My last two articles introduced to you a Jewish woman who is living in a car. She suffers from multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS), a condition that has taken her from being a vibrant community member to a homeless person living in her car. The following is a letter of appreciation to The CJN readers who responded to her plight.
Please note, the Jewish woman living in her car can still use your help.
For the past year and a half, I, a Jewish woman with MCS, have struggled to survive in my car. This experience has shaken the very foundation of my belief in a good and loving God.
This summer, however, a dedicated doctor referred me to another caring doctor. He in turn put me in touch with Ve’ahavta [the Canadian Jewish Humanitarian and Relief Committee], namely Avrum.
After exhausting all potential helping avenues, I reached out to catch this last lifeline. Given my
disappointment and frustration with our health care and social services, I agreed to yield my fate to members of my Jewish community.
After the articles about my situation appeared in The CJN, I cannot tell you how touched I was by the generosity of spirit and the genuine compassion of the newspaper’s readers. Given the criticism I have received and others’ judgmental attitudes, as well as the rejection, abandonment and alienation I experienced subsequent to the onset of MCS, the response of well-wishers, creative problem solving and the offer of financial assistance was a breath of fresh air.
So often people make good economic investments without a second thought. They know, based on personal intuition and/or business acumen, that the returns will be most satisfying. These past few weeks, however, I am pleased to say I have witnessed generosity beyond any rational comprehension. (This is not to discount the support of a few dear friends; a special aunt and efforts by family members).
A number of readers have suggested feasible ways for me to renew my hope to live a normal life once again. Collectively, they have begun to offer me the potential of securing shelter and money to facilitate the costly transition from my car to that of a safe and secure home, and they have referred me to a professional who specializes in the treatment of MCS.
All of these special fellow Jews, and others, have moved me in a way that is really beyond words. But since words are the only medium available to me to express this gratitude, I have put pen to paper. These angels have invested in a human life – my life.
They don’t know it yet, but by doing so they have invested in the Jewish community at large. With my renewed health, I aspire to continue the efforts to ameliorate the lives of others living with MCS.
I plan to establish an MCS support group, and later I hope to lobby for a pilot residential environment geared exclusively to the needs of those tormented by MCS.
Honestly, one would be hard-pressed to identify a better way to invest their money. After all is said and done, material things come and go. Love, compassion, kindness, pride, faith and hope endure for a lifetime and then some. To those readers who gave of their hearts and took the time to respond, you brought much warmth and comfort to my chilled existence.
And to those readers who went above and beyond that to bring about concrete changes to my declining health status and my meagre physical environment, I bless you with this sentiment.
May God, whom I questioned, bestow upon you the daily compounded interest of love and good that truly does exist in the Almighty and through the Jewish people.
We can't allow this! Save children!
A starving Sudanese stalked by a vulture, by Kevin Carter (1994 Pulitzer Prize winner)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
A Toronto Jew is Living in her Car Part 2
Last time I wrote about a Jewish woman who is living in her car and asked CJN readers for help. Of the 50,000 people who read this newspaper, I received nine responses, and therefore I am appealing this week to the other 49,991 readers.
We, who sleep under welcoming duvets and lower the temperature when it gets too warm in our houses, can only wonder about the loneliness and physical challenges this woman faces. Where does she go to the bathroom and how does she wash herself? How often does she needs to move the car because those parking ravens (officers) are writing her a ticket, and her forced destination once again becomes a low lit dead-end street?
It’s midnight and her parka, extra pair of socks, knitted hat and wool cover are not enough to warm her body, and she stares out the fogged up window and wonders how the hell she ever got here. Once she was warm. Once she was a volunteer at Baycrest.
What of her fear? Have you ever seen someone approaching your car in your rear-view mirror? Their image grows as they get closer, ominously. But they are usually walking by in the light of day; not at 3 a.m.
What of her loneliness? Go out to your driveway, sit in your sedan, close your eyes and pretend this is it. There is no coming indoors, because your car is your indoors. There is no family huddled by the mantel lighting the Chanukah menorah and no familial rapture as presents are opened. The bundles of things sharing the back seat are your only family.
She is alone and she is lonely.
The woman I am writing about is a Jew who suffers from multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS), a condition that causes her deep physical and mental anguish when she is exposed to the smell of pesticides, chemicals, perfume, cleansers, hairspray, shampoo, room freshener, carpet deodorizers and deodorant.
She told me last week, “When I am exposed, I feel like a board has been thrust into my forehead. Over the next 12 to 24 hours, I will be in extreme pain, vomit violently and experience dizziness. It can be very dangerous.”
She needs to live in an environment where she can control the fragrances and smells – a bungalow, not an apartment.
Chanukah, the incandescent holiday, is here. I love the thought that the beauty of the Chanukah candle, the flame, is that it never diminishes despite the number of other lights, even a million, it illuminates. It is said the soul of humankind is similar; that no matter how much one shares, gives out, the soul does not get smaller. In this light, I ask you to consider there is a Jewish woman living in a car here in Toronto.
Nine CJN readers responded to her situation, some offering financial assistance for therapies and others referring her to websites. I read the responses to her, and she recorded the information into a hand-held recorder. It was Sunday, Nov. 25, and cold outside. She couldn’t hold a pen. It was too chilly for me to shovel snow.
I am convinced somebody reading this has an empty house for a Jewish woman with MCS, who is living in her car. I am certain somewhere in our community of 200,000 Jews there is a developer, a snowbird or a cottage owner who has the means to help a Jewish woman living in her car. I know this to be true.
It is Chanukah. Remember Jewish law does not allow the light of a streetlamp to be used as a menorah.
“To know and not to do is not to know.” (Chinese Proverb)
We, who sleep under welcoming duvets and lower the temperature when it gets too warm in our houses, can only wonder about the loneliness and physical challenges this woman faces. Where does she go to the bathroom and how does she wash herself? How often does she needs to move the car because those parking ravens (officers) are writing her a ticket, and her forced destination once again becomes a low lit dead-end street?
It’s midnight and her parka, extra pair of socks, knitted hat and wool cover are not enough to warm her body, and she stares out the fogged up window and wonders how the hell she ever got here. Once she was warm. Once she was a volunteer at Baycrest.
What of her fear? Have you ever seen someone approaching your car in your rear-view mirror? Their image grows as they get closer, ominously. But they are usually walking by in the light of day; not at 3 a.m.
What of her loneliness? Go out to your driveway, sit in your sedan, close your eyes and pretend this is it. There is no coming indoors, because your car is your indoors. There is no family huddled by the mantel lighting the Chanukah menorah and no familial rapture as presents are opened. The bundles of things sharing the back seat are your only family.
She is alone and she is lonely.
The woman I am writing about is a Jew who suffers from multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS), a condition that causes her deep physical and mental anguish when she is exposed to the smell of pesticides, chemicals, perfume, cleansers, hairspray, shampoo, room freshener, carpet deodorizers and deodorant.
She told me last week, “When I am exposed, I feel like a board has been thrust into my forehead. Over the next 12 to 24 hours, I will be in extreme pain, vomit violently and experience dizziness. It can be very dangerous.”
She needs to live in an environment where she can control the fragrances and smells – a bungalow, not an apartment.
Chanukah, the incandescent holiday, is here. I love the thought that the beauty of the Chanukah candle, the flame, is that it never diminishes despite the number of other lights, even a million, it illuminates. It is said the soul of humankind is similar; that no matter how much one shares, gives out, the soul does not get smaller. In this light, I ask you to consider there is a Jewish woman living in a car here in Toronto.
Nine CJN readers responded to her situation, some offering financial assistance for therapies and others referring her to websites. I read the responses to her, and she recorded the information into a hand-held recorder. It was Sunday, Nov. 25, and cold outside. She couldn’t hold a pen. It was too chilly for me to shovel snow.
I am convinced somebody reading this has an empty house for a Jewish woman with MCS, who is living in her car. I am certain somewhere in our community of 200,000 Jews there is a developer, a snowbird or a cottage owner who has the means to help a Jewish woman living in her car. I know this to be true.
It is Chanukah. Remember Jewish law does not allow the light of a streetlamp to be used as a menorah.
“To know and not to do is not to know.” (Chinese Proverb)
Sunday, November 25, 2007
A Jew Living in Her Car
A Toronto Jew is Living in her Car
Here in Toronto, possibly around the block from you, a Jewish woman is living in her car. She needs our help quickly. Here is what she told me.
I was born in Montreal and am in my late 40s. I moved to Toronto in the early ’90s after graduating as a health professional. I am Conservative and as a child went to B’nai Akiva and Jewish camps. I have volunteered at Baycrest and SickKids.
One day, in the mid-’90s I was stopped at a red light and a cab drove into my car at a high speed. I sustained multiple injuries, and it took me years to recover so I could speak and get around. I also lost many of my gifts. I used to play the piano and don’t anymore. I sketched but can’t anymore.
Two years after the accident, multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS) kicked in, a condition whereby I am incredibly affected by the smell of pesticides, chemicals, perfume, cleansers, hairspray, shampoo, room freshener, carpet deodorizers and deodorant.
When I am exposed, I feel like a board has been thrust it into my forehead. Over the next 12 to 24 hours, I will be in extreme pain, vomit violently and experience dizziness. It can be very dangerous.
For the last year and a half, I have “lived” in my car as it is the only place I can control the smells. It is impossible to be in a building as my situation got worse with more exposure to the smells.
My life has been so affected by this condition that I will never be able to have children. Perhaps one day I will marry someone who has MCS. My mother has been amazing. My family has been supportive, but thought I would grow out of it. I haven’t, as my situation is not of a psychological nature. My father passed away before I developed MCS.
Eventually, after feeling physically and emotionally worn down, I approached a rabbi who arranged for me to attend a shul at which I not to affected by the smells. I also began opening up to friends. A while ago, I got to the point where I did not care whether I lived or die. Then a dear friend took me in for two months, adjusting the smells in her home for me. I remember the first night I stayed indoors –my birthday. It was an enormous gift.
I am looking for a house where I can control the environment. I can’t live in an apartment because the smells come from all sides. An older bungalow would be the best (stairs are difficult. I also have severe arthritis). I can also watch a (winterized) cottage or house-sit (perhaps for a senior who is willing to adjust her perfumes/chemicals, etc.).
I can afford some rent and know if I find a place where I can sleep six to eight hours a night, versus the two hours a night I get now, I will be able to work.
The car is always cold nowadays. It’s hard to breathe when the windows are closed and bitterly cold if they are open. I never get the darkness I need to sleep because of the street lights. I don’t feel safe. Every day is a struggle to find a good location. In the morning, I try to park facing the sun so I can warm up.
The nights are long. It gets so lonely. I need to hear somebody else’s voice. My life breaks my heart. There is nothing in life I enjoy. I feel like a leper in my own community. This article is the only thing giving me hope.
If you have a creative way of helping a woman living in her car, let me know (avrum@veahavta.org).
Here in Toronto, possibly around the block from you, a Jewish woman is living in her car. She needs our help quickly. Here is what she told me.
I was born in Montreal and am in my late 40s. I moved to Toronto in the early ’90s after graduating as a health professional. I am Conservative and as a child went to B’nai Akiva and Jewish camps. I have volunteered at Baycrest and SickKids.
One day, in the mid-’90s I was stopped at a red light and a cab drove into my car at a high speed. I sustained multiple injuries, and it took me years to recover so I could speak and get around. I also lost many of my gifts. I used to play the piano and don’t anymore. I sketched but can’t anymore.
Two years after the accident, multiple chemical sensitivity (MCS) kicked in, a condition whereby I am incredibly affected by the smell of pesticides, chemicals, perfume, cleansers, hairspray, shampoo, room freshener, carpet deodorizers and deodorant.
When I am exposed, I feel like a board has been thrust it into my forehead. Over the next 12 to 24 hours, I will be in extreme pain, vomit violently and experience dizziness. It can be very dangerous.
For the last year and a half, I have “lived” in my car as it is the only place I can control the smells. It is impossible to be in a building as my situation got worse with more exposure to the smells.
My life has been so affected by this condition that I will never be able to have children. Perhaps one day I will marry someone who has MCS. My mother has been amazing. My family has been supportive, but thought I would grow out of it. I haven’t, as my situation is not of a psychological nature. My father passed away before I developed MCS.
Eventually, after feeling physically and emotionally worn down, I approached a rabbi who arranged for me to attend a shul at which I not to affected by the smells. I also began opening up to friends. A while ago, I got to the point where I did not care whether I lived or die. Then a dear friend took me in for two months, adjusting the smells in her home for me. I remember the first night I stayed indoors –my birthday. It was an enormous gift.
I am looking for a house where I can control the environment. I can’t live in an apartment because the smells come from all sides. An older bungalow would be the best (stairs are difficult. I also have severe arthritis). I can also watch a (winterized) cottage or house-sit (perhaps for a senior who is willing to adjust her perfumes/chemicals, etc.).
I can afford some rent and know if I find a place where I can sleep six to eight hours a night, versus the two hours a night I get now, I will be able to work.
The car is always cold nowadays. It’s hard to breathe when the windows are closed and bitterly cold if they are open. I never get the darkness I need to sleep because of the street lights. I don’t feel safe. Every day is a struggle to find a good location. In the morning, I try to park facing the sun so I can warm up.
The nights are long. It gets so lonely. I need to hear somebody else’s voice. My life breaks my heart. There is nothing in life I enjoy. I feel like a leper in my own community. This article is the only thing giving me hope.
If you have a creative way of helping a woman living in her car, let me know (avrum@veahavta.org).
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Fathers and Sons -- Talk!!
My Father and His Son
By Avrum Rosensweig
In the past, I’ve written about the gift my sisters and I were born into, having parents who were committed to the welfare and growth of the Jewish people and the world.
My father, Phyvle Rosensweig (rest in peace) and mother, Gitel, (until 120), deeply cared about the frailties of humankind and the awesome divinity of our every breath. Their legacy as a care-giving team beats like a drum within the souls of the thousands of Jews and non-Jews they touched.
However, as so often occurs within men whose spirit embraces the entire planet, my father was not quite as natural at directing his powerful energies my way. He was so ‘public’ it was difficult for him to be ‘private’. Our relationship, in fact, was predicated on his disappointment in what I was not, and my disappointment in his inability to champion my spirit.
As our relationship deteriorated I began to dislike myself and became depressed. My father’s feelings were similar and made worse by the fact he was a Jewish leader, consulting others on healthy parental relationships. This must have been very difficult for him.
My father died in 1989. The barbed wire of pain we had constructed between us had become so jagged that his physical passing was easier for me than the death our relationship had suffered prior to the day of his demise. The emotional and mental burden of our strained father-son relationship played a major role in the development of my panic and anxiety attacks. I am however, thank God, healthier and stronger every day.
I write this article fully aware of the fundamental tenant within Judaism to ‘honour one’s father…..” regardless of whether he is dead or alive. This is not a diatribe by an angry and bitter middle-aged son against the man who fathered and raised him. Quite the contrary. Through my words, I sincerely hope that a living, breathing father and son suffering as we did, might learn and grow through our experiences.
Learn how to express your love for one another. Do so because a mutual embrace and a positive word of recognition can make a difference between a healthier adulthood or one fraught with years of despair and self-doubt. Celebrate each other’s personality, quirkiness and foibles whether they are what you had hoped for or otherwise.
Figure it out no matter what it takes. My father and I lacked the tools to explore and find a safe place to celebrate each other’s character and our unique familial bond. Instead we suffered quietly knowing the other was in deep pain yet never acted on an underlying awareness that he was my only father and I was his only son – and the love between us was very real.
By the time my Dad died, we had become virtual strangers. Damn. Why didn’t we have the time or the where with all to discover the things that could have made our lives better.
Work your relationship with reckless abandon. Find a brilliant parent and make them your mentor. Join a support group. Find yourself a life coach. Don’t allow your son to suffer quietly and think that his ‘flawed’ personality is responsible for the pain between you.
When you are old enough flip it around. Give your father a break from his guilt and sadness, possibly stemming from his belief he could have done better; should have broken the chain of bitterness that had existed between him and his father.
Love your son like the Biblical character Avraham loved Yitzchak. Trust your father like Yitzchak loved Avraham. Sacrifice for one another. The father-son relationship is inherently complex. Yet when it shines, nothing can dull it. And the reality is, it is easier to hug a father and express shear joy in this unique relationship, while he is still alive.
(To respond to this article, e-mail Avrum atavrum@veahavta.org).
By Avrum Rosensweig
In the past, I’ve written about the gift my sisters and I were born into, having parents who were committed to the welfare and growth of the Jewish people and the world.
My father, Phyvle Rosensweig (rest in peace) and mother, Gitel, (until 120), deeply cared about the frailties of humankind and the awesome divinity of our every breath. Their legacy as a care-giving team beats like a drum within the souls of the thousands of Jews and non-Jews they touched.
However, as so often occurs within men whose spirit embraces the entire planet, my father was not quite as natural at directing his powerful energies my way. He was so ‘public’ it was difficult for him to be ‘private’. Our relationship, in fact, was predicated on his disappointment in what I was not, and my disappointment in his inability to champion my spirit.
As our relationship deteriorated I began to dislike myself and became depressed. My father’s feelings were similar and made worse by the fact he was a Jewish leader, consulting others on healthy parental relationships. This must have been very difficult for him.
My father died in 1989. The barbed wire of pain we had constructed between us had become so jagged that his physical passing was easier for me than the death our relationship had suffered prior to the day of his demise. The emotional and mental burden of our strained father-son relationship played a major role in the development of my panic and anxiety attacks. I am however, thank God, healthier and stronger every day.
I write this article fully aware of the fundamental tenant within Judaism to ‘honour one’s father…..” regardless of whether he is dead or alive. This is not a diatribe by an angry and bitter middle-aged son against the man who fathered and raised him. Quite the contrary. Through my words, I sincerely hope that a living, breathing father and son suffering as we did, might learn and grow through our experiences.
Learn how to express your love for one another. Do so because a mutual embrace and a positive word of recognition can make a difference between a healthier adulthood or one fraught with years of despair and self-doubt. Celebrate each other’s personality, quirkiness and foibles whether they are what you had hoped for or otherwise.
Figure it out no matter what it takes. My father and I lacked the tools to explore and find a safe place to celebrate each other’s character and our unique familial bond. Instead we suffered quietly knowing the other was in deep pain yet never acted on an underlying awareness that he was my only father and I was his only son – and the love between us was very real.
By the time my Dad died, we had become virtual strangers. Damn. Why didn’t we have the time or the where with all to discover the things that could have made our lives better.
Work your relationship with reckless abandon. Find a brilliant parent and make them your mentor. Join a support group. Find yourself a life coach. Don’t allow your son to suffer quietly and think that his ‘flawed’ personality is responsible for the pain between you.
When you are old enough flip it around. Give your father a break from his guilt and sadness, possibly stemming from his belief he could have done better; should have broken the chain of bitterness that had existed between him and his father.
Love your son like the Biblical character Avraham loved Yitzchak. Trust your father like Yitzchak loved Avraham. Sacrifice for one another. The father-son relationship is inherently complex. Yet when it shines, nothing can dull it. And the reality is, it is easier to hug a father and express shear joy in this unique relationship, while he is still alive.
(To respond to this article, e-mail Avrum atavrum@veahavta.org).
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Question: Are we brave or otherwise?
By AVRUM ROSENSWEIG
What is wrong with the Diaspora consciousness?
Why do we feel sickened by anti-Semitic attacks in Turkey and around the world, yet leave the job of fighting hatred up to Israel and organizations?
Why do thousands of Jews in 2003 attend Holocaust Week programming, yet take a neutral stand on the suffering of Jews and others? It doesn’t make sense. If Holocaust Education is not “a call to arms,” then what is it? Is it entertainment? Where is our bravery? Where is our daring? Why are we not boldly and actively brawling with inequities and pursuing peace?
Rather than being so comfortable, wouldn’t it be wiser to pursue options such as the financing and development of workshops on self-defence and peace negotiations? Shouldn’t our schools, together with Jewish philanthropists, develop programs for our children so that they are physically able to shield themselves and have the mental agility and know-how to respond to lunatic lies spewed by anti-Semites, as well as the tools to build stronger relationships with non-Jews who do not hate us?
Why aren’t we working with Jewishly owned marketing companies to disseminate the beautiful truth about the Jewish people, including our fierce desire for peace? Where are the grassroots movements composed of regular community members for the protection of the Jewish people and for outreach to our friends?
We must ask ourselves: when did the links in the chain of consciousness break? Why did most Jews not listen to Ze’ev Jabotinsky when he told them to flee eastern Europe? Why didn’t most Jews in the West barrage their governments when news about the concentration camps began to leak? How come today, even though we know anti-Semitism is spreading, will few of us pound on the doors of our rabbis’ and community leaders’ homes, demanding a thoughtful and creative game plan in which we all play a considerable and vital role in assisting our people?
We will be judged in history by future generations of Jews. They will wonder if the Canadian Jewish community did everything it could to pursue peace and fight hate, when we had the luxury to do so. Historians might ask why we spent millions of dollars on Holocaust education and monuments if not, at least in part, to compel our generation to vigorously pursue peace.
We were victims of terror and insanity. Let nobody tell us otherwise.
It is time, however, for Diaspora Jews who are able to divest themselves of the mental baggage of victimization that prevents the development of a pro-active plan to bring peace to the Jewish people and the world. It is time Israelis stop bearing the entire burden of fighting our enemies and searching for peaceful partnerships.
The Toronto Jewish community can be a light unto other Diaspora Jewish communities. We can test the waters of hasbarah and activism, and then tell everyone else how we did it.
It is already three years that I am calling upon you, Polish Jewry… I became gray and old in these years, my heart bleeds, that you, dear brother and sisters, do not see the volcano which will soon begin to spit its all-consuming lava. If you do believe me, then listen to me in this 12th hour: In the name of God! Let anyone of you save himself, as long as there is still time, and time there is very little. Eliminate the Diaspora or the Diaspora will surely eliminate you. – Zev Jabotinsky, two years before World War II.
What is wrong with the Diaspora consciousness?
Why do we feel sickened by anti-Semitic attacks in Turkey and around the world, yet leave the job of fighting hatred up to Israel and organizations?
Why do thousands of Jews in 2003 attend Holocaust Week programming, yet take a neutral stand on the suffering of Jews and others? It doesn’t make sense. If Holocaust Education is not “a call to arms,” then what is it? Is it entertainment? Where is our bravery? Where is our daring? Why are we not boldly and actively brawling with inequities and pursuing peace?
Rather than being so comfortable, wouldn’t it be wiser to pursue options such as the financing and development of workshops on self-defence and peace negotiations? Shouldn’t our schools, together with Jewish philanthropists, develop programs for our children so that they are physically able to shield themselves and have the mental agility and know-how to respond to lunatic lies spewed by anti-Semites, as well as the tools to build stronger relationships with non-Jews who do not hate us?
Why aren’t we working with Jewishly owned marketing companies to disseminate the beautiful truth about the Jewish people, including our fierce desire for peace? Where are the grassroots movements composed of regular community members for the protection of the Jewish people and for outreach to our friends?
We must ask ourselves: when did the links in the chain of consciousness break? Why did most Jews not listen to Ze’ev Jabotinsky when he told them to flee eastern Europe? Why didn’t most Jews in the West barrage their governments when news about the concentration camps began to leak? How come today, even though we know anti-Semitism is spreading, will few of us pound on the doors of our rabbis’ and community leaders’ homes, demanding a thoughtful and creative game plan in which we all play a considerable and vital role in assisting our people?
We will be judged in history by future generations of Jews. They will wonder if the Canadian Jewish community did everything it could to pursue peace and fight hate, when we had the luxury to do so. Historians might ask why we spent millions of dollars on Holocaust education and monuments if not, at least in part, to compel our generation to vigorously pursue peace.
We were victims of terror and insanity. Let nobody tell us otherwise.
It is time, however, for Diaspora Jews who are able to divest themselves of the mental baggage of victimization that prevents the development of a pro-active plan to bring peace to the Jewish people and the world. It is time Israelis stop bearing the entire burden of fighting our enemies and searching for peaceful partnerships.
The Toronto Jewish community can be a light unto other Diaspora Jewish communities. We can test the waters of hasbarah and activism, and then tell everyone else how we did it.
It is already three years that I am calling upon you, Polish Jewry… I became gray and old in these years, my heart bleeds, that you, dear brother and sisters, do not see the volcano which will soon begin to spit its all-consuming lava. If you do believe me, then listen to me in this 12th hour: In the name of God! Let anyone of you save himself, as long as there is still time, and time there is very little. Eliminate the Diaspora or the Diaspora will surely eliminate you. – Zev Jabotinsky, two years before World War II.
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