If you have ever tried to call someone at 9 PM, after a full day of work, and persuade them to donate $500 or $1000 to charity, you know how difficult this is. Worse, when you get rejected, you begin to lose your drive. After three or four calls without raising money, your morale starts to fade.

I was in the office that night making calls. The volunteers around me were losing their enthusiasm. This was the tenth night in the last eleven upon which we left our families and worked in the Bikur Holim office, attempting to raise money. I was desperately trying to “psyche people up”. After someone would succeed at a call, we would cheer and pat him on the back — encouraging him to make another call.

I remember what motivated me: I just pictured in my mind the tiny apartment of a Bikur Holim client whom I had recently visited. I pictured the time the client opened an empty refrigerator and was too ashamed to admit that he had nothing to offer me except a warm can of Coke. This is what kept me going. I would picture the horrendous circumstances our poor lived under and I would push myself to ask for financial support. After all, it’s relatively easier to sell a product that you really believe in and understand.

Not everyone had that kind of motivation.

I’ll never forget what happened next. Joseph Beyda, the man to whom I dedicated this book, walks in and greets everyone with a warm smile and words of encouragement. He talks with us and makes us feel proud to be on his team. And then he asks for a list, sits at a table and proceeds to make calls. “Joe,” I told him, “It’s 10:15 PM, it is kind of late to call people. We are really just wrapping up and calling it ‘quits’ for tonight. We’ll be here again tomorrow night and every night until the auction.”

Joe just smiled and said, “Jackie, watch this!”

He then proceeded to call one prominent community leader after another. He asked us for the most challenging calls to make. “Who refused you guys tonight?” He asked. “I’ll call him. Who didn’t give you what you got last year? Who put you off and told you to call back next week?” Then he would call and wake them up. “Don’t make believe you’re sleeping. Wake up. I need $5,000. We are selling these raffles… It is Bikur Holim; do I have to say anything more? These kids are in the office working for the community, and you’re in your cozy bed. Listen! I’m not hanging up until you give me $1000 more than you did last year….” Joe went on and on until after 11 PM.

Most of us just watched in awe. Some of us cheered after each call. Joe seemed to just “conquer” each call, in away we all dreamed we would be able to do.

When he was through (not because he was tired, but because he thought it really wasn’t nice to call people too late), we added up what he had just accomplished: $60,000. He had just raised $60,000 for Sephardic Bikur Holim in that one hour.

As I look back on that night I have many thoughts. Perhaps most of all I realize that he wasn’t there that night just to raise money for Bikur Holim. He was there primarily for us, the volunteers. He knew we were having a very difficult time raising money. He knew that we were almost burnt out.

He took notice and took decisive action.

He wanted to inspire us. But how? Was it with a depressing story about a sick or poor client? No. Not this time. He knew that the best way to encourage us was with action. So he rolled up his sleeves, sat at the phone and asked for names to call– not just any names, but the most intimidating, the most difficult. As a true leader, he exemplified what we had to do. Fearlessly, he conquered each potential donor with enthusiasm, humor, passion and love. It seemed as if he was in love with us, with SBH, with the people he called, and with the entire community.

When he finally finished his magnificent work that night I remember that I just came over to him and gave him a big hug. I was overjoyed, inspired, encouraged. He not only helped the poor, he not only gave people the merit and opportunity to give, he helped each one of us in the room that night.

As I make cold calls for many charities, to this day I think back on that cold night in February, and how Joseph fearlessly and passionately raised $60,000 in about an hour. Joseph Beyda passed away on April 19, 1997, at the young age of 54. I know that if he were here with me right now, there would be tears in his eyes and he would admit that he did it for us. He would admit that he knew we needed him to show us “how it’s done”. He would tell me how important it is to notice people and to take action to help people when you notice that they are in trouble. He would encourage me to follow in his footsteps and do the same.

Thanks Joe. Our community thanks you. The poor and sick thank you and we, the volunteers, thank you forever.

Printed with permission from “The Chesed Boomerang” by Jack Doueck www.judaicapress.com

Eight weeks ago I was leaving work and a car came speeding through a red light and hit me. It was what they call a hit and run. I was knocked to the ground. They rushed me to Bellevue only to learn that I was in a coma. Medicaid does not provide a hospital attendant to sit by me. My head injuries were so painful that in the middle of the night I would thrash around from side to side unable to control myself. The nurses decided to tie me up at night with my bedsheets. My arms and legs were tied to the bedposts. With no attendant to help me, I was left alone in the hospital bed lying in my own waste, tied down to the bed, left to die in a coma all the doctors thought I would never awake from.

All my hopes, my dreams, my life, were disappearing. I was a vegetable. A family, children of my own, would never be a reality for me. I had no insurance. My mother, who I was taking care of, was now alone. She was without her only child and her only means of support. It seemed, in one short moment, in one fateful accident, life turned into the darkest most horrifying nightmare.

Somehow Sephardic Bikur Holim found out about me.

They called my mother. Within twelve hours there were Sephardic Bikur Holim volunteers at my bedside. They untied the bedsheets so I could sleep like a human being.

They cleaned me so I could live or die with dignity.

They held my hand.

They whispered in my ear.

“We love you.”

“We’re with you.”

“There’s so much more to live for.”

They prayed for me.

There I was, four weeks in a coma, abandoned by doctors and professionals, but not by Sephardic Bikur Holim. Within two weeks I snapped out of the coma. Sephardic Bikur Holim arranged for government aid to pay my medical bills. They took me to a rehab center. They provided us with food vouchers and paid our rent. They spent time with my mother and helped her cope with the situation. After another two weeks, when I first was able to recognize my mother, I told her:

“Hi mom.

I’m back.

I’m here again and I love you.

Don’t worry, It’ll be O.K.”.

I really am going to be O.K.

I am thankful to God for giving me back my life and to Sephardic Bikur Holim for giving my life meaning.

Where would I have been if Sephardic Bikur Holim would not have been there to help me?

Today, I have hope. I want to fall in love again and have children. I want to tell my children about my experience and teach them to be caring, loving, sensitive, giving people. I pray my dreams will come true and I’m thankful I now have dreams.

Printed with permission from “The Chesed Boomerang” by Jack Doueck www.judaicapress.com

We who lived in the concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread.

They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken away from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.

Printed with permission from “The Chesed Boomerang” by Jack Doueck www.judaicapress.com

Steve closed his successful contracting business and, for two years, searched for a bone marrow donor to save his son. Finally, he found a donor. The one-in-twenty-thousand odds of finding a match were overcome.

Just on the eve of the transfusion, for no apparent reason, the donor backed out. Meir died three months later at the age of seventeen.

How did Steve Shor respond to the death of his son? Was it with bitterness? With hatred and anger? No. Steve decided to “put himself out” and dedicate the rest of his life to helping children who were stricken with Leukemia. He created the National Children’s Leukemia Foundation. He won the support of famous actors and actresses, politicians, professional athletes, and even Presidents Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton.

He has been written up in the papers as a man who has helped thousands of children.

He told me: “When I see other children with the deadly disease –– I see my son Meir. When I visit with the families, be they black, Hispanic or whatever, I feel like they’re a part of my family. I need to help them. I know their pain — first hand! I feel that their child is my Meir and it is happening all over again.”

Steve discovered a way to prevent some of the more than forty-five thousand deaths of children with Leukemia each year, as well as the deaths of thousands of breast cancer patients. He found out that if the hospital was able to save the umbilical cord of newborn babies, and remove the blood stem cells and use these for Leukemia victims, almost countless lives can be saved each year. He is now raising the money to purchase freezers and computer systems for hospitals, so they can save the cords and help save lives.

Steve Shor has taught me a lesson about the power of chesed to enrich lives ––– and transform suffering into productive and meaningful work.

Printed with permission from “The Chesed Boomerang” by Jack Doueck www.judaicapress.com

His tenth child, Moshe, was born with Down Syndrome. Rabbi Plato had a potential tragedy on his hands: He had a baby that was mentally retarded. His response was love. His response was action.

Rabbi Plato decided to open the Kadima School for Special Children. His mission was to establish a state-of-the-art program that would help children with Down Syndrome and show their parents (and the world around them) that “not only will they be no burden, but rather they will be their pride and joy!”

“Kadima” means step forward, move on! The school “mainstreams” the Down children with normal children and teaches both to focus on positive abilities and attitude rather than on disabilities and differences.

Fully one half of the children born with Down Syndrome are abandoned by their parents in the hospital. The vast majority of these children deteriorate rapidly and die. Rabbi Plato decided that “it is crucial to educate society to the true potential of these loving children. They can live normal lives and develop into self-sufficient adults. They are loving and lovable; They have feelings and emotions just like any other child.”

Many Down Syndrome children today hold college degrees. Rabbi Plato says that their success is a direct result of parental love, special care, and educational support. A Down Syndrome child need not be a victim of the family and society. He can be what God intended : “A special child!”

Today, Rabbi Plato helps hundreds of children and families build new, productive lives. He built a school where unconditional love and chesed are the foundation for success. He responded to his sad situation with powerful action, commitment, drive and positive thinking.

“Down Syndrome kids have an extra chromosome. I think in that chromosome is an extra bit of love and peace. If the rest of the world could get that from these kids, it would be a more loving, more tolerant and more peaceful world to live in.”

Rabbi Chaim Plato certainly understood what it means to “put yourself out.” He fought his sadness with chesed and turned it into joy.

Printed with permission from “The Chesed Boomerang” by Jack Doueck www.judaicapress.com

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