The text of the Haggadah that we read at the seder is ancient, dating back millennia, and has been carefully preserved as an integral, cherished and sacred component of our annual celebration of Pesach. 

But while the entire text should be carefully and attentively recited, and is worthy of deep study and analysis, there is one segment whose critical importance is emphasized by the Haggadah itself. 

Toward the end of the maggid section, we read the teaching of Rabban Gamliel of the three things which must be mentioned at the seder, or else one fails to satisfy his obligation on this special night.  As a matter of practical Halacha, anyone who, for whatever reason, had left the seder table must return for the reading of this section.  In many homes, the devoted women spend time in the kitchen tending to the preparations for the meal which is served after the reading of maggid.  They must ensure to come back for the section that begins “Rabban Gamliel omer…” so they can fulfill their obligation of the seder, which is binding upon women no less than men.

The three things which Rabban Gamliel tells us we must discuss at the seder are pesach – the special sacrifice which each Jew was to bring on the afternoon of Erev Pesach in the Bet Ha’mikdash; matzah – the special unleavened bread which we eat on Pesach; and marror – the “bitter herbs” which we are required to eat at the seder.  Rabban Gamliel teaches that part of our obligation at the seder is to speak about the meaning of each of these mitzvot:

• The pesach sacrifice commemorated Gd’s “passing over” (“pasach”) the homes of Beneh Yisrael on the night of the Exodus, shielding them from the plague of the firstborn which He brought upon the Egyptians.
• The matzah reminds us of how Beneh Yisrael were rushed out of Egypt, before their dough had an opportunity to rise, such that they ended up baking flat matzah instead of ordinary bread.
• The marror symbolizes the pain and suffering of slavery, which the Torah describes as “bitterness” (“Vayemareru et hayehem ba’avodah kashah” – Shemot 1:14).

All this is fairly straightforward, and well-known to many of us.  There is, however, a glaring problem with Rabban Gamliel’s presentation that deserves our attention – the sequence.  Surprisingly, Rabban Gamliel speaks of the symbol of slavery only after he mentions the symbols of the Exodus.  The pesach and matzah commemorate aspects of our ancestors’ experience at the time of the Exodus, whereas the marror represents the “bitterness” they endured during the 210 years prior to that night.  Should we not have expected Rabban Gamliel to mention the marror first, before the pesach and matzah?  Why did he reverse the order?

Grasping the Full Extent of the Bitterness

Several explanations have been offered for this sequence of presentation.  One answer is that the “bitterness” is often fully appreciated only after it has ended.  People who endure a certain form of hardship for an extended period grow accustomed to it, to one extent or another, and only when they are relieved of this distress do they begin to grasp just how difficult it was.  Many of us have probably had the experience of putting on a new pair of eyeglasses and realizing only then how poorly we saw before then.  Many times, we recognize the gravity of a situation only after it has passed.

This perhaps explains an enigmatic kabbalistic teaching associating the marror obligation with a story told in the Book of Beresheet.  Describing Yosef’s brothers leaving Egypt, the Torah writes, “Haboker or, veha’anashim shulehu” (“The morning light appeared, and the men were sent off” – Beresheet 44:3).  The kabbalists observe the final letters of these four words (resh, resh, mem and vav) are the same letters that spell the word “marror.”  Somehow, the image of the brothers’ departure at dawn is connected with marror.

The explanation might be that only when the light emerges do we recognize the dreariness of darkness.  The full extent of the “marror,” of the bitterness and darkness of exile, can be appreciated only in the “morning,” when the light of redemption shines. 

Accordingly, Rabban Gamliel lists marror after the matzah and marror – because only after Beneh Yisrael left Egypt did they recognize the gravity of the “bitterness” they had endured.

Sweetening the Marror

A second answer to this question goes to the heart of the meaning of Pesach, and the timeless lesson of faith that it teaches us.

As briefly noted earlier, our ancestors spent a total of 210 years in Egypt – from the time that Yaakov and his family moved there to escape the devastating famine in Canaan, until the night of the Exodus.  This is alluded to in Yaakov’s formulation when instructing his sons to travel to Egypt to purchase grain: “Redu shamah” (literally, “Go down there” to Egypt – Beresheet 42:2), as the word “redu” in gematria equals 210.  However, when Gd informed Avraham that his descendants would experience a period of harsh exile, He mentioned a 400-year period of enslavement (Beresheet 15:13).  How did a 400-year sentence become a 210-year sentence?

One of the common answers given is that the bondage was so harsh, and so brutal, that Beneh Yisrael suffered in 210 years the amount of suffering that they were to have endured in 400 years.  The labor was so intense, and so backbreaking, that they completed 400 years’ worth of hardship in just 210 years.  This is comparable to a 20-year mortgage which a homeowner manages to pay up in just ten years by making significantly higher monthly payments than he was supposed to.  Beneh Yisrael “paid” 400 years of slavery in 210 years because they suffered so terribly during those years.

The Arizal taught that this “condensing” of the Egyptian exile was necessary for Beneh Yisrael’s survival.  Ancient Egypt was a decadent pagan culture, characterized by idol worship and immorality, and Beneh Yisrael were submerged in this society.  Kabbalistic tradition describes how our ancestors plummeted to the “49^th level of impurity” – just one step before the 50^th, which would have marked the point of no return.  Had Beneh Yisrael remained even a moment longer in Egypt, they would have fallen lower, to the 50^th level, from which they could never have recovered.  To prevent this from happening, Gd “expedited” the exile, intensifying the people’s workload so they could complete 400 years’ worth of slavery before descending to the 50^th level.

Ironically, then, it emerges that the “bitterness” of exile is what saved Beneh Yisrael.  At the time, of course, they could not understand this.  But the truth is that the uniquely harsh conditions they endured guaranteed their survival.

This helps explain a number of otherwise perplexing aspects of the marror.  First, it perhaps sheds light on why we customarily fulfill this mitzvah by eating Romaine lettuce.  The Mishna in Masechet Pesahim (39a) lists several vegetables which one may use as marror, the first of which is hazeret.  The Gemara comments the hazeret is the preferred vegetable to use for this purpose, and it identifies hazeret as hasa – lettuce.  This word, the Gemara explains, alludes to the fact that “has Rahamana ilavon” – Gd had compassion on Beneh Yisrael.

The Gemara’s discussion seems very difficult to understand.  Why would we choose for marror a vegetable that alludes to Gd’s mercy and compassion?  Of course Gd has compassion – but the marror symbolizes precisely the opposite of compassion, the suffering inflicted upon our ancestors in Egypt.  Why should we associate specifically the word “hasa” with marror?

In light of what we have seen, the answer becomes clear.  The bitterness of exile was indeed a form of compassion, in that it allowed Beneh Yisrael to survive.  The marror was bitter – but its bitterness prevented our nation from disappearing in the dustbin of history.

Likewise, we can now understand the custom to dip the marror in the sweet haroset.  We might have wondered, if the objective of marror is to signify bitterness, then why would we dilute its bitter taste with haroset?  The answer is that the Egyptian bondage was bittersweet.  It was bitter – but the bitterness itself facilitated the ultimate salvation and guaranteed our survival.

Returning to Rabban Gamliel, marror is listed at the end because it must be revisited after the pesach and matzah, after the salvation.  Before then, there was nothing “sweet” at all about the bondage.  The people suffered terribly, in ways we could never imagine.  But in hindsight, we can discern the “sweetness” of the bitter exile, and appreciate how it was necessary for our survival.

Living With Faith

Pesach is often seen as the holiday of emunah (faith), reminding us of Gd’s ultimate control of the world and His boundless love for His cherished nation.  The “bittersweet” quality of the marror teaches us one of the fundamental tenets of emunah – that life’s challenges and hardships are, in ways we cannot understand, to our ultimate benefit.  It might take years to see the “sweetness,” and in some instances, we might never see the “sweetness.”  But we must live with the belief that even the “bitter” experiences are “sweet” and are part of Gd’s plan for us.

Countless stories are told of singles who experienced anguish after a rejection, which then led to a much better match that became a beautiful marriage.  Of business deals that didn’t go through, as a result of which a far better deal was struck with someone else.  Of jobs that were lost, leading to much better jobs.  Of children’s struggles that built them and prepared them for outstanding success.

As mentioned, we do not always see the “sweetness.”  But the marror teaches us to believe it is there, to trust that everything Hashem does is for our ultimate benefit. And when we live with this faith, then our lives become so much “sweeter,” even as we confront difficult challenges.

Ellen Geller Kamaras

“Poland is both a former Jewish paradise and a vast cemetery – overflowing with history, scholarship, creativity, and unbearable loss. We mourned children, scholars, and families erased from history. Visiting Poland, however, is an act of defiance and a testament to the resilience of the Jewish people.”  –  Ellen

Why, at 70, did I journey to Poland?

After participating in a Post-October 7 Mission to Israel, I felt I could no longer postpone visiting my parents’ birthplace and the sites of Nazi atrocities. My love for Israel was forged at a girls’ yeshiva in Brooklyn and from the ashes of the Holocaust. Bearing witness to the aftermath of October 7 crystallized something in me. I knew it was time to see the sites of mass destruction connected to my own family and to confront my parents’ history.

I needed to witness the barbarism of the Nazis. Only then I felt I could fully speak about the resilience, courage, and survival of our people during World War II and in Israel today. Only then could I grasp the meaning of the words Never Again Is Now.

Growing up, my parents shared their stories every Shabbat: forced labor camps, hiding in forests, hunger, and loss. My mother witnessed her father’s murder. After liberation, the family reached a displaced persons camp in Munich and eventually rebuilt their lives in America.

My Jewish identity was shaped by my parents’ experiences and by my Jewish education. Israel represented survival and renewal.

Off to Poland

Two large Jewish groups were on the same flight to Warsaw. One group of men had completed daf yomi and they were traveling to visit the graves of revered rabbis. The other group included unmarried young women on an Ohel Sarala mission, paired with childless couples through Bonei Olam. Ohel Sarala facilitates single women donating tzedaka to Bonei Olam, which assists couples struggling with infertility. The single women pray for children for their assigned couple, and the couple, in turn, prays for a match for their single.

Sitting on a Polish LOT flight surrounded by so many observant Jews felt surreal. We filled more than half the plane – a living contrast to the destruction we were about to confront.

Approximately 3 million Polish Jews were murdered during World War II, about 90 percent of the pre-war Jewish population.

Our tour guides emphasized both the rich thousand-year history of Polish Jewry and the Holocaust’s devastation. The trip balanced education with emotion.

Warsaw

Before World War II, Warsaw had the second-largest Jewish population in the world after New York City. Nearly 30 percent of its residents were Jewish.

We visited the Jewish Cemetery, where over 250,000 Jews are buried. It was bitter cold, evoking for me my mother’s accounts of frostbite and Elie Wiesel’s descriptions of freezing camps and deprivation. Seeing the beautiful Hebrew headstones deeply moved us.

The cemetery is a silent witness to both extraordinary cultural vitality and to catastrophic loss. We continued to Heroism Street near the former Umschlagplatz (in German: collection point or reloading point – meaning, the holding areas adjacent to railway stations in occupied Poland where Jews were gathered for deportation to Nazi death camps). Here between 254,000 and 265,000 Jews were deported to Treblinka in 1942. Nine out of every ten Jews in Warsaw were murdered. Nearby, the monument to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising honored those who resisted, choosing fighting over submission.

At the Polin Museum, we traced Jewish life in Poland from medieval times to the present. The Nozyk Synagogue, the only functioning prewar synagogue in Warsaw, reflected both loss and continuity. Before the war, there were more than 400 synagogues in the city..

Lublin and Majdanek

In Lublin, we stayed at the hotel in the former Chachmei Lublin Yeshiva, founded by Rabbi Meir Shapiro, the visionary who created daf yomi.  Standing in the bet midrash, we felt the presence of generations of dedicated talmidim who once filled that space.

At the Grodzka Gate Center, Polish volunteers, some attempting to do penance for their family members, preserve Jewish memory with devotion and respect.

Majdanek was our first concentration camp. It shattered any emotional distance I still had. Once a POW camp, it became a major killing site. We learned about “choiceless choices.” This term was coined by Lawrence Langer in Versions of Survival: The Holocaust and the Human Spirit, to describe the no-win situations and  impossible moral dilemmas faced by Jews during the Holocaust. Seeing the collection of over 56,000 shoes, 6,000 of them small children’s shoes, and the crematoria was overwhelming and revealed the systematic cruelty of the Nazi machine.

Tarnow and Krakow

Arriving in Tarnów, a Chassidic town in Galicia once home to 25,000 Jews, we encountered a landscape of devastation. Forty synagogues were destroyed, including the New Synagogue, often referred to as the Jubilee Synagogue or Franz Josef Synagogue, built in honor of Emperor Franz Josef. One surviving column stands as a memorial in the 15th-century Jewish cemetery. Philanthropist Ronald Lauder helped restore the original bimah, the remaining fragment of the destroyed Alta Shul. Today, one Jew lives in Tarnów, Adam Bartosz, an ethnologist who is the Director of the Regional Museum in Tarnow and is the President of the Committee for the Renovation of Jewish Monuments in Tarnow.

At Zbylitowska Góra, a village in the Tarnow District, we stood before mass graves. A Yiddish inscription reads: “Here lie eight hundred battered heads of children.” We recited Tehillim, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of the loss.

In Krakow’s Kazimierz district, we saw a glimmer of Jewish life slowly reviving. We visited synagogues, the JCC, and memorials. Auschwitz-Birkenau was the largest concentration and extermination complex. This site was the emotional climax of our journey. Some wore Israeli flags and walked through the gates, adorned by a replica of the original “arbeit macht frei” – work sets you free. We saw barracks, gas chambers, and rooms filled with victims’ belongings. Piles of shoes, tallitot, suitcases, and hair testified to mechanized murder and forced us into silence.

The industrial scale of murder defies comprehension. We prayed for our loved ones in both camps.

My niece and I found my grandfather’s name in the Book of Names at Auschwitz, connecting our personal family story to the collective tragedy of our people.

Reflections

This journey strengthened my belief that “Never Again” must be active, not symbolic. We must never be helpless again. The atrocities of the Shoah and of October 7 must never be repeated. We must fight Holocaust distortion and trivialization and preserve historical truth.

Just three years after the Holocaust ended, we miraculously reestablished Jewish sovereignty in our ancestral homeland. We are ambassadors of light, resilience, and hope.

Rabbi Label Lam

The wicked son, what does he say? “What is this service to you?” “to you,” – “but not to himself.” Since he has excluded himself from the people at large, he denies the foundation of our faith. Therefore, you should blunt his teeth and tell him: “It is because of this, what Hashem  did for me when I went out of Egypt.”- “for me,” – “but not him.” Had he been there, he would not have been redeemed.  – Pesach Haggadah

At the Pesach seder, we have a sacred obligation to “tell your child” about the Exodus from Egypt. It is of vital importance that each and every child exit that Pesach seder feeling that much more attached and committed to the historical mission of the Jewish People. Therefore, the mitzvah of the evening is expressed in terms of speaking to “your child” and not to children in general. Each one needs his or her own special medicine or lesson.

The “wicked son” as he is titled cannot be totally wicked. Otherwise, why is he at the seder, and why do we even engage him in discussion? Why is he called wicked? He has given up! He has surrendered to negativity. Our definition of failure is not falling down but is staying down. Now the wicked son speaks from his lowly perch, having separated himself from the community of Israel and feeling cynical about the possibility of change.

It is interesting that in answering him, most of the conversation is expressed as an aside. The parent is not talking to him at all but rather to the others, in his presence. Yet the mitzvah of the evening is to “tell your child.” Why are we then advised to speak to the assembled? It is as if saying, “Everyone has free choice! If he does not want to be a part of it he is not a part of it!”

Story from the Cemetery

I heard an unbelievable story not long ago from Rabbi Mordechai Twerski. He had recently met with family members of the Debriciner Rov and they shared with him the following incident. They went to the grave site of their holy relative, the Debriciner Rov, ztl. There they saw a youngish couple praying. Not recognizing them as family members they were curious as to why this couple was there. So they asked them what it was that brought them to this place.

They told the following story: “Twenty-two years ago we were young kids who got married to each other.  After a short while it became clear to us that we didn’t know what we were doing together. Every day was a different disagreement and another fight. We were not getting along at all. After trying and trying we were thinking about divorce. Then my wife was expecting, so we stayed together in the meantime. Having a child did not make married life easier. If anything, it complicated matters. So we decided it was time to get divorced. We didn’t know exactly how to go about getting a Jewish divorce so we went to the Debriciner Rov. After hearing about our struggles in marriage he agreed to help us with the divorce. He instructed us to come back the next day and to bring our son. We thought this was part of the process. When we came back the next day with our son, he asked to see the child. He motioned that we hand him over. We did.

He sat with the child, a little baby, in front of us, and he spoke to the child, stroking him affectionately all the while. “From this day forth your life is going to be very difficult. You will be bounced from house to house. You’ll spend one Shabbat with your mother and another Shabbat with your father. Most of the kids in school won’t understand your situation. They might not be eager to play by your broken home. Growing up as a happy child will be a steep challenge for you. Getting married will be difficult as well. It is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. This is the lot that has been handed you. I want you to know that you will need extraordinary strength and courage and tremendous help from Heaven to attain a normal life.”

The Happy Ending

After his little talk with the child he handed the baby back to us. We were both crying. We looked up at each other and decided then and there, for the sake of the child, to give it another try. That was twenty years ago we had that encounter with the Debriciner Rov. We eventually worked out our differences. We are now happily married, Baruch Hashem. Tonight that child, our son is getting married and we wanted to come here today to express our deep feelings of  gratitude to the Rov.”

Sometimes the wise approach is not to speak directly to a person especially if they have demonstrated they are not ready to listen. Speaking aloud to another is a preferred method to land the same powerful message, but indirectly. The natural defense mechanisms of the one who is feeling so hopeless and defeated are relaxed, the words are less likely to be taken as a personal affront, and hey you never know who’s listening.Rabbi Label Lam is a renowned Torah educator and international speaker; his writings can be found on Torah.org.

HABAYIT: Providing Hesed Apartments and Comfort for Families Coming to New York for Critical Medical Treatment

Sometimes, everything changes with one step – not a grand gesture or a carefully planned move, but one small decision made in a moment of need.

No one plans for the moment when life takes an unexpected turn.

A diagnosis, a treatment plan, or an urgent medical need can send someone – or someone they love – across cities and countries to New York for critical treatment or surgery. Routine gives way to uncertainty, and families find themselves navigating unfamiliar ground.

And then, as the reality begins to settle in, a pressing question appears: Where will we stay?

Habayit was born out of that question. Not from a master plan, funding, or an organization already in place – but from one small, brave decision.

The First Step

A small group of real estate agents found themselves receiving the same call again and again. Families arrived in New York during some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives, exhausted and overwhelmed, far from home and desperate to find a place to stay. Short-term housing was nearly impossible to secure, and hotels were both unaffordable and impractical.

So they took one step.

They opened one hesed apartment for people who needed to come to New York for medical treatment – a furnished, dignified place where individuals and families could stay while focusing on healing.

There were no big expectations. The group of real estate agents believed they might be able to sustain one apartment – one family at a time. But the moment the need was shared, something extraordinary happened.

Other Steps

The community showed up.

Beds arrived. Sheets were dropped off. Pots and pans, furniture, toys, mezuzot, and sefarim followed. Volunteers stepped forward quietly and generously, transforming an empty space into a true home.

And then, one step led to another.

Our sages teach, “Open for Me an opening the size of a needle’s eye, and I will open for you an opening like the entrance of a great hall.”

When a person takes even the smallest step toward kindness, Heaven expands that step far beyond what we could accomplish alone. Habayit began with one small opening – and Hashem opened the doors.

Four Years In

Today, just four years later, Habayit has grown from that single apartment into 17 fully furnished hesed apartments, powered by hundreds of devoted volunteers and helping hundreds of families from around the world.

Families have come to New York from Israel, Panama, Mexico, London, Canada, Argentina, Venezuela, Brazil, and from many states across the United States – all in search of life-saving medical treatments. They arrived frightened and uncertain and found themselves held, supported, and cared for at the very moment they needed it most.

Sometimes, the impact of that care reaches even further. Over the years, Habayit has had the profound merit of welcoming four “Habayit babies” – children born to couples who came to New York for fertility treatments and were able to stay because they had a place to call home.

A Legacy of Kindness

At its core, Habayit is about dignity, sensitivity, and quiet hesed. The organization was founded in memory of the Baal Shem of Michelstadt, whose life was defined by compassion, generosity, and kindness towards all. That legacy lives on through every apartment prepared, every family welcomed, and every step taken on behalf of someone in need.

But Habayit’s story is not only about growth. It is about moments – moments when one seemingly small action quietly changed the course of a life.

Last year, Community Magazine published an article about Habayit. In one paragraph, it mentioned a painful reality – families who needed to come to New York for life-saving medical treatment, but there were not enough apartments to accommodate them.

Another Quiet Response

Among the readers was a man who took that paragraph to heart.

After reading the article, he reached out to Habayit. He explained that he had a fully set-up apartment. He didn’t need it at the time. If Habayit was ever full, he wanted them to have his number – just in case someone else might need a place to stay.

Nothing dramatic happened that day. There was no fanfare – just a reader who saw a need and chose to take one step.

A couple of months later, Habayit received another call – this time from a man who had come to New York from Israel for stage-four cancer treatment. Nearly seventy years old and alone, he had spent hours calling Jewish organizations, unable to find a place to stay. By Friday morning, he believed he would be sleeping on the street.

When he reached Habayit, there were no apartments available. All were full. But, because one man had read that article months earlier and acted, there was another option. He was given that phone number.

What happened next is best told in his own words.

A Letter Written to Habayit

The following letter was written by Yosef (name changed for privacy):

My name is Yosef. I came to New York from Israel to be treated for stage-four cancer.

I am almost seventy years old and could not afford to stay in a hotel while receiving treatment. One Friday morning, I spent three hours calling Jewish organizations, asking for help finding a place to stay. I was unsuccessful and did not know where to turn. Sleeping on the street felt like my only option.

I have no relatives in New York. Each call led me somewhere else, and it became clear I had nowhere to go.

When I spoke with someone from Habayit, I was given the phone number of a family who might be able to help. By then, I had very little hope left. Still, I called.

A man answered. After hearing my situation, he immediately told me that he and his wife were inviting me into their home.

I took the subway and arrived at their house. I was shown a private room and told I could stay as long as I needed. That was the first time I cried since being diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I am not a religious person, and I do not remember crying since childhood. Being welcomed by a Jewish family who had never met me before was overwhelming.

That Friday night, I sat at their Shabbat table. Only hours earlier, I believed I would be sleeping on the street. The warmth, kindness, and generosity I experienced is something I will never forget.

Thank you and Shabbat Shalom,

Yosef

A Series of Small Steps

That life was changed through a series of small steps.

Community Magazine shared the story. One reader carried it in his heart and responded. And through those quiet choices, a man who feared sleeping on the street found warmth, dignity, and a place at a Shabbat table.

But his story is only one glimpse into the quiet ways small acts of hesed reshape lives. There was another moment – different in setting, but identical in spirit.

At a summer Habayit event, Rabbi Shlomo Farhi spoke about the quiet work being done behind the scenes – the phone calls, the apartments, the families arriving in need. By the time he finished speaking, there were tears throughout the room.

Before leaving, he added one more sentence. He explained that there was an urgent need for an apartment near Sloan Kettering. Families were coming for treatment, and there was simply nowhere for them to stay.

A few days later, the phone rang.

Someone who had heard about the urgent need reached out. The message had stayed with her. She explained that she had a furnished apartment right near Sloan Kettering and that Habayit was welcome to use it.

Within days, a family moved in. In the middle of fear and uncertainty, they had a place to stay. Since then, it has served as a safe haven for dozens of families whose loved ones were undergoing life-saving treatments.

Rabbi Farhi’s words did not end when the event was over. They traveled beyond the room, reaching a woman who chose to act. One small step – offering an apartment – became comfort, stability, and dignity for families in their most vulnerable moments.

A High Schooler Steps Up

Another time, the step seemed even smaller.

A high-school intern came to help at Habayit for the day. There were no urgent calls or emergencies. Instead of leaving early, he chose to organize the warehouse, which had become so crowded that it was difficult to move through. By the time he finished, everything was accessible and in its place.

That night, the phone rang.

A 36-year-old man from Panama had received devastating news from his doctors: if he did not get to New York immediately, he would not survive. He was flown in on an emergency medical evacuation flight and rushed straight to the hospital upon arrival. His family needed a place to stay – immediately.

Habayit had no available apartments. Brooklyn was full. Manhattan was full. Every other organization was full. There was only one option: an apartment that had not yet been set up.

Because the warehouse had been organized earlier that day, the team could immediately reach what they needed. Volunteers came running. Furniture was moved. Food was brought. Essentials were gathered.

By early evening, the apartment was no longer empty. The fridge was stocked. The beds were made. The space felt like a home.

While the man was in the hospital, his family arrived exhausted and terrified – and they had somewhere safe to walk into.

That life was saved because one small step had been taken earlier.

The Quiet Miracle

This is the quiet miracle of Habayit.

An organization built not on buildings, but on people. Volunteers who answer calls at all hours. Donors who give quietly. Families who open their doors. Teenagers who stay late to help.

The need continues to grow. Families are still calling. More lives can be helped.

If you would like to be part of this work – whether through donating, volunteering, or getting involved – Habayit would love to hear from you. And if you or someone you know has an empty or underused apartment in Brooklyn or Manhattan that could be used for hesed, that one step could change a life.

For all inquiries, please contact the Habayit office: 580-HABAYIT (580-422-2948). Because the story of Habayit doesn’t end here. It continues every time someone chooses to take one step.

Michele Shrem

This month we are discussing whether families should discuss finances with their children. Should the kids know about financial struggles that are going on in the household? When I was growing up, money was always a hushed subject.  But, these days should our children still be in the dark? Should families be open about their finances? Should children be told about family financial struggles? Let’s see what our community members have to say.

Sarah

When I was growing up we never knew anything about finances or any struggles. Everything was discussed behind closed doors. And, it was the same with other topics such as religion and politics. There was a sealed lid on family finances that was not opened until much later on, maybe when I was a teenager. I did learn how to handle a bank account through my mom. She took me to the bank to open an account when I started to babysit. I was lucky that she showed me how to save from a young age. Now, instead of saving for a special toy, I can save for a nice vacation!

Anonymous

As a Certified Financial Planner, I feel that shielding children from money discussions is a form of educational neglect. You can’t expect a young adult to have a credit card or to sign a lease if they have never even looked at a utility bill. They will have no conception of money and how to use it properly. I think it is a good idea to discuss finances early and often. You can start with the concept of earning, saving, spending, and giving, even at a young age. If a six year old does a household chore, you can give them a quarter to put into a piggy bank. Then, when it starts to add up, you can take them to a store to spend a little of it. You can also have a home tzedakah box to show them how to give, and even bring them to the organization to deliver the box. I also believe that children should know about struggles going on in a household. There is no need to make them feel nervous, but they can become more resilient. If you can’t go on a vacation one year, you can tell them why. You can suggest a weekend trip instead, and let them know that in the future, they will hopefully go on a larger vacation. When children are in the dark, they can imagine worse-case scenarios. If they know, they may even be able to help by assisting in the home, or not asking for high-priced gadgets.

Jojo

I am very cautious about treating children like adults. I In the current world, that is probably a very old-fashioned thing to say. I feel that discussions should be age-appropriate. I would not want my child to feel anxious. A home should be a very safe and supportive place for them. I advise against sharing serious financial struggles like a job loss for instance, unless they are at least in their teens. I don’t think that children younger than that can understand that problems are solvable, and that the problem may not be permanent. Financial instability can feel like a threat to a child’s safety.

Kelly

When I was growing up, money was very tight, and I knew that my parents struggled through the years. Because they kept me in the loop, I do pretty well for myself now, and I credit my parents for teaching me these skills. Now, I passed that down to my kids so they know the costs of things. I want them to be prepared and understand the value of a dollar. To me, total transparency is the way to go. If the water gets shut off, they should know why, because it builds hunger and a drive to never be in that position themselves.

Mrs. E

I don’t think that children should ever know about family financial hardships. I want my children to play and learn, while my husband and I share the burden. I would never even think of it as a topic for the dinner table. If my kids think that I’m scared, that will be the end of their childhood. My husband and I will hold onto the stress. As adults, I feel that we can handle stress better. There is plenty of time for them to stress about things later on in life. 

Diane

As a teacher of middle school students, I find that many of them have not had any discussions about finances at home. Kids actually do need help to understand why they have different things than their peers. There is a middle ground approach. You don’t need to tell them if you are broke, but you can tell them that certain things will take priority for a little while. This way, they can understand some of what is going on and understand the concept of a budget, without feeling inferior to their classmates and friends.

Mike

I like to have family meetings once in a while in order to talk about several things with my kids, including chores, issues they are having inside and outside of my home, and, of course, finances. I want my kids to see where the money goes. I try to be honest with them. For instance, if we overspent on groceries, and they can’t go to the movies.  Then they can see the math for themselves. They mystery of why I said “no” is then understood with logic.

Lisa

I knew growing up that my parents struggled. I could feel the tension in the air. My parents did not talk about it, and my imagination made it ten times worse. I think families should be in a situation together. As a kid left to guessing, I can tell you that it made me anxious and scared. Years later I found out that it was not as bad as I had thought. If I had known, all those years of worrying could have been avoided for me.

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Ultimately, the line between helpful and harmful financial transparency is drawn at stability. Money discussions are helpful when they serve as a lesson for future independence. They become harmful when they serve to vent parental stress or become a source of childhood fear. By treating money as a neutral tool rather than a secret shame, families can equip the next generation with something money can’t buy: the wisdom to manage it well.

Michele

Jack Gindi

If you’ve been following my work, you know that last year I lost my eldest son, Shaun.

Nothing prepares a parent for that sentence. Nothing prepares you for waking up in a world that looks the same but feels entirely different.

A little more than a year has passed. I’ve learned that time doesn’t heal grief. It teaches you how to carry it. Some days feel steady. Others still knock the wind out of me. What has surprised me most over this past year is how many parents are walking this same road. In the United States alone, an estimated 60,000 to 80,000 families lose a child or young adult every year.

We are living through a quiet and deeply troubling moment in this country. After decades of steady progress, child and youth mortality rates have reversed course. In the last five years, deaths among children and young adults have risen drastically – driven by fentanyl, mental-health crises, gun violence, and despair. One public-health researcher called the shift “a red flashing light.” Behind every number is a family standing in the aftermath, trying to breathe through the unthinkable.

I know that place.

What I want to share here isn’t advice. It’s simply what helped me survive the first year after Shaun passed, moment by moment, breath by breath.

Earlier that day, before I knew Shaun had passed (November 20, 2024), I recorded a short video and posted it online.

“Don’t build a home in hardship. Don’t make mourning your address. Don’t let yesterday steal your tomorrow.”

At the time, I had no idea those words would become a lifeline, first for me, and later for others. After Shaun’s passing, I couldn’t imagine ever standing in front of a camera again. I wasn’t trying to get back to “normal.” That life no longer existed. My work, my health, and my sense of purpose all had to change.

Grief doesn’t just break your heart. It disorients you. It pulls you out of your body, out of your relationships, and out of any sense of direction. In the first months after Shaun’s passing, I gained weight, slept poorly, and felt the edges of myself blur. I wasn’t broken. I was overwhelmed.

What helped me wasn’t trying to fix my grief. It was giving myself something steady to return to.

L.I.F.E

I leaned on the same L.I.F.E. Mapping process I had originally built for families. It helped keep me going when everything felt unstable. I used it to notice when my body was taking the hit of grief and needed care, to stay connected to what I was feeling instead of shutting down, and to make sure I didn’t disappear from my family and friends.

Doing this didn’t make the loss easier. It helped me to keep living while carrying the loss.

Some days, “mapping my life” meant nothing more than getting outside and walking. Other days it meant sitting quietly and letting the tears come. Sometimes it meant reaching out instead of pulling away. And sometimes it meant remembering that even in grief, life still asks for presence, not perfection.

What I’ve learned this year is that grief doesn’t want to be rushed, but it’s not a place to live. Mourning is necessary. Pain needs processing. But if we don’t gently orient ourselves, if we don’t check in with our bodies, our inner world, our relationships, and our sense of meaning, grief can quietly become isolating.

For anyone walking a road of grief now, please hear this. You are not weak for feeling lost. You are human. And you don’t need a grand plan to survive. Sometimes a simple reminder, a daily check-in, or a steady structure is enough to get you through the next hour.

I don’t have your answers. I only have my story. But I believe this deeply. Our greatest heartbreak can also become a doorway to new meaning. Love doesn’t leave us when our loved ones pass on. It changes form. It asks us to carry it differently.

Shaun still walks with me – in my life, my work, my choices, and the families I support. His life ended in shock and pain, but it continues with purpose.

If you’re reading this as a person who has lost someone you love, or fears losing one, know this: You are not alone, and you don’t have to figure life out all at once. Stay connected. Stay honest. Take care of your body. Lean on others. And don’t let grief be the place where you live. Onwards, one breath, one day at a time.