally great things, and fill me with images of what it is possible for one person to do. I hope that my generation will be able to achieve as much as these wonderful, inspirational people did.

Simone F. Abilities “You made my Chanukah, you made my holiday thank you, thank you...,” cheerfully shared a frail man in a wheel chair at the Jewish Home Life Care Facility whom I was visiting in New York City. While we sang some Chanukah melodies he was dancing from his wheel chair. He had tears of joy in his eyes, and I was moved by his emotions. The time I took to visit with him had made him feel less isolated. Even if it was just for a brief moment, the light from my menorah on the second night of Chanukah was able to light up someone’s life. I have learned how much making a difference in someone else’s life can also make a difference in mine. Through my active participation in Better Together, Dor L’Dor, a unique intergenerational program, I had the incredible opportunity to engage with the elderly both in Israel and in New York. I had just returned from the most intensive week in Israel with my classmates. The trip was a mission to connect with the elderly. I was always taught to respect my elders, but through this program I was able to experience the importance of this principle first hand. We were given opportunities to meet different people, and get to know them personally. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be them,

and what they were feeling at that moment. After all, I am young, healthy, and have the rest of my life to look forward to. They were elderly, frail, and can only reflect on the past. Meeting everyone on the trip inspired me to grab hold of life now, and live in the moment. The difference between youth and elderly people became clear to me: as young people generally we are always thinking about tomorrowâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s plan or our summer itineraries, while older people seem to focus on their past experiences. Their physical slowness did not foster a feeling of pity, but instead made me realize how important it is to grab hold of the joy and simcha, and appreciate my life at the moment. The people we met had so many stories to share about their lives and their experiences. Considering they had never met me or my classmates before, I thought it would be difficult to get into a real conversation, and make a connection with people whom we were meeting for the first time, but they embraced my visit. Some had lived very fulfilling active lives, while others had faced many challenges, like surviving the Holocaust. I was in awe of their resilience and courage and will always remember the stories they shared with me. As I walked through the rooms in Yad LaKashish I glanced over to see how much effort and concentration each person was putting into his/her craft, carefully painting the lines, sewing hats and kippot, and beading necklaces. They all took pride in their work. Yad LaKashish is a non-profit organization which strives to give over 300 elderly, low-income Jerusalem residents a warm, and friendly place to come to everyday. Instead of just doling out charity to the elderly participants, the men and women working there develop and use their artistic abilities to sell their crafts. Yad LaKashish offers a strong social network, as well as financial aid for these elderly immigrants. The Rambam teaches this is the highest level of Tzedakah: going beyond giving money to someone but giving them the wherewithal to support themselves. Through their work at Yad LaKashish the elderly are able to feel independent since they can now afford groceries and whatever else they need. Without these services, they would feel isolated and probably be living in poverty. As I was walking around amazed by the different projects, I also introduced myself to some of the people. They were all speaking different languages and had come from different countries, and it was neat to bond with them over their artwork. While we were in Israel we also visited Shalva, a home for the mentally and physically challenged. When we arrived we heard the story of Yossi Samuels, the son of the founders of Shalva. He is now an adult, but when he was only eleven months old he received a faulty vaccination that left him blind and deaf. Yossiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parents founded Shalva in an attempt to eliminate Yossiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s feeling of isolation, provide love and care for Yossi, and other people with severe disabilities. It was amazing to hear the story, and then to get to see Shalva, and even meet Yossi! I felt sympathetic when I met the people that lived at Shalva.

The special-needs kids we met there were very enthusiastic about making cupcakes with us, and it was humbling to spend time with them. The children had their own band, and they put on a moving performance, I looked around the room and everyone was getting teary-eyed. We were privileged to speak to Yossi, and I was amazed to discover that he was able to have a conversation with us despite being blind and deaf. He learned how to communicate with others through his hands; through human touch Yossi is “able” to interact with the world. His aide “talked” to Yossi by finger-spelling Hebrew letters on the palm of his hand. I learned that there are endless forms of communication: speech, music, art, touch, etc. I just have to find the right ways to connect with the elderly and my peers. In New York, Dorot has organized monthly visits with elderly persons, and I get to know seniors on a personal level over dinner at their homes. I was so happy to be matched with Irene, an artist, and found her work very impressive. I was fascinated by her use of vibrant colors, and identified with her because I also have a passion for art.

The elderly people we met have their passions, hobbies, and flaws, just like us. Better Together,

challenged me and the rest of my classmates to overlook our differences and connect with the elderly and disabled. Through Better Together, I learned that there is no such thing as a disability, but rather everyone has his/her unique ability, and his/her personal story to share with the world. Our abilities and disabilities don’t define who we are; it’s who we are inside, what kind of person we are, that defines us. I aspire to continue forming and building relationships with the elderly, and I am very grateful to have had the chance to take part in this program.

Elisheva G.

Jenga

When someone hears the word “helpless” that person usually defines the term as “unable to

help oneself.” The feeling of helplessness is often one associated with people who are elderly or sick. It is not, however, a feeling that I ordinarily associate with myself, a healthy and privileged teenage girl that is, until one night when I went with my friends Shelli and Annaelle on our second visit to Sheila, an elderly woman whom we had been visiting through Dorot, and I stood by Sheila’s bed, unable to help her.

Our first visit with Sheila was much different from our second visit. Although she was bedridden

due to a hip injury, we spent an hour talking with her about both our lives and hers. Topics of our conversations ranged from her children on the West Coast to our favorite childhood snacks. During our first meeting with Sheila, I started to internalize the verse “bishishim chachmah ve’orekh yamim

tevunah,” “with age comes wisdom, and length of days brings understanding”[Job 12:12], which we had studied during our Better Together meetings on Thursday nights. Just because someone is bedridden and requires a caretaker does not mean that one is incapable of enjoying oneself with three teenage girls sitting in her living room.

The Sunday after our first visit, our group of thirteen students and our two faculty advisors made

our way to Israel for the highlight, in my mind, of the Better Together program. The week we spent in Israel only strengthened the lesson that I had started to learn that night with Sheila. Over the course of that week, I heard many people’s life stories, saw people excel where no one would think possible, and came to learn lessons from their lives that would have meaning for my own.

The day that impressed me the most was Thursday. Each of the first three days had something

new in store for us, whether it was hearing Kadish recount how, in 1950, he left the United States with his family to live on a kibbutz; listening to Shmuel, the last survivor of Treblinka, tell us how he survived; or visiting Kishorit, a community that enables disabled people to accomplish what everyone assumes they are incapable of doing. But the places we visited on Thursday had the greatest impact on me. In the morning we met the seniors of Yad LaKashish, Lifeline for the Old. At Yad LaKashish, elderly people create beautiful pieces of art—jewelry, pillows, Judaica, children’s games, and much more. They made aliya from places like the former Soviet Union and Ethiopia when they were already older, leaving their native countries with no money for retirement. Most of them spoke little Hebrew and some did not speak any. At Yad LaKashish I saw people who, for the majority of their lives, had nothing to do with handicrafts, yet what they were creating now truly was art. No, they could not speak Hebrew well, and no, they weren’t what someone would think of as having “privileged” status, but they courageously took the leap to live the rest of their lives in Israel, a land they did not know and where there was no one to help them. These people accomplished so much, all when they were old enough to be considered “senior citizens.” I realized that morning that no one is ever too old to follow his or her heart and face the challenges that arise.

On Thursday night we went the Diplomat Hotel, a residence for senior citizens, to hear their

choir sing. The choir members, like most of the residents, were elderly olim from the former Soviet Union. They sang songs in Russian, Yiddish, and Hebrew. When I first saw the itinerary, I cannot say that I was eagerly anticipating this visit. What would these people, singing songs that I cannot understand, teach me? However, when they performed, I was completely blown away. One woman in particular, Simma, helped me realize why seeing and hearing this performance was such an important part of our trip. Simma stepped forward and started dancing. When she did this, she transformed into the young woman she once was. We were so amazed by her agility and talent

that many of us started dancing with her. It was a simple circle dance, but it was something that was incredible to be a part of. When she danced and sang, she lit up the room. She was free: free from the restraints that deemed her “frail” due to her age; free of the assumptions of the world that suggest she is not fit to be singing and dancing at her age.

A week after we returned from Israel, we made our second visit to Sheila. Initially, it seemed like

the visit would not happen. First, we had difficulty confirming the visit with her, and then, once we had confirmed, no one answered the door to her apartment. Finally, her caretaker let us in, but the visit did not go well from there. Sheila was still bedridden however, she wanted to sit on the couch rather than remain in her bed. She also was having trouble forming words and she seemed very tired. At first, we tried to get past all the evening’s obstacles and talk to her. We told her about our trip and she smiled in response, but did not say anything. Eventually, instead of the couch, she settled for lying on her side. When her caretaker started helping her, Sheila told us to leave. On my walk back to school, I called my mother to discuss what had just happened. I have never felt as helpless as during that half-hour with Sheila. Helplessness is associated with an ailing person, not with the healthy teenaged girl talking about her trip to Israel. Sheila was helpless that night, at least according to the simple definition of the term. Yes, she needed a lot of help to do anything, and yes, she was unable to do what she needed for herself, but with the help of her caretaker what was required was accomplished. I, on the other hand, was helpless in a more complex form. I did not know how to handle the situation, and I did not know how I could provide the assistance to help Sheila when she needed it. I could not ease her pain. I realize that my life is very similar to the game Jenga. Unlike most games, Jenga starts out with a perfect tower, much like I perceived my life. But in the game of Jenga, one must alter the tower, ruining its perfection, by taking out one of the blocks and placing it on top of the tower, without knocking it down. Similarly, there were pieces of me that were taken away, that affected my image of myself. I perceived myself as the strong, invincible youth, who would not break. Yet standing by Sheila’s bed during our second visit, for a minute I felt like I had failed.

In fact, I did not fail. Better Together is a program that teaches us not to characterize a person

because of age or disabilities. Better Together taught me the difference between help and pity. I was helpless that night at Sheila’s apartment, but I also understood that although Sheila needed help, she was still a proud person. She is a woman who needs help, not pity. She is a woman who grew up in Brooklyn, who once went to college on the West Coast, who was a New York Dodgers baseball fan until they left New York. She is a woman with two children, a woman with accomplishments, a woman who, even in her bed, taught me “bishishim chachmah ve’orekh yamim tevunah.”

Megan H.

Everybody Needs Somebody

“Everybody needs somebody” is one of the lessons that I have learned from my experience in

the Better Together program through many different opportunities I experienced in New York and in Israel. Whether it was listening to a Holocaust survivor, visiting places where the elderly live and/or work or just watching the people around me interact with each other, the notion that “everybody needs

somebody” became a clear message of the program.

Better Together is a program that connects the younger and older generations, and my group

met its senior citizen “partners” through Dorot. Dorot’s mission is to make sure that seniors are not feeling isolated or abandoned, and one of their core programs, Friendly Visiting, matches volunteers with seniors for home visits, and the sharing of ideas, experiences and opinions on which real relationships are built. Based on the seniors’ needs, Dorot volunteers help the seniors shop for food, make phone calls, and most important engage in conversation.

My friends and I visit with Anne Bloom, a senior who does not have any family or an aide with

her at the time of our visits, though she talks a lot about her children. Ms. Bloom needs a walker to get around. I realized that seniors, like Anne, sign on to the Visiting Program because it is hard for them to leave their apartments and they look forward to socializing with the volunteers. The lively conversations break the silence. By being in the Better Together program we got to be that somebody these seniors need in their lives. While in Israel my group visited Yad LaKashish, a non-profit organization that provides hundreds of Jerusalem’s needy elderly with creative work opportunities, but that’s not all they do. They also provide hot meals to every senior and bus fare for those who need it. Most of the elderly at Yad LaKashish are Russian and immigrated to Israel when they were older, have no pension, and are too old to find jobs. The elderly at Yad LaKashish make and design a variety of gift items including: jewelry, tote bags, blankets, stuffed animals, Judaica etc. While there, we stopped at the different work stations and watched, in awe, as the seniors designed and constructed these unique gift items. Most of the seniors did not speak English but we still connected by smiling, waving “hi” or giving thumbs-up to beautiful work. Watching the elderly at Yad LaKashish made me realize that if it weren’t for these projects, many of these elderly would be homeless and hungry. True to its name, Yad LaKashish is a “Lifeline for the Elderly,” as it provides the aging senior with food, employment, socialization and dignity.

In Israel, we also visited the Diplomat Hotel, which now is a home for elderly, Russian immigrants.

Their choir performed for us, and we were told that they hadn’t recently rehearsed together due to the death of one of their members. The choir came out of retirement just to play for us. One of the ladies was so excited that she put on a bunch of colorful necklaces and danced with us. As I watched her dance the joy radiating from her was palpable. It was the joy that she found in singing, and in knowing that the choir’s performance was greatly appreciated. I understood that these elderly residents don’t sing for audiences often and that we were the “somebody” that they needed that day.

My great grandfather Edmund “Ed” Rosenblum who came to speak to our group has also taught me this lesson. My great grandfather is 96 years old and he still takes care of his daughter who has an intellectual disability, my Great Aunt Janice, every day. While my Great Aunt Janice is that “somebody” for my great grandfather and my great grandfather is that “somebody” for my great aunt, I have now tried to be the “somebody” for them. I invited my great grandpa to speak to our group, so that they could learn about his remarkable life story, and so that my friends and I would be his “somebody” on that evening.

Great grandpa’s story is the saga of a young, Jewish boy who miraculously leaves Vienna to

come to America in 1937, one year before the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany, the Anschluss, along with his father, a tailor by trade. Ed serves in WWII and because he speaks German fluently, he is given the task of interrogating captured German soldiers, truly ironic! Because his father had insisted he have a trade, Ed learned how to sew, and when stationed in the Philippines just after the war ended, Ed was commissioned to sew the first Filipino-American flag, which he completed in less than one week. The students listened in awe as my great-grandpa Ed recounted his remarkable experiences. He ended his presentation with an emotional expression of gratitude to America where he never has had to hide his Jewish identity. Even though my great grandfather had offered to drive himself to our meeting, we picked him up, and gave him door to door service, because I have learned to value the time I can spend with my great grandpa and I know he values it too. I was proud to share my great-grandpa with my friends, and help build a community of “somebodys” for him at that evening’s mifgash. Throughout my experience in the Better Together program, I was privileged to see people helping out others and I also was that “somebody” that others need. I now notice people who make a difference in my life. I learned that we can all make a difference in each other’s lives, by doing simple gestures: a phone call, a friendly visit, a wave, a smile, a thumbs-up or just saying hi. When people connect with each other, even in these simple ways, they build lasting bridges that enrich both lives.

Atara H.

Uniting with the Residents

Many times people have asked me, “Why did you go to Israel? Why are you involved with Dorot?

What is the purpose?” I too, have asked myself, what have I accomplished? Did I do all I could’ve done to complete the criteria of the program? Did I succeed in my mission? The better question is – what was my mission? After leaving from the airport to go home, I guess you could say I was in a state of imbalance. On the one hand, I was so incredibly happy to be home; on the other hand, I felt an emptiness that I could only describe as a feeling of being disconnected. After six years of being away from Israel, for the one week I was there I reconnected. The last time I was in Israel, I was nine years old and could not fully appreciate my experiences there. This time I had a mission to accomplish. It took me about a week’s time being home in America for the realization – of what I accomplished– to sink in.

The goal of our mission in Israel was to establish an “intergenerational relationship” between

elderly people and us, the younger people. Here is another great question – How were we to do this?

Throughout the week, we sought out the elders of Israel, looking to perform acts of kindness, gemilut chasadim, in order to establish “intergenerational relationships.” We had speakers address us, recounting their life experiences, whether it was defying their parents’ wishes by moving to Israel from America, or fleeing the Nazis, and escaping to Israel. We united with the residents of the Diplomat Hotel, where an extraordinary choir of elderly people performed songs with a marvelous passion for music. Of all my experiences in Israel, I want to focus on the time I spent at the Diplomat.

The Diplomat Hotel used to be a hotel many years ago, but now serves as an apartment building

for elderly people – aging immigrants. The main function of the hotel is to provide a low-cost rent for these foreign born citizens. When we filed into the room, I had no idea what to expect. We were seated in rows of six, and the wide row of seats in the front was reserved for the performers, who were not yet in the room. Once the show began, I was surprised. Most of the elders were Russian immigrants from the FSU. They sang traditional Jewish Russian songs, many themed for Chanukah. The tunes were foreign and unfamiliar, yet they were beautiful. There was one woman, all the way on the side, with long, blonde hair. She had a kind smile, but it is what came out of her mouth that was beautiful. She had the voice of an opera singer, and she sang her solos with surprising stamina. She even danced for us. She wore a belly dance skirt around her waist and a flowery necklace around her neck. Although she was almost 90, she had a young spirit. She danced and sang for an incredible amount of time; she even pulled us out of our seats to dance with her. This woman was definitely someone I wanted to know, someone with whom I could create an intergenerational relationship.

Being involved with Dorot, in America, we have all been paired in groups to visit a senior citizen. I

visit Leon Reinharth, a Jewish senior citizen, about the age of 90. Although we visit monthly, Leon does not remember the visits from one time to the next. The first time I visited with my group of two friends, Leon recounted, in detail, his participation as a soldier in WWII, as well as in the Haganah, in which he participated in fighting for Israel’s existence. He also did not fail to tell us of his amnesia, which he suffers from due to a car accident that occurred not so long ago.

This information struck me as incredible, and I’ll explain. Leon retold his story of being a soldier

with complete detail; if he is an amnesiac, which he is, then how was he completely lucid during our first meeting? He told us of his near-death experiences; he conveyed his struggle being Jewish, for there were anti-Semitic soldiers in his unit during WWII. When I left Leon’s apartment that first time, I felt astonished by his ability to remember moments from over 60 years ago, yet not from the last 24 hours.

I was amazed by his life-and-death experiences, and how he got past them. This man is incredible – he is a soldier and a survivor.

The most recent visit that took place was on the last night of Chanukah. Leon was expecting our

visit, and we showed up, eager to see our new friend. I was delighted to see his aide as she opened the door. Mr. Reinharth has a lovely apartment; it has a beautiful view of Manhattan, with all its famous skyscrapers. The apartment is filled with beautiful art all along the walls. From mosaic to oil paintings to pencil drawings, Leon has a wide range of art pieces.

The last night of Chanukah was something special in that apartment. I brought Chanukah gelt,

and Leon had a dreidel ready to play. As Leon expertly prepared and lit the candles, I felt a rush of Jewish pride and happiness. This is a man, who cannot remember what he did in the previous 24 hours, yet can remember his Jewish traditions by heart. He had a prayer book for the lighting of the menorah and blessings, but he did not need it; he remembered every word. What I found interesting was his choice of melodies. He sang tunes which were completely foreign to me.

In all the surrounding buildings, I did not see one menorah in a window – not a single one, and

this evoked my Jewish pride. All of the eight candles in Leon’s apartment burned brightly. It was a very moving experience for me, and I think for Leon, too. He shared the story of Chanukah, and all its miracles with us. He also pointed out my Ashkenazi accent, in recalling my pronunciation of the Hebrew words from the songs we sang at the lighting of the menorah.

I think I was able to connect with the woman from the Diplomat Hotel and Leon Reinharth

because of my ever-present Jewish heritage. In both situations, we sang ancient Jewish songs. It is not unusual for Jews to congregate and participate with one another, to practice our religion and culture together. But I believe that these interactions must occur with Jews of all ages, and more often. The elderly should not be forgotten; they are the ones who pass on our Jewish traditions. If we all make the effort to create these intergenerational relationships, it will be one step deeper in rooting our Jewish heritage.

Mariah H.

Tumbalala...

Step one: Breathe Step two: Say hello Step three: Make eye contact Step four: Do my best to balance steps one to three.

But in all seriousness, there is a vital lesson to be learned from the elderly, and it’s so important

to gain from their wisdom while they are still with us. I must be honest, I was never the kind of girl to speak up and ask questions of anyone. How could I speak to grown people whose faces were wrinkled and silvery hair whitened from worry or pain during their lifetime?

I had a fear of saying the wrong thing to these aging people who deserved so much respect,

but as I have grown a little older I realized it is so important to pay attention to the culture and wisdom of elderly people whose experiences are legacies to use. My generation has the honor to be able to

hear the stories of the Holocaust, World War II, soldiers for the Haganah, and other accomplishments: it leaves people like me to reflect on what I can become in my life.

On our trip to Israel, I was lucky enough

to feel the spirit of the land by seeing people in their daily life, which was so much more rewarding than any touring program could have offered me. Instead of climbing Masada I was realizing that the connection I have with Israel has always been a strong and romantic viewpoint, but there is so much more to it. I thought it was a place where boys became soldiers, saved their people from threat, fell in love, had children and lived a happy life, and every other cliché a person could think of. But after the trip that my classmates and I took I feel as if I truly understand the thriving culture. Israeli society is strong of heart and mind, despite it faces. While we were in Israel, we met people of so many different classes and social standings. Ironically, I felt instantly absorbed into the rich society of the unfortunate. I met an elderly woman, Simma, who emigrated from Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union to Israel, without knowing Jewish culture or the Hebrew language. She and her troop of “talented oldies” perform for me and my peers from Ramaz and the Tehilla-Evelina School. With her boa and flower necklaces, I could feel her connecting with us, and the freedom she had when she threw her arms out and belted songs in her native tongue. Despite the fact that she couldn’t communicate and thrive in Israel’s growing society she sang and danced happily, giving her voice to all who listened. When her ensemble began singing a familiar song called Tumbalalalika, I felt as if I was with my beloved Russian nanny, Faina at the kitchen table eating and singing. She would explain to me the song’s romantic and haunting story of a boy who wanted to fall in love: Foolish lad, why do you have to ask? A stone can grow, grow without rain Love can burn and never end A heart can yearn, cry without tears Tumbalala...

Reflecting on the lyrics from this song and the elderly people at the Diplomat Hotel, I learned a

life lesson that I will carry with my legs, arms, and heart whenever I dance, sing, and care for people. These people taught me that whenever life seems rather hopeless, the only way to fix it is to “grow a stone, without rain.” I was left with the impression that this Russian woman did everything she could for herself, despite all the barriers that blockaded her from achieving certain dreams. Without Better Together I would have never met these memorable people nor would I have experienced the true meaning of Israeli culture. I am so thankful that I can keep all of the lessons I learned from these senior citizens in my back pocket for the times that I will need the wisdom from the days of old.

Gabriel K.

Exploring the Past Searching for a Future

As the plane touched down in Israel, I knew immediately that this trip would be distinctive from

all my previous visits. I was not greeted in Ben Gurion Airport by the French extravagancy of Charles de Gaulle or by the magnificent enormity of London Heathrow, but by an excitement that shot down my spine and then dissipated as I stepped off the chalky-colored El Al plane. This trip had a profoundly different purpose than simply touring the Land of Israel. It would serve as a way for me to develop intergenerational relationships through a new set of experiences. The trip would come to change the way I would see others, and most importantly, it would enable me to understand my environment and those closest to me.

Unique to this trip was that it was the first time in Israel since my journey into the depths of

Eastern Europe. This past summer, I traveled to a small quaint Slovakian town at the base of the Tatra Mountains called Bardejov. My family was there to attend a memorial ceremony for the Jewish townspeople who were lost during the years of German occupation. Most importantly, many of those townspeople were my ancestors. Indeed, my Savta was born in this town. During our visit, she found her childhood home and reconnected with people she had not seen since the age of six. It was a means through which my Savta could narrate a past she had so desperately tried to forget. But the trip also served as a journey for me to appreciate her history, as well as my own.

This intergenerational experience set the stage for my trip to Israel. Understanding the elderly

members of my own family equipped me with the tools necessary to comprehend the intergenerational purpose of the incredible odyssey known as Better Together. In Israel, I met a number of individuals who had very similar experiences to those of my Savta. They too, had childhoods plagued with the horrors of the Holocaust. By sharing their stories, they showed me that an elderly person is not defined by a cane or a slow gait. Behind that person is an entire history. Each person is a storybook and all we need to do, as the next generation, is to open the book and start reading.

Shmuel Willenberg, 93, one of the last survivors of Treblinka, spoke to us in his cramped Tel Aviv

apartment. Willenberg informed us that he was a mischievous young child during his youth in Poland. He did not act like, nor look like, the other Jewish boys with his blond hair and blue eyes. In 1939, Willenberg was drafted into the Polish Army at the age of sixteen. After the Germans overcame the Polish forces, Willenberg was discovered as having false papers, and he was deported to Treblinka in 1941. The Germans murdered all of the Jewish workers in an act of reprisal for the alleged murder of a German and Willenberg again was able conceal his identity and pass as a construction worker. His job in construction saved him from death. He escaped Treblinka in an uprising of 300 escapees and was as one among 67 prisoners who survived the breakout. Willenberg went on to Warsaw where he fought in the resistance and participated in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising of 1943. After the war, he made aliyah through the Alps, and would later return to Poland to search for child survivors who were hidden throughout the war.

In 1950, Willenberg returned to Israel with no money, but ironically acquired a job as a real

construction worker. Later in life, Willenberg became an artist, sculpting fifteen bronze pieces that depict his experience in Treblinka. One of the most awesome aspects of this saga is that Willenberg’s daughter, Orit, became an architect, following in the artistic footsteps of her father, and has designed seventeen of Israel’s international embassies. As such, his legacy is permanent, imprinted in seventeen different national capitals across the globe, one of which is Berlin, serving as a statement of survival, persistence and courage.

I see many of the same qualities of Shmuel Willenberg in my Savta, a courageous survivor. Her

fortitude and positive attitude are ever present. I would have thought that the devastating experiences of the Holocaust would have permanently traumatized the survivors, yet their ability to overcome travail has inspired me. Fortitude is an understatement; they rebuilt their lives with immeasurable optimism, a feat that was unimaginable during their dark times in Europe. They have become builders – of a new life, of a new family and a new future.

Another speaker, this time in Jerusalem, was Dov Goldstein, 86. Interestingly, Goldstein was

born not too far from my Savta in Bratislava, Slovakia. Like my Savta’s father, my great grandfather, Goldstein is a survivor of AuschwitzBirkenau and currently lives in Alon Shvut, Israel. Following the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia, similar to my Savta, he hid in an attic in order to avoid deportation. When the majority of the Jews were liquidated on the day after Yom Kippur, Goldstein hid in a bunker with his father, forced to leave his mother, sister and newborn baby brother behind. After being discovered and betrayed by an informant, he and his father were deported to Auschwitz. Goldstein saw his father for the last time as he was sent in the opposite direction of the labor camp, walking towards his death. Goldstein was forced to march to Buchenwald at the end of the war, where he was liberated. As dreadful as his Holocaust experiences were, his determination to reach Eretz Yisrael, after liberation, was not diminished.

He first tried to immigrate illegally through Germany, then to Holland and finally through

Belgium, where he planned to board a ship to Israel. He was discovered by the British and placed in an internment camp alongside German prisoners of war. Upon being released, Goldstein traveled to Italy to make another attempt at ‘Aliyah Bet.’ The British again foiled his plans as his vessel was approaching the shores of Tel Aviv. After swimming towards the shoreline for 45 minutes, he was seized by the British and sent to Cyprus for internment. From Cyprus, he was detained at the Atlit detainee camp, just south of Haifa, and was eventually released to fight in the War of Independence. Ultimately, as a free man, he

established a life for himself, became a high school teacher, and has three children, seven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.

Meeting, interacting and speaking with these seniors enabled me to appreciate their roots. The

stories of their youth, their culture, ancestry, and language gave me a perspective on the challenges that come with living in a particular place, and at a particular time in history. I began to see myself as an extension of these people’s legacy:

‫ ולאן אתה הולך‬,‫דע מאין באת‬ “Know from where you come from and to where you are going.” Ethics of the Fathers, 3:1. Willenberg’s and Goldstein’s narrative of reaching a new world where they would become successful, raise a family and impact the lives of those around them inspired me. Like them, my Savta raised a family, built a successful career in teaching and administration in Jewish Day schools and is now a docent at the Museum of Jewish Heritage – she has truly come full circle.

After returning from Israel, I continued my monthly visits with a senior, Ms. Patricia Barrack

Goz, who lives on the Upper West Side, through the organization Dorot. Ms. Barrack’s father was born in Moldova and came to America as an immigrant before WWII. She grew up in Borough Park, Brooklyn as a first generation American. Ms. Barrack had a different place in American society from the Jewish immigrants of her generation. She is no longer religiously observant and her son married a non-Jewish woman from Sweden who converted to Judaism. Her grandchildren are being raised as Jews in Sweden, in a largely non-Jewish environment. One of her grandsons, Daniel, is my age. Ms. Barrack informed me that he had a Bar Mitzvah just like I did. And yet, Daniel lives on one side of the world and I on the other. Without our own intergenerational bonds with our grandparents, and without my recent relationship with his grandmother, we would have never known how close we really are. My ancestors are European, chased from their national homes by anti-Semitism and hatred, as were Daniel’s. Who would have imagined that two children, so different on the outside, share a deeper ancestral bond?

Daniel will be visiting the United States this summer and Ms. Barrack has already invited me to

meet him. I hope that getting to know him well will help me better understand his grandmother. Ms. Barrack is a complex and kind-hearted woman. She has interests in everything from Greek mythology to astronomy and I would love to “read” more of her storybook, to know how to decipher her history, as I have done with my Savta and with the incredible seniors that I met in Israel. Hopefully, I will continue on my journey to understand my heritage and its impact on me, internalizing the legacy of the elder generation and expanding my intergenerational horizons by meeting new people, such as Daniel, in the future.

Yaffa K.

‫זכר ימות עולם‬ Remember the Days of Yore

:‫זכר ימות עולם בינו שנות דר–ודר שאל אביך ויגדך זקניך ויאמרו לך‬ Remember the days of yore; look into the years of [past] generations. Ask your father and he will tell you; [ask] your elders and they will speak to you.

Deuteronomy 32:7

I applied for the Better Together program because of the love that I have for the elderly. I have

always had a special connection with them. I appreciate all that I can learn from the elderly and, also, it brings me joy knowing that I can add happiness to their lives. Senior citizens have so much to contribute to the world and, yet, are frequently lonely, underappreciated or even forgotten.

For me, my love for the elderly started with the connection I made with Bob, a senior at my

synagogue. We became close after his dog died and he was having a hard time coping with the loss. Bob and I bonded very quickly. His wife had passed away many years before, his children and grandchildren didn’t live nearby, and so I became his “adopted” granddaughter. On Shabbat Bob always sat in the same seat and I would sit with him. He was always happy to see me and I truly enjoyed speaking to him. I was devastated when Bob passed away. I sobbed and sobbed at his funeral, knowing we would no longer be sitting together in synagogue. Bob had once told me that when you arrive in heaven you go to a bridge and all of the animals that you raised throughout your entire life will greet you there. I imagined that Bob was with all of his dogs and cats now and would never again feel alone, and I was comforted by this thought.

Being so close with Bob had triggered my love for the elderly. Being a part of the Better Together

program has given me many amazing opportunities to appreciate the elderly. The learning sessions, our visits to our Dorot seniors and our trip to Israel have all enhanced and reinforced my prior experience with senior citizens. Many of the elderly we encountered as part of the program left a lasting impact on me.

Rabbi Moskowitz is a Holocaust survivor and taught at Ramaz for many years before he retired

at the end of last year. I was really looking forward to hearing Rabbi Moskowitz speak because I am very interested in learning about the Holocaust. I want to learn everything that I possibly can from Holocaust survivors because I am part of the last generation that will personally meet living survivors, and I want to transmit their stories. The heroic survivors will pass away, but their stories will remain.

Rabbi Moskowitz witnessed the murder of his father, the rabbi of a synagogue who was killed in

front of his congregation. During his talk, Rabbi Moskowitz got up from his seat and went into the middle of the room and started dancing. He said that you wouldn’t expect someone his age to be able to do that, but that he could. Watching his youthful and boundless energy, I was beyond amazed. I was not just impressed that Rabbi Moskowitz’s age didn’t prevent him from dancing but that he was able to enjoy life despite the tragedies that marked his childhood. From this encounter with the Rabbi, I realized that I have to live my life one day at a time and appreciate all that I have with joy and gratitude.

The first elderly person who spoke to us in Israel was Kadesh Goldberg. Mr. Goldberg talked to us

about his life and his dream to move to Israel. There were a few things that have stuck with me from Mr. Goldberg’s talk. He was the son of a rabbi and raised in a Religious-Zionist home where he absorbed Zionism at a young age. I felt a connection with Mr. Goldberg because I also am the child of a rabbi growing up in a Zionist home. Mr. Goldberg told us that he had spent his summers as a camper at Young Judea, a Zionist camp that is very committed to learning about Israel and visiting Israel. He explained that he was involved in writing the plays that were put on at the camp because he loves writing. When I heard that he loved writing, I knew that we had something else in common. When Mr. Goldberg told us that he had spent his summers at Young Judea, he noticed that a big smile had formed on my face and I told him that my cousins spend their summers at Young Judea. When I told him that, a smile formed on his face, and he commented that, “it’s a small world.” The Dorot senior whom I visited with in New York City is Ms. Anne Bloom. She is so sweet and intelligent. She doesn’t just like to talk about herself, she likes to hear us talk about ourselves as well. Like Rabbi Moskowitz, she isn’t letting her age stop her from living an active life. She does volunteer work for organizations that support Israel, and she likes to play with her grandchildren. Something that I really enjoy about Ms. Bloom is that she attended the same school that my father attended and where my two brothers attend, The Jewish Theological Seminary, and that gives us another connection besides our shared love for Israel, and I thought that was so cool.

Even though I chose to participate in the Better Together program because of my interest in

seniors, I have come to appreciate that these interactions with the elderly are only one facet of Gemilut Chasadim and there are others in our society who have much to contribute but who face their own challenges. I have really appreciated being made aware that we are all created B’Tzelem Elokim and, therefore, all have much we can share as being created in God’s image.

In Israel, we visited Shalva, The Association for Mentally and Physically Challenged Children in

Israel. I knew that visit was going to be a challenge for me because I hadn’t had very much experience with kids who have different abilities than I do. When we first arrived, it was explained to us how the Samuels started Shalva. Their son Yossi was born a healthy child in Israel in 1997. But at 11 months, due to complications from a faulty DPT vaccination, he lost his ability to hear and see, as well as some of his motor skills. They vowed that once their son learned how to communicate, they would start a place that would provide the care every challenged child deserves, and help other children like Yossi become comfortable and feel safe in their own skin. I was amazed that one couple whose lives had been turned upside down still wanted to help others; their sacrifice and compassion really inspired me to want to help others.

We had the opportunity to make cupcakes with some of the children of Shalva. This was the

one thing that I had been dreading for the entire day. I was so nervous about talking to these kids because I didn’t know how to communicate with them. I sat down at a table with two of my friends and I noticed how easy it was for them to talk to these kids. I was envious of them because they were making a connection and putting smiles on the children’s faces. I left the cupcake-making a bit disappointed because I didn’t find it as easy to make contact with the Shalva children. What I learned from this

experience is that I really want to relate to all of God’s children, B’Tzelem Elokim but that sometimes it is difficult for me and I want to continue to work on feeling more comfortable in these/similar situations.

The last stop at Shalva was the band room where we encountered the Shalva band that

performs at an annual concert for all of the Shalva families. We were lucky enough to be able to hear them practice. This was one of the highlights of the entire week for me because even though those kids have different abilities than I do, it didn’t show. They sang and played instruments like any kid I know, maybe even better. The boy who was playing the drums was absolutely amazing. When he had a solo he had such a big smile on his face because he was doing what he loves. The girl who was singing had such an amazing voice, she almost brought me to tears. Despite their different abilities, these are normal kids who just need more help, and that’s ok because sometimes the rest of us need help too.

Another day we were introduced to five wounded IDF chayalim on our visit to Tel Hashomer

Hospital, and each had a different story. One chayal had gotten shot in his leg and had screws going in and out of the leg to aid in healing one of his bones. When the bone heals, he will need to undergo a bone graft through further surgery to ultimately achieve a complete recovery. I was shocked and amazed because he told us that once he gets better he wants to return to his unit and continue to serve.

After our visit with the chayalim, we

went rock climbing at Tikvot with some of the chayalim we met at the hospital and a few others. One chayal showed me a video that Hamas televised of him being blown up and pronouncing him dead, but since he was telling me the story he clearly wasn’t dead. If there was one thing that I took from the hospital visit and rock climbing with the chayalim it was that I can’t take anything for granted. These chayalim put their lives on the line protecting Israel, their country, and even when they get knocked down, they still want to get right back up.

Kadesh Goldberg, the first senior we met in Israel, told us that at the yeshiva he attended when

growing up in New York the idea of togetherness was really strong. That made me think about the whole idea of this program. Togetherness is a key aspect to bridging the gap between ourselves and those different from us. Spending time with these various populations has deeply impressed on me the idea that we have much to gain from one another. I look forward to continuing to learn from the seniors we visit and hear from over the remainder of the Better Together program. I hope to be able to make a difference in their lives as well.

Since my interaction with Bob, the elderly man from my synagogue, I have wanted to pursue

a career as a social worker working with the elderly. The Better Together program has reinforced this desire and has already taught me much that will make me a better social worker.

Michael L.

Captured in My Mind’s Eye

As my red light started to blink on that first morning, I suddenly heard, “That’s the smallest tefilin

I’ve ever seen!” exclaimed Kadesh Goldberg. Kadesh had been the first elderly representative whom we met with in Israel, to start off the Better Together program. I later realized that he was referring to my GoPro video camera, Tefilan, that sat on my head.

As I received information about the program, Better Together, I started to wonder why this

program would take place in Israel. After the journey, I came to the conclusion that it was in order to interface with the elderly people there. Kibutz galiyot- ingathering of the exiles- came to mind. Most seniors in Israel were not born there and have only made aliyah in the last 65 years. What they have in common is a Zionist thread that make the seniors of Israel unique.

Although I took many pictures

and used my GoPro to capture moments on video, the most vivid images are those that I keep in my mind’s eye and in my heart. Those are the lasting images I share with no one, but that will constantly remind me to be a better person: one who is more tolerant and patient, one who sees all people as equal despite age, ability, or economic status, and one who works better together.

Even though I have visited Israel many times, this trip was very different for me for many reasons.

We visited places I had never heard of, and met people whom I usually do not encounter on my trips to Israel, which made it especially special. Everywhere we went, I confronted inspiring people who have taught me important life lessons. Rambam believed that “The greatest level (of charity), above which there is no greater, is to support a fellow Jew by … strengthening his hand until he need no longer be dependent upon others.” At Yad LaKashish, I was very impressed by the philosophy of the organization that is dedicated to giving the elderly dignity and independence by abiding by what Maimonides taught. By making the elderly workers useful and putting them in a creative environment, they allow them to become independent and encourage them to use their talents and strengths in a productive manner. I was very glad to meet all of the elderly participants and see firsthand the beautiful handicrafts they make.

Our group’s experience at Kibbutz Kishorit made a lasting impression on me. At Kibbutz Kishorit,

everyone is considered “able” despite what may be considered as disadvantaged. Everyone contributes to society in a meaningful way. The pride I saw on the residents’ faces when they discussed their talents and abilities was very heartwarming, and made me believe that everyone can contribute to society in his or her own special way. I learned that giving people the freedom to choose their own destiny really empowers them and helps build confidence and self-esteem.

Har Herzl was a very moving part of our visit to Israel. It was especially touching given that

Operation Tzuk Eitan had recently ended and we witnessed first-hand the grave of one of our own brave American-Israeli chayalim, chayal boded Max Steinberg z”l. Many of my fellow students were moved to tears when they heard his story and spoke to one of Max’s friends who had come to visit his grave. This encounter brought the war to life and made it much more personal than when we merely heard about it from TV back at home. It made me want to join the Israeli army even more in order to defend the medinah and freedoms all over the world.

When visiting recovering chayalim from Tzuk Eitan, I learned a very important lesson about hope

and courage from them. Even the chayalim who lost limbs and had huge obstacles to overcome had positive attitudes and never gave up hope. They did not lament even though they had every reason to be depressed. Their positive attitude and sheer determination not only to recover, but to return to their units even though they weren’t required to do so, made me feel proud, and was humbling. Whenever I will doubt myself or my abilities in the future, I will reflect back on those brave chayalim and know that anything is possible if you will it.

I think it was very appropriate that our

trip took place over Thanksgiving. I usually enjoy this holiday because I am able to spend quality time with my family, watch the parade, and have a good meal. This year was very different. While I couldn’t watch the colorful floats or enjoy a big turkey dinner, it was actually the first time I was able to feel the true meaning of the holiday. For the first time I realized that I have a lot to be thankful for, especially when comparing my life to so many of the people whom I met over the course of the trip. I often take for granted the freedoms and liberties I have, and all of the good fortunes that I am accustomed to on a daily basis. When given the chance to observe those less fortunate, I realized that I should not take my abilities for granted and that I have a duty to help those in need.

I am grateful that this trip opened my eyes to the many gifts that I have received throughout my

life, and I know that I will continue to volunteer either with the elderly or other groups in order to give back to society. I view my visits with my elderly person Ms. White, in New York as a gift, since my own grandparents live far away and I don’t have many opportunities to interact with this under-served population. I see the joy in Ms. White’s eyes whenever I visit when we play games, or just talk. This trip was a wake- up call for me and I am so happy that I get to relive the experience every week with my visits. I am very thankful to have been chosen and appreciate the opportunity that legacy has given.

Lauren R.

A Letter to My Grandfather

Dear Zayda,

It has been fourteen years since I have seen you: since I laid my small head on your lap. My

memories of you are from the photos we share, the few images I really have. However, I feel that I know you from the stories Mom has told me. All the memories that she has are now my memories too. The history of your life is now our family’s history. The happy times and the challenges you faced are now a part of us. Mommy has shared your Holocaust video, the one you made for the Shoah Foundation with us, which has your story in your own words.

Often, I wonder how it would have felt to hear the stories from you while I would hold your hand.

When I tell people that you and Bubby came from Auschwitz, their faces cringe. They do not know that Oswiecim as the Germans called it was once a vibrant Jewish community. I see it as a place where Jews were allowed to live a good Jewish life, full of Jewish feeling and a center for Torah learning. I still do not understand how it all changed, how everything was taken away. You lost so much and yet were able to survive, rebuild and thrive.

Zayda, I wish I could tell you about myself and our family- the family that is you. I am almost

sixteen years old now, and I am a sophomore in high school. This year I was fortunate to be able to go on a special trip to Israel with a few of my classmates. I have been to Israel many times before and we always stop to say tehillim by Bubby’s grave and yours at Har Hamenuchot.

Zayda, I have to be honest: I was very nervous to go on this trip. In the weeks leading up to it,

there were many horrible terrorist attacks in Israel. When terrorists came into a shul in Har Nof, and stabbed four rabbis while they were davening shacharit, I didn’t know if I could go to Israel. I was scared. I understood that our itinerary was constantly being changed for security reasons, but the need for these changes made me uneasy and frightened me even more. These were innocent people who were murdered and I was frightened to be in the midst of it. However, I decided to go because I realized, thinking of you, I should not be afraid.

We were part of an organized program, Better Together, teens like ourselves who were meeting

special people, many of whom were seniors. Some were Holocaust survivors like you, with their own stories. As I heard their words, I could imagine that I was hearing your story, and I was able to see you as well. While I know we were told how great a mitzvah it is to share our time with these seniors, many of whom are all alone, it was they who were filling a void in my life.

During the trip, I met with Masha, a resident of Kibbutz Kishorit, a place in Western Galilee

that is home to 160 adults with special needs. Our meeting made me think about my own cousin with special needs - Michael, your grandson. Spending time with Michael has taught me the meaning of unconditional love. I want to be there for him because he needs attention and he is my cousin.

Our family puts an emphasis on the values of responsibility and loyalty, but our commitment to

people like Michael and Masha rewards us with many unexpected benefits. It gives us a sense of our own value, as well as satisfaction, and a chance to view the world through someone else’s eyes. While we often try to fit “special people” into our world, it is more important to be part of their world. I am

grateful that Masha and the other residents of Kibbutz Kishorit allowed us to join their community for a day. We also visited Shalva, which is an educational center for mentally and physically challenged children. I thought that people who are different were disabled, but as people like Michael and Masha have shown us, they are just abled differently.

We traveled all over Israel meeting

different people, like Ari Avrahami, who over a period of nine years, designed the Tower of David, under the watchful eye of Jerusalem’s Mayor Teddy Kollek. He told us about all of the hard work it took to redesign the structure. Our group went to see this awesome Sound and Light Show and I imagined you watching the show with Mom who would often recount how she took you there.

In Tel Aviv, we met a Holocaust survivor named Shmuel Willenberg, the last living survivor of

Treblinka. I remember hearing that you were the last surviving Jewish resident in Oswiecim, as a Polish officer hid you so that you could operate your father’s soda factory. I know that after a year you decided to join your father in the Bedzin Ghetto since you were unsure of your safety in Oswiecim. When Bedzin was liquidated, you were sent to Buchenwald concentration camp. Shmuel reminded me of you. He was strong, a fighter and had the same name as you, Shmuel. He wanted to share his story the way you often did.

Afterwards, we went to Tel Hashomer Hospital to visit chayalim in the rehabilitation program at

the hospital. They are heroes. They are determined to get better so that they can continue to protect our nation. Renee, your niece, is a physical therapist who works in the program. Renee and her brother, Chaim made aliyah over twenty-five years ago. I didn’t get a chance to see her because she was working with a patient. However, the next day she met one of the chayalim who joined us when we went rock climbing and he told her how much fun he had spending the afternoon with us.

Once I was in Israel, my nervousness faded. We stayed at the homes of students who attend

the Tehilla-Evelina School in Jerusalem. It was fun to be part of their group and not a regular “tourist.” We ate at many of my favorite restaurants and had opportunities to appreciate the life in a Jewish homeland. What we experienced on the Better Together program is not anything that could be taught in the classroom. Our journey continues in New York, as we establish relationships with seniors in our area. In March, the students from Tehilla-Evelina will be coming to visit us. We will join them on their program here for a few days and share more experiences together. For now, I go with three of my friends to visit Leon Rinehardt, an elderly man who lives on the East Side of Manhattan. He is unable to leave his apartment and lives with a caretaker. I enjoy the visits but unfortunately he doesn’t usually remember us when we return. So each time, we repeat a lot of the same stories.

This program has really made me think about you more and all I could have learned from you.

Whenever we do something, Mom always refers to you and wonders what you or Bubby would think or do. The experiences on this program helped me understand how important family and elders are, whether they are related or not. Unfortunately, we do not always appreciate what we have when we have it.

I am very happy to have had the opportunity to be part of the Better Together program. It has

opened my eyes to the importance of what we can learn from our elders, and how much insight we can gain from their courage and wisdom. I hope I can carry your wisdom and strength with me for the rest of my life and make you proud. Love, Your granddaughter, Lauren

Jonah S.

‫למען ציון לא אחשה‬

For the sake of Zion, I will not be silent

Isaiah 62:1

Why did we go to Israel? Couldn’t we have listened to elderly people tell us their life stories in

New York? There are many Holocaust survivors in America that could have told us their stories. These were the questions I asked myself as our trip began. Looking back, I realize that there is an underlying message. At the core of the stories of survival and endurance that we heard in Israel lies the concept of thriving in the Holy Land.

After davening on our first day in Israel, the Better Together students were gathered in the

lunchroom of Tehila-Evelina to listen to the guest speaker, Kadesh Goldberg, the father of Chana, a teacher at the school, and a dynamic leader of our group throughout the mission. Kadesh told us his story of self-propelled Zionism. When he was a little boy, growing up in Virginia and later in New Orleans, his parents would sing songs about returning to the land of Israel, and farming it. At fourteen, his parents sent him to New York to learn Talmud at the Rabbi Jacob Joseph School (RJJ), and then to Manhattan Talmudic Academy (MTA). While at these schools, he made friends who belonged to B’nei Akiva, and eventually, he joined B’nei Akiva and was instantly hooked on Zionism.

After high school, he spent half a year on

Kibbutz Yavneh. He told us that the concept behind the Kibbutz just made sense to him: “A life of cooperation and no complications… Nobody gets a higher salary than anybody else-- The person who runs the factory gets the same salary as the person who at the end

of the day comes in to sweep the floors… because all work is important.” He returned to America and was drafted into the army for a few years. Following his military service, he attended Yeshiva University, and after he graduated from YU, he continued his studies at Tulane University. Realizing those songs of his youth, he made Aliyah in 1961.

When Kadesh first arrived at the Kibbutz, he wanted to work the land, so for his first job there,

he took up farming. Unfortunately for him, the Kibbutz needed an English teacher more than it needed a farmer and since Kadesh had four degrees in English arts and literature, it seemed that he was highly qualified and could be the perfect teacher. Unfortunately for the Kibbutz, Kadesh did not want to teach! Instead, Kadish told them that if they really wanted him to teach, he would teach Gemara. He told us that he wanted to teach Gemara because when he grew up, he never understood Gemara. He knew why kids struggle learning it, and he believed that if given the opportunity, he could really help them overcome their learning issues and further their appreciation of the subject matter. Finally, the Kibbutz agreed to have Kadesh teach Gemara, as long as he also taught English, and the dilemma was resolved.

At the end of his story, Kadesh described the true obligation of a Kibbutznik: When the

community needs something, it is their (the members’) job to fill that need, regardless of whether or not it satisfies them. Kadesh explained that this is what helped him come to terms with his own situation. He also emphasized that it was passionate Zionism that kept him going strong.

When we went to Tel-Aviv to meet Shmuel Willenberg, I was a little uncomfortable knowing that

we were going to listen to a Holocaust survivor speak to us for an hour entirely in Hebrew. My Hebrew isn’t too bad, but I’m no Israeli, to say the least. We got to his apartment that warm, sunny morning, to be welcomed and greeted by an even warmer and sunny man. He and his wife had all 38 of us seated in their living room, where we excitedly waited for Shmuel to start. He began his story, which my friend had to translate for me, in Czestochowa, Poland. His father, Perec Willenberg, painted murals in various synagogues, and mainly worked in Opatow which is part of Warsaw. His mother, Maniefa, was born Russian Orthodox, but converted to Judaism once they were married. Shmuel had two sisters, Tamara and Ita. Discussing his childhood, Shmuel told us that when he was a young boy in grade-school, he was a wild student and often stood out from the other nice Jewish boys. He believes this is what saved his life, time and time again during the war: that energetic, creative spirit he always had which also drove him to join the Polish army in 1939. Immediately after joining, the Soviet army invaded Poland, and Shmuel was wounded and captured. Three months later, he escaped from the hospital and reunited with his family, and together they went to Opatow. At this time, the Nazis were forcing Jews into ghettos all across Poland and Opatow was one of those ghettos. This trapped Shmuel and his family in the Opatow Ghetto.

The ghetto became overcrowded and a typhus epidemic quickly spread. Shmuel explained that

he had traded his father’s paintings for everyday necessities. He worked alongside a few hundred other workers at a steel mill. Eventually, the Willenberg family obtained Aryan Papers, allowing them to return to their hometown. Later though, Tamara and Ita were taken to the Czestochowa Ghetto, and Shmuel

was put on a train with 6,500 other Opatow inmates and transported to the Treblinka death camp.

When he got to Treblinka, a man on the unloading ramp told him to pretend he was a bricklayer.

He was wearing his father’s “work overalls” and the Nazis believed him. He was the only one from his transport to survive that day. Shmuel was first stationed at the “Kommando Rot,” where he sorted through the belongings of executed prisoners. Eventually, he took part in an uprising at Treblinka with around 300 other prisoners, and was one of the few to make it out alive.

He reached Warsaw and met up with his father who had been hiding as an Aryan. Shmuel

became involved with the underground resistance by acquiring weapons for the “Polish People’s Army.” He fought in the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. In the aftermath, he was put on a prisoner train, from which he escaped to Pruszków where he lived until the Soviet Liberation in 1945.

After the War, he joined the Polish Army from 1945 until 1947. In 1947, he worked with a Jewish

organization to locate Jewish children who had been hidden by Righteous Gentiles. In 1950, he made Aliyah with his mother and his wife. Ironically, when he got to Israel, he worked in construction as an engineer—the same job that saved his life in Treblinka! After his retirement, he graduated from art school, at the age of seventy, as a sculptor. His sculptures of his experiences from Treblinka have been exhibited internationally.

It is clear that Shmuel Willenberg is a hero. He survived one of the most notorious death camps,

took part in two of the most infamous uprisings of the war, went back to those ruined cities and searched for hidden Jewish children, and three years later, he moved to Israel to start life anew.

For me, the most difficult day of the Israel trip, was the day we went to Tel HaShomer

Rehabilitation Center. Tel HaShomer is a rehabilitation hospital that services IDF chayalim who have been wounded in battle. Before we visited, we had prepared special packages for the chayalim, including candies, a blanket, and some booklets and magazines. When we got there, we split off into groups of three or four and each group met one of the convalescing men or women.

My group had the honor of meeting with Boaz Hochstein, a commander in the IDF. His thumb and

part of his right forearm were blown off by shrapnel from an IED. Having never been in any situation like this before, I was really uncomfortable and nervous. It was so incredibly painful to hear his story and actually see his injuries. He was born to American parents and he’s always loved playing sports and hanging out with his friends. After losing the use of his right hand, I couldn’t even imagine how riddled with challenges his life will be now. I struggled to look him in the eyes, because I felt like anything I’ve ever complained or worried about made me unworthy to talk to him. I was humbled by how warm and welcoming he was, although I still couldn’t help but feel privileged to have full use of both my hands.

Later, we gathered in a meeting hall by the patients’ rooms, where three chayalim formally spoke

to all of us. This was one of the most intense moments of our trip, but the young men in the front of the room were as accessible and relaxed as anyone else their age might be. They talked to us about their service and how they were injured. It was really difficult to be in their presence and not feel acutely aware of how much I had and how much they lost. Of the many inspiring things they told us, one thing stuck with me more prominently than anything else—that once they were fully rehabilitated, they would try as hard as they could to return to the army. They actually felt guilty about not fighting because of

their injuries! And it wasn’t just these men who made this valiant remark— every soldier we saw that afternoon said the same thing. They wanted more than anything to get back on the battlefield and fight with their comrades again. These chayalim’ stories and their perseverance to survive, and even return to the army, made a huge impact on me that I do not believe I could have experienced anywhere else. It helped me understand the frightening realities of war, find true gratitude towards the everyday heroes protecting Am Yisrael, and gain an overall appreciation for the seemingly natural abilities and privileges we all have, yet could so easily lose.

That afternoon, once our visits at the rehabilitation center ended, we went to Tikvot, an indoor

rock-climbing center where chayalim from Tel HaShomer train and work out. They go there towards the end of their recovery and try to adjust to living life with the physical disabilities they now have. We had a lot of fun trying out the rock-climbing, but we quickly learned how difficult it was. Then, we watched one of the chayalim make the hardest climb in the indoor space. He scaled the wall so effortlessly that it even looked easy. After he finished, he spoke to us about losing his leg, and it was at this point that everyone gasped as no one had realized that he had a disability! He was able to do what we were not able to do with our limbs intact.

Each story that I’ve described is incredibly inspiring in its own right. Each experience, and every

amazing person behind them, is special and unique, but when you look at them Together, it weaves a telling truth of human nature: that commitment to a cause that is larger than themselves can enable them to succeed despite overwhelming obstacles. Kadesh Goldberg, in 1950, set aside his college degrees and his personal preferences so that he could join a kibbutz and live the rest of his life in Israel. Shmuel Willenberg 93, ended his story of survival the only way a story such as his should end: in Eretz Yisrael. The chayalim at Tel HaShomer risked their lives for the State of Israel and lost natural abilities that we all take for granted. For all of the people we met, Zionism was their cause, and their motivation.

So, why go to Israel to visit the elderly and disabled? Because, as I have learned, older persons

can share stories of their lives that enrich us, but the uniqueness of the elderly in Israel is that they link their stories to their passion for Israel. They each shared not just their wisdom, but their Zionism as well. The hardships they have endured and their resilience in overcoming them teaches us that the objective of highest importance is to stand and strive for the Land of Israel. The obvious purpose of our trip to Israel may have been to hear the life stories of the elderly in Israel, but I think that the underlying yet primary aim of the trip was to recognize and connect the stories we heard to their grounding in Zionism.

BETTER TOGETHER

‫דור לדור‬