Sparks magazine

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T H E R A Y I M M A G A Z I N E

A project by Rayim, Inc.

Rabbi Jacob Freund, Founder & CEO

Sarah KrausExecutive Director

Editorial Director

Israel Kraus

Editor-in-Chief

M. Deutsch

Project Manager

Dini Landau

Ruchel EinhornBina SchwartzMalky LipschitzSheindy WeinerBreindy WertzbergerPerry WeselEsty Weiss

Graphic Design & Layout

Design and Print845.782.3382

Sparks Magazine. Published by Rayim, Inc. A non-profit agency providing services for people with disabilities in the State of New York. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part, in any form without the prior written permission from publisher is strictly prohibited. Sparks and Rayim assume no responsibility for the contents of the articles and opinions expressed in the articles.

Rayim, Inc. 149 Elm St.| Monroe NY 10950Phone: 845-782-7700 | Fax: 845-782-7800Web: www.rayim.org | Email: [email protected]

SPARKSM A G A Z I N E

Editorial Board

Credits

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CONTENTSEditorial 5Sarah Kraus

Seasonal Sparks 6By: Israel Fried

Labels 8By: Batya Ruddell

OptionsCraniosacral Therapy 16By: Judy Stone

Debbie’s Playce 20Deborah Sussman, OT/L, Lorraine Ehlers-Flint, PhD

Yocheved Grohman, OTR/L

Hippotherapy 24By: Annie Pitrelli MSPT

Parents Share 27By: Adina Jacobs

Tricks of the Trade 30By: Esty Friedman

A Walk to Glory 32By C.B. Weinfeld

Sparks in PerspectiveThe Invisible Signature 44By: Draizy Lemberger

To Bend is to Depend 46By: Israel Fried

View Master 48By: Dini Landau

Pillars of Strength 50By: Ruchel Einhorn

Shifting Gears 61By: Sheindy Weiner

Rayim's Bulletin Board 62By: Perry Lebowitz

Sparkling For Siblings 68By: Malky Stein

Rayim,Building inner strentghs...

877.38.RAYIM [email protected]

www.rayim.org7 2 9 4 6

Dear Reader,

It is with gratitude to Hashem that we release our third annual Sparks magazine. Built on the feedback and appreciation received from the previous publications, we mark its chazuka with pride and joy. Reaching this third successful milestone prompts us to pause and reflect how much Rayim has grown and achieved since its humble beginnings.

The year 2013 marks a decade since Rayim’s inception in 2003. It marks ten years of unyielding effort and determination; ten years of compassion and understanding; ten years of making a difference every day in the lives of so many. Back in 2003, no one could have predicted the impressive array of services that Rayim would be able to offer one day. Baruch Hashem, today, we pride ourselves on the many options and resources we’ve made available to those in need. It is our ongoing commitment to providing individual support and guidance that has propelled Rayim to the top of the totem pole, as one of the leading organizations serving the heimishe community. Rayim’s reputation has become the gold standard others seek to emulate.

Reaching the milestone of a decade of service to our community, is an appropriate time to give ourselves a well-deserved pat on the back. However, it is also a time to reassess our goals; redefine our vision and renew our commitment to providing the best we can to the precious children of Klal Yisroel who reach out to us. Being entrusted with this enormous responsibility obligates us to constantly keep our mission in mind, guiding us every step of the way.

On that note, we feel humbled and privileged to share with you our latest undertaking, the opening of a new Rayim branch in Brooklyn. Although there have been many naysayers discouraging us, the unwavering dedication of those who believed in our commitment to our children prevailed and have Baruch Hashem succeeded. Rayim’s Brooklyn office, staffed by experienced professionals, is currently an established service provider: a diverse client base has joined the growing Rayim family.

With that in mind, now is the time to express our heartfelt gratitude to the individuals who have devoted their lives, their time and their talents to Rayim’s growth. We especially acknowledge those who have been with us since the early days of our establishment, as well as all the devoted staff members who are currently involved in our daily operations. May Hashem repay you, and bless you with bracha and hatzlacha for many years to come.

We hope you find this edition of Sparks a source of inspiration and support. As in the past, we urge you, dear reader, to share your feedback and comments. Since our aim is to provide chizuk and encouragement, your input is an invaluable and appreciated part of this publication. On our part, we continue to be motivated in our avodas hakodesh by the knowledge that we make a difference in the lives of so many, every day.

Sincerely,Sarah Kraus

By: Israel Fried

6 | SPARKS Winter/2014 Winter/2014 SPARKS | 7

As we pass the long winter nights, our routine is brightened by Yomim Tovim dotting our calendar. Among those, is Tu

B’shvat, a festive day, loaded with fresh fruits and nuts. It’s a day when we acknowledge the gift of the shivas haminim, along with the bounty of hundreds of species of fruit we are fortunate to enjoy. Family gatherings have become a traditional part of this special day for many, creating countless memorable moments.

We may ponder a question. Why is the name of the day, Rosh Hashona L’ilunas, not reflected in the way we celebrate, which is by focusing on the

fruit? Wouldn’t it be more suitable to recognize the trees? Shouldn’t we, perhaps, decorate

our homes with branches, like we do on Shavuous? Why do we rejoice in the

fruits on this meaningful day?When we look to acknowledge

someone or something, we appreciate the fact that the results, the fruit, the children, are the real measure of success and accomplishment.

We understand the concept that the outcome is the real mark of

achievement. The fact that we choose to focus on the ‘offspring’ of the trees, rather

than the trees themselves, is ultimately a tribute to the beauty and the power of the trees. Therefore, when we make a brocha on the fruit, we are really recognizing the tree, on the day that is Rosh Hashona L’ilunas. The quality of the fruit, the blessing of the trees’ bounty, is the treasure we cherish and are thankful for.

Tu B’Shvat, is a special day of reflection and renewal for the trees. If we human beings, would be able to eavesdrop on their resolutions for the upcoming year, we would hear about their strong commitment to providing us with the tastiest and most luscious fruits possible. We would hear them expressing their determination to improve on yesterday’s less than perfect crop. We too, should strive to emulate their resolve by reinforcing our resolve to continue investing all of our effort into the growth of our precious offspring. By recognizing the power of our natural, parental abilities and strengths, we will better be able to empower our children to maximize their potential.

A tree teaches us another important lesson that we can apply to our lives. A plum tree does not regret that it didn’t grow apples, and the grape vine does not wish it produced pears. The trees’ greatest desire is to be the best source of the specific fruits it was designated to create.

When we are challenged with difficult nisyonos, we often lose track of our priorities. Each and every one of Hashem’s creations has its unique tachlis and individual potential. Our avodah should be concentrated on, and aimed at, realizing that potential. Losing focus results in hours, days and years spent working towards a goal that is unattainable.

As we celebrate this day with expressions of gratitude, let us strengthen our resolve to recognize each and every one of our children’s distinct kochos, abilities, and personalities. Let us utilize the day to be grateful that we were given the awesome opportunity to be the shlichim to guide our children on a path of growth and nachas.

חמשה עשר בשבט


LabelsBy: Batya Ruddell


“Come on Ari, it’s time to go,” I say again. Um, haven’t I said that…once, twice, maybe six times already?

“Nu, put your hamster back in the cage,” I say. “We need to leave.”

Ari continues stroking the latest addition to his animal corner. Recently, Peggy, the hamster, joined Simba the corn snake who replaced Pimpel, the previous one. And then there are the worms that are waiting in a jar to be fed to the snake, ugh, and Elsa, our Pekingese dog.

My husband rushes into the room. “We have to go,” he says breathlessly. “We’re late.”

I resist the urge to retort that I know that, and just sigh instead. “Okay, Ari, enough now. We’re leaving.”

Ari picks up his sweatshirt that’s draped lazily over some cushions on the floor. He drags himself up the stairs and into the car, pulling his hood over his head. I understand his reluctance…oh, how I understand. I feel it, too. How many more of these meetings can we go to? How many times can Ari hear, “No, I’m sorry…this school isn’t for you?” How many assessments and interviews can my hyperactive child sit through?

He is drained. We all are. The only thing we want is a school that will meet Ari’s needs. Is that too much to ask for?

My husband starts the car. We drive in a static silence, each one of us wrapped in crackly bubble wrap, because we really don’t want to be here, doing this…again.

My Ari is smart! I don’t care what anybody says; I know he is. Just because there are pieces of paper that say he’s not, doesn’t mean anything. He’s

clever in ways that those piles of paper cannot detect. He’s bright in a hidden way, not through language or mathematics, nor by expounding on a blatt of Gemara. He’s street smart and knowledgeable. He listens and notices and thinks, and understands everything that goes on around him. He devours books on how to take care of his snake, knows all the prices of the items at


the local store, and works the cash register like a pro. And yet…there is a piece of A4 sized paper sitting in a file in the educational psychologist’s cabinet that says that our dear Ari has an IQ of seventy-five. Seventy-five! If it was sixty he’d be considered retarded!

Everyone who knows Ari shakes their head and says, “There’s no way that child has an IQ of 75.” But still, it’s the number on the page. Don’t ask me how it was calculated, but it was. Believe me, I’m not sure that I would score any higher.

The problem is that this number follows Ari around like the rats in the city of Hamlyn. Everywhere he turns the number is there, glaring at him from the page. And the problem is that the more that number becomes definitive for him, the lower his self-esteem plummets, and the more he behaves as if it’s accurate. All he wants is to be “normal”, whatever that is. And that’s what my husband and I are fighting for: to give our son the opportunities denied him, to peel off the label that’s glued to him so firmly.

• •Ari has been through a lot in his short lifetime. In

addition to being born with a certain disadvantage because of his ADHD, he has passed through various traumas, one of which was watching his mother slide the slippery slope of a serious sickness and her subsequent physical deterioration. This, along with another trauma he was struggling to heal from, were ample reasons to create fear and anxiety in our then nine year old son. So, when he began failing in school, a psycho-didactic evaluation was recommended; the very one that gave us that lovely number of 75. Today we are told that the reason for this low score

could have been all the stress Ari was under, which is ironic, really, because the evaluations themselves can be stressful. But it’s a straw to grasp onto, a shaky handrail on broken steps. Maybe, maybe now, four years later, Ari can be reassessed and given a different number; one he can wear proudly on his chest like an Olympic athlete. Maybe he can have a chance to be the “normal” that he so craves? Maybe he can finally get out of the special education system that we put him in to?

• •“Chinuch meyuchad”… special education… what do

I think about it? I’m not sure. What I mean to say, is that my opinion on the subject rises and falls just like the roller coaster we ride with our son. Three years ago, when Ari was struggling so badly and could barely keep his head above water, we welcomed the suggestion of a special education school like a lifeboat in a tempestuous sea.

“This is what he needs,” we were told by the various professionals.

“Don’t send him there…just get him extra help,” was the opinion of the staff in his present cheder.

The tug of war persisted from both sides but we, Ari’s parents, were the final decision makers. Clearly, Ari could not take on additional work besides what he already battled with, and besides, he was miserable. His self- esteem was lower than the level of the Dead Sea, and the tears he frequently shed were just as salty. In the special ed school Ari would get more individual attention, in addition to being taught the learning material in a way he could understand.

The first year went well. Ari rose majestically from being the tail of the snake to becoming the head. His confidence grew; he was able to tell things over at the Shabbos table that he couldn’t

before. The staff was warm, friendly, patient; their demands of children like Ari, realistic and attainable. For the first time in his illustrious school career,


Ari found himself helping other boys who had difficulties, instead of being the one who needed the help. Yes…it had been the right decision. Hopefully, a few more years of this would give Ari the boost he needed, and then he would be able to move on.

And then came the second year. In the beginning, things also seemed to be going smoothly. Ari had lots of friends, and he appeared to be doing well in his studies. Baruch Hashem, the year had started off on the right foot. Yes, Ari was already feeling the pressure of his approaching Bar Mitzvah, but all in all, he was fine. So what was it that triggered that first cluster of stones to shift and cause the landslide? What set off the volley of rocks that came pelting down? From what we understand it was an argument with another child, a typical disagreement, a sparring of words that young boys often have. Unfortunately, instead of making shalom and moving on, the conflict widened until it included several more boys, eventually spreading to almost the entire adjoining class. All of them were against my son. Many of my evenings were spent on the phone with Ari’s rebbe.

“This has to stop,” I said adamantly after a few boys had locked Ari in the bathroom that day.

“We are trying our best, Mrs. Ruddell,” the rebbe replied. “I’ve spoken to the boys, and we’ve sent home the ones who did this.”

A week later, I was on the phone again. “Things can’t continue this way,” I declared. “Simcha* threatened to drown him in the swimming pool tomorrow. Ari’s terrified to go to school.”

“We really are trying,” the rebbe repeated. “We’ve called the boys’ parents, but unfortunately, many of them can’t do anything. We send them home, and then they continue to bother Ari when they come back.”

And so it continued, month after month, while Ari continued to be bullied. My feelings of frustration rose like the pressure in an overheated car engine, about to boil over.

“The problem, Mrs. Ruddell, is that it’s often what

your son says versus what they say, and we can’t always know who’s speaking the truth. In addition, Ari’s very sensitive, so his highly emotional reaction can make the boys’ taunting even worse.”

At this point, I truly believed that the gasket would blow. “I am not apologizing for my son’s sensitivity,” I said through gritted teeth. “Yes, Ari is sensitive and quite rightly so. He’s been through a lot in his short life. You’ll have to handle that and work with him. After all, he is in a special ed school.”

I wish I could say that the story had a happy ending. I wish I could say that the staff was able to get the boys to leave Ari alone. They did try, I know that. And it wasn’t a simple situation, I know that too. But why it had to take so long to get it under control, I’ll never know. The fact is, that it was never successfully contained, which is why my son finally took things into his own hands.

“Ari’s had enough,” I told the principal. “He says that he’s going to bring some ‘friends’ to school to ‘talk’ to the boys who are bothering him.”

“Well, if Ari does that he’ll be suspended. We are not operating a mafia here.”

“My husband and I do not advocate violence,” I responded. “But Ari doesn’t feel safe. That much is obvious.”

“Like I said, Mrs. Ruddell, your son will be suspended if he goes ahead with this.”

I told Ari that he should tell his friends not to come, but they came anyway. An unpleasant scene ensued between the boys and the staff, and Ari was suspended for a day. Two days later one of Ari’s friends came again on his


own volition, and got into a nasty incident with the ringleader of the bullies. Ari was suspended again. When he returned to school, there was a group of boys waiting to apologize and make peace with him.

The damage, however, was done. This incident left an indelible stain on his young soul, another blemish to add to all the other ones. Together, they formed one giant blot that dragged his self-esteem into the mud.

A week after the dramatic events, Ari was playing “fireman” with a friend behind our house. Their ADHD brains did not pause long enough to realize that starting a small fire on a hot, windy day would be dangerous. They did not realize that maybe their water guns would be unable to extinguish the fire. When the wind whipped up the flames, and carried them the entire length of our block, and almost to the old Arab house behind the fence, Ari began to scream and cry. His wails reached high into the smoke-filled sky. While the fire and police departments worked feverishly to put out the flames started by two impulsive, twelve year olds, Ari, distraught, rocked back and forth on my living room couch, shrieking over and over, “Look what I’ve done. This is all because of me.”

Two days later, Ari was admitted to a psychiatric hospital.

• •The first two weeks after our son’s breakdown

were agonizing. I felt as if someone was sticking hot pins in and out of my body, and I would have done anything to relieve the pain. The problem was, that this was not the kind of pain that could be dulled by two Tylenol tablets; it was one, long, terrible agony that nothing could diminish. The days when I was blessedly numb, were the days that were survivable.

Ari had actually agreed to the hospitalization, but still, he begged us every night to take him home.

“I don’t want to stay here,” he cried, desperate tears running down his cheeks. “This isn’t for me. Take me home.”

He would cling to us as if he were holding on for dear life, maybe because at that stage we were the only solid support he had.

“We want you to come home, too,” I answered as I gently pried his hands from around my neck. “But it’s good for you here. You’ll be safe and get the help you need.”

That, at least, was true. We believed with all our hearts that Ari was in the best place. The children’s psychiatric department was one of the finest in the country. The staff was warm and caring, and there was a high patient/staff ratio. Given Ari’s extremely fragile emotional state, we knew that keeping him home was not an option. That’s what gave us the strength to resist his desperate pleas to whisk him away to safer shores. Slowly but surely, Ari’s tears subsided. His entreaties lessened until he reached the point where he didn’t even want us to visit him, because he was having such a good time. Two months later, when he was discharged, he was a different child. As traumatic as the whole thing had been, it had been good. Ari had received the care and support he needed, had actually thrived on the rules and tight structure, and had come out far stronger than he went in. Where, however, was he supposed to go from here?

• •Understandably, Ari would not hear of going back to

the school where he had failed so miserably. The hospital recommended that he go to a post hospitalization p'nimia because he’d done so well in that kind of

environment. Immediately after his discharge, we picked up our family and took off for a few days

of well-deserved vacation. It was a time to relax and recharge our batteries before beginning the laborious process of finding a framework for our son.We knew it would not be simple.


There were only two options for the kind of p'nimiaAri needed that catered to religious children. Neither of them were ideal.

The first place horrified us. “I am not coming here,” Ari declared as soon as he stepped foot in the building and saw a group of obviously mentally ill boys.

My husband and I just nodded, but inside, I was screaming, “And we are not going to send you here.”

We settled on the second option, a new place with an extremely reputable menahel. Finally, after Succos, off he went. This new venture lasted a whole five days. Unfortunately, there were some disciplinary methods the staff used that were unacceptable to us.

So there we were, back to square one again. Ari, who had been out of school for two months, was back on the streets through no fault of his own. By now, I did not want to send him anywhere. All I wanted to do was wrap him up in a warm, comfort blanket and keep him safe at home. He resumed working in the local store where he’d been before, and twice a day he walked the neighbor’s dog. Meanwhile, together with the social services, we recommenced our quest for stability in Ari’s life.

By now, the labels attached to Ari were numerous and sticky. Not only was he ADHD, learning disabled, with a IQ of 75, but he was also a post-hospitalized psychiatric patient. What a glorious record of achievements. The list of “Sorry, but we can’t take the risk, given his past history”, or “Academically, he’s not up to par, I’m afraid” is growing like a long snake, coiling around his neck and threatening to choke him. Is there no one out there that can help build a little boy’s self-esteem and help him believe in himself? Is he destined to continue suffering repeated rejections for something that isn’t his fault? And I don’t want to sound bitter, but how come the bullies are still in school, while Ari is not? Something seems terribly wrong to me. Why is it usually the victim of

abuse who continues to suffer, while the perpetrators get away with a slap on the wrist? When are things going to change?

• •Ari is on trial. For one month this

school for boys with ADD/HD, will give him a chance. “This is not a special ed school,” the staff reiterates. It’s a place that demands a high level of achievement from the boys, and has the know-how and experience to teach them in ways they can succeed. Ari is way behind in some subjects and ahead in others, like limudei kodesh. Every day, I drive him an

hour in rush hour traffic to get him to tefillah at 8:00 a.m. before classes start. I get home around 9:00 a.m., and then repeat the route in the afternoon. It’s exhausting and time consuming,

but as parents we’ll do anything for our children, won’t we? I’m just overwhelmingly grateful that Ari has a school, and is no longer stocking shelves in the neighborhood store. Most importantly, Ari is happy, and that’s what counts. If he succeeds, this could be his opportunity to peel off some of the labels and forge a different future to the one that seemed laid out for him. He’s being given a chance, and we’ll always be indebted to the administration for that.

Will Ari succeed? We hope so. We are praying for him. Because… along with all our other hishtadlus… that’s really the most we can do.

*not his real name.

He would cling to us as if he were holding on for

dear life...


Coordinated by: Dini Landau and Ruchel Einhorn


Op

tion

s

“My child is developmentally delayed, yet I need something more than traditional physical therapy…”

“My child is exhibiting behaviors that set him apart from his peers; it requires expertise…”

“My child has various disabilities that are being addressed; I’m being advised that an alternative method might be a good choice to pursue…”

What are my options?


Mindy tightened her grip around the bundled package in her arms. She pressed her nose into the angelic face of the child that slept

obliviously in her arms. “Never” she whispered into his face, “Never,

my dear child, will you sleep on your stomach. Did you just hear what the nurse said? She said it is

dangerous; it can cause SIDS, and I only want the best for you, my dear child. Therefore, I will listen to the nurse’s warning, and guard you night and day to protect you from that scary monster called SIDS.”

True to her words, Mindy never put her child on his stomach. Since the day she left the hospital the

CRAN

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fear of finding her baby dead in his crib never ceased. She hovered over him like a hawk, and had no peace of mind. For additional protection she surrounded him with cushions and pillows to prevent him from rolling over.

As her baby grew older, Mindy’s worries began shifting to other areas. Her child did not roll over yet, never mind crawl, and when placed on the floor he would cry until she picked him up. She also noticed that his head was misshaped, with the back of his head being flat instead of round. During her next visit to the pediatrician, she raised her concerns. He referred her to a pediatric neurosurgeon to fit a helmet for her child. Mindy was beside herself; a helmet for her precious little baby?! She winced at the thought of it.

When she unburdened her distressing situation to a close friend, her friend shared with her interesting information she had read

in a pamphlet at a doctor’s office. The pamphlet offered a short glimpse into the world of craniosacral therapy, and included the condition of a baby’s flat head.

Intrigued by the idea, Mindy did not waste any time, and immediately did some research on craniosacral therapy. She chose a practitioner close to her home, and scheduled an appointment for her son. The DO assured her that after a few sessions her baby’s head would return to normal. Mindy was skeptical, but nevertheless felt that it is worth a try. She never regretted her decision. After 6 sessions of therapy, her baby’s head was nice and round. The DO explained to her that her baby’s head did not flatten. In fact, the position he was laying in, indented his occiput (back portion of the skull), and spread it outward, giving it an appearance of a flat pumpkin head. By treating it with craniosacral therapy, he was able to return the occiput to its normal round shape.

In an interview with Aetna Insurance Company, the CEO revealed that after suffering an injury from a ski accident, he was prescribed seven medications. When incorporating yoga and craniosacral therapy in his healing plan, he was able to discontinue all his prescription drugs. Aetna is now considering offering a low cost health plan to people who use these alternative treatments for preventive healthcare.

Craniosacral therapy is not only utilized among alternative practitioners. In a recent news report Dr. Andrew Fryer M.D., a board certified pediatric cardiologist and surgeon, noted that by integrating craniosacral therapy into his practice, the cases of pediatric open-heart surgery were reduced by sixty percent!

Dr. Fryer was also involved in an interesting case of Siamese twins. The twins had a strong desire to be surgically disconnected, however, one of them relied significantly on his twin for his own nourishment by absorbing the nutrients in their shared blood supply. Dr. Fryers wife, who is a craniosacral therapist, encouraged him to integrate craniosacral therapy in order to improve the twins’ chances of being successfully separated. Together with Dr. John Upledger, the founder of the Upledger Institute, they provided many sessions of craniosacral therapy to the twins. As a result, the surgery was extremely successful and both twins survived.

IN THE NEWS


In order to understand the method of craniosacral therapy, one must first be knowledgeable about the structure of the skull and spine.

The cranium, another term for skull, contains eight bones. The most important among them is the sphenoid, because all the bones are connected to it. If the sphenoid, or any other bone, shifts even a tiny bit, it may cause restrictions on the underlying nerves; the main nerves controlling the central nervous system. Most of the cranial bones are connected by sutures, similar to calcified joints, which assist the skull in absorbing subtle motion.

(When a baby is born the sutures are not completely calcified. It is comprised of cartilage, and slowly calcifies until it gradually becomes bound together between the ages of two months and three years. If the sutures close prematurely, a condition of microcephaly, otherwise known as a small head, may develop.)

The cranial bones continuously produce small, rhythmic motions attributed to cerebrospinal fluid pressure.

Craniosacral therapy is a form of alternative therapy that focuses primarily on regulating the flow of cerebrospinal fluid. It does so, by utilizing therapeutic touch of the therapist to manipulate the cranial bones of the skull and the sacrum/pelvis. At a craniosacral therapy session the practitioner applies light touches to the patient’s skull, spine and pelvis; an introductory method which allows the therapist to tune into the patient’s craniosacral system. The practitioner gently follows the motion of the bones, and loosens

restricted pathways of spinal fluid, thereby enabling the practitioner

to achieve a therapeutic result.

This therapy assists in clearing

restrictions found in the nerve passages. The cerebrospinal fluid can then flow properly through the spinal cord,

brain stem and brain. In addition,

craniosacral therapy strengthens the blood

flow to the brain which can be inhibited by tiny blockages on the

cranial nerves. Craniosacral therapy has been a proven healing

alternative for various ailments. Many conditions

What is Craniosacral therapy? How is it done?

What are its health benefits?


that have been associated with the cranial bones include microcephalus, hydrocephalus, sensory issues, abnormal or stunted growth, digestion issues, drooling, TMJ and migraine headaches. A physical shift in the cranial section of the brain can also be caused by a blow to the head or spine, or a bad accident. Currently, researchers are still studying what other illnesses may be caused

by the misalignment of the cranial bones, and which other conditions can benefit from craniosacral therapy. Recent studies have confirmed that craniosacral therapy can be helpful for people suffering from dementia and migraine headaches.

The initial discovery of motion in the cranial bones and sutures is credited to Dr. William Sutherland, an

osteopathic physician. Sutherland was struck by the idea that the cranial sutures of the temporal bones that connect it to the parietal bones, were beveled like the “gills of a fish”, indicating a mechanism of mobility. He continued investigating the structure and its strengths, and eventually integrated the approach into his practice and teachings.

Dr. John Upledger, was a neurophysiologist who refined craniosacral therapy by further studying Sutherland's theory of cranial bone movement. During a surgical procedure on a patient's neck, Upledger observed a slow pulsating movement within the spinal meninges. He attempted to hold the dural membrane still and found that he could not, due to the strength of the movement. This discovery led him to refine the craniosacral method by incorporating other skeletal bones, too. Along with a team of researchers, physicists and anatomists he worked for a period of eight years to develop the craniosacral program that is mostly used by practitioners today.

Cranial Therapy Centers can be found in many locations throughout the USA, and the therapy is becoming more popular among physicians. Since cranial therapy is a highly sensitive method which includes manipulating areas of the brain and spine, it is recommended one uses only a physician that is licensed in craniosacral therapy. Yehudit Weinstock, a licensed craniosacral practitioner, contributed to this article. She may be reached at her A+ Rehab Center at 845-782-6775


A child is having trouble sitting at the Shabbos table because her sister is

chewing too loudly. The sound is irritating for the child, so she reacts by hitting her sister, in order to stop her from chewing. Her dislike

of the chewing creates a negative feeling for her, and she now associates a feeling a sense of discomfort both with the experience of eating by the Shabbos table, and with her sister.

Deb

bie’

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ayce

Article Written By:

Deborah Sussman, OT/L, Lorraine Ehlers-Flint, PhD

Yocheved Grohman, OTR/L


What is Debbie’s Playce? What services do you offer?

The scenario mentioned above is typical of why parents reach out to Debbie’s Playce. Generally, a therapist would address the child’s ability to get used to the sounds through improving her sensory system and helping her body regulate and relax. Sometimes the child’s behavioral issues are so distressing that our psychologist has to help the mother and the rest of the family understand what’s happening. They need to realize that the child experiences unpleasant emotions towards the sounds, and that’s why she feels stressed and reacts so strongly. The sensory and emotional connection is explained, and then used to teach everyone how to cope with the situation; hopefully a pleasant Shabbos is ensured for the entire family.

Debbie’s Playce is a family centered developmental clinic. We treat children and adults from birth to parenthood and our specialties are sensory, motor and emotional function. The following are typical goals we set for individuals: dressing, eating, bathing, sleeping, morning routine, school work, handwriting, play, house chores, shopping, parenting, caretaking, social skills, motor difficulties, tantrums, emotional outbursts, refusals, fears, separation anxiety, depression, inattention, rigidity and controlling behavior. In addition to providing therapy to families and children, we are also a training center for educators and professionals. We give workshops,

provide mentoring, supervision, classes and consultations. At Debbie’s Playce we believe that this is an important key to supporting and empowering other professionals in our community.

A general assessment at our clinic is an ongoing process. The family’s involvement in the process is critical to our understanding of what the child’s issues are. We bear in mind that the way a child performs in an assessment with a therapist, is not necessarily how he may act in other places. The way a child behaves at school, the playground or his own home needs to be a part of the assessment and treatment plan. In order for the child, the parents and the therapist to be successful, it is critical to determine where the issues stem from and to understand that every behavior has a reason.

While we make use of many therapeutic interventions, our developmental philosophy is mainly influenced by DIR®/Floortime™

and sensory processing. The Developmental, Individual

Differences, Relationship-based (DIR®) model

includes objectives to build healthy foundations for social, emotional, and intellectual growth rather than focusing on specific

skills or isolated behaviors.

The D (Developmental) refers to the foundational

capacities for relating, feeling and thinking. This includes the following:

the ability to remain calm and regulated, to engage and relate to others, to initiate and respond to all types of communication, to engage in shared social problem-solving and intentional behavior,


to use ideas to express needs and feelings, to think and play creatively, and to build bridges between ideas in logical ways. This foundation leads to abstract thinking and is essential for spontaneous and empathic relationships and the mastery of academic skills.

The I (Individual differences) part of the model describes the unique biologically-based ways each child takes in, regulates, responds to, and comprehends sensations such as sound, touch, and the planning and sequencing of actions and ideas. Children may have difficulties such as poor balance, weak muscles, visual motor, language and fine motor coordination problems that impact their development.

The R (Relationship-based) part of the model describes the relationships with caregivers, educators, therapists, siblings, peers and others who are important in a child’s life. Interactions are adapted to the individual differences of the child in order to support overall developmental progress.

Sensory processing is the way all of the information we receive about the world comes to us through our sensory systems. Because sensory processes take place within the nervous system at a subconscious level, we are not usually aware of them. Although we are all familiar with the senses involved in taste, smell, sight, and sound, most of us do not realize that our nervous systems also sense touch, movement,

force of gravity and body position. Just as the eyes detect visual information and relay it to the brain for interpretation, all sensory systems have receptors that pick up information to be perceived by the brain. When we experience sensations from our environment it may feel pleasant or unpleasant. Every sensation has an emotional “feel” to it. The degree of pleasure or displeasure that we associate with a sensation, can interfere with our ability to interact with others, and to complete our daily activities in a timely manner.

The therapy process is one where the children’s and family’s strengths are the driving force. We believe that by reinforcing these strengths we can address all the challenges the children are confronted with. Our view is one of health and developmental possibility, not one of deficit and weakness.

An eleven-year-old boy has a pattern of repeated failures in his attempts to join his friends in the park or at recess. His self esteem is negatively impacted by his emotional perception of his limited physical abilities. As he gazes longingly at the swing, he starts slowly walking in that direction. How can he possibly accomplish this?

We will enable him to have the tools to achieve success, no matter what it takes. With remarkable skill, the therapist will guide and support the child, as he inches closer to achieve his goal. The therapist will hold the child, and strengthen his


weak muscles and poor balance. He will address the child’s emotional fear that gets in his way and prevents him from trying. Today, however, he feels like he stands a chance! Finally, with lots of hard work, he succeeds! Moving forward, the boy who has lived with a predictable sense of failure, is now able to go home and practice success; because he knows what it feels like. He has just experienced it.

Parents bring their ten-year-old daughter to Debbie’s Playce. She is having behavioral difficulties at school and at home. They don’t understand why their limit setting, charts and rewards for good behavior are not working. When she is frustrated or angry, she loses control; she throws things, she raises her voice, she cries, she even becomes physically aggressive sometimes. While we want to help these parents find a solution, we must first understand the problem.

As the process of discovery unfolds, we realize that there is more to this concern than limit testing. This is a child that has difficulties with touch. She is fearful, worried and very anxious about the unexpected. She cannot anticipate what is going to happen from one moment to the next, and she needs to control her environment including the people and objects around her, in order to feel safe. Over time, we explore all the ways in which her sensory, motor and emotional challenges impact her behavior.

* *

You might ask or say to yourself: Why is my child not playing with others? Why is my child not able to climb on the playground equipment? Why is my seven year old still unable to dress herself? Why does my son bring home empty work sheets from school? Why does my child get angry easily? Why does my child have difficulty following directions at school? Why does my child chew on the ends of his sleeve? Why does my child not like the way certain clothing feel? Why is my 9-year-old still wetting his pants during the day? Why is my child anxious and fearful? Why does my child seem so angry and lonely?

Reaching out for help is not an easy step for parents to take. We understand that it is a big commitment to make the choice to get help. We want people to feel comfortable with their decision when opening our office door. We have a strictly kosher kitchen so that parents can have peace of mind when their children eat at Debbie’s Playce. “I like to breathe Debbie’s air,” one parent shares. She further explains, “From the moment I enter the waiting room, everything changes! I can relax, be myself, and feel accepted. At Debbie’s Playce, there is no right or wrong, and there is no judgment.”

Now that you read the article can you guess why Debbie’s Playce is spelled PLAYce?

If you would like to make an appointment at our Monsey or Scarsdale locations, please call Debbie’s Playce at 845-364-6861.


IntroductionThe van door opens, and a charming little girl emerges from the side.

She is accompanied by her mother, who adjusts her walker so that she can step out of the vehicle. The little girl then clutches her walker and slowly steadies her gait, carefully walking on the short pebbled path before her. Upon entering the stable, the little girl, Leah’le, examines her surroundings. She is greeted by Shelly, who introduces her to Joey, the prettiest pony she’s ever seen. Leah’le is excited about the new therapy she is about to begin, since she heard about the amazing results other kids have had. Shelly assures her that she will be assisted and protected by professional therapists throughout the entire session. She will enjoy her Hippotherapy sessions to the max!

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What is Hippotherapy? How is it utilized at Full Circle Equine Centered Activities?

While riding a horse, the rider experiences the feeling of the horse’s natural movement; variable, rhythmic and repetitive. By providing multidimensional movement combined with a stable base of support, the horse becomes an invaluable tool in facilitating the improvement of the following: core strength, pelvic stability, global strength, flexibility, mobility, motor control, balance, posture, endurance, motor planning, receptive/expressive language, sensory processing and attention skills.

Basically, by modulating the horse’s movement, and the ‘messages’ the child receives from that specific movement, the therapists can encourage a range of responses in the child. There are numerous variations of the type of input the child can receive, because there are numerous variations to the horse’s speed and gait pattern, and the rider’s position on the horse.

An amazing phenomenon is that when one sits in a forward leaning position on a horse while it is walking, the movement pattern that occurs in the rider’s pelvis mimics the natural human gait. For our clients who present with atypical gait patterns, (due to limitations in strength, muscle tone, flexibility, sensory processing, motor planning, to name a few), riding on a horse improves the mobility of the pelvis. By enforcing good posture while the horse is walking, we can focus on core stability. By changing the speed of the horse’s trot, or the surface it is trotting on, we can implement subtle body adjustments that are important in order for the body to maintain stability.

In addition, we include activities that may require other skills i.e., coordination, crossing midline, eye/hand coordination, sequencing, attention to task, fine motor skills and or expressive/ receptive language. These activities are also individualized and progressive throughout the semester, as our client’s skill level progresses. The result is the most comprehensive and functional intervention available. The best part about it is, that it all takes place in a non-clinical, friendly, and caring environment.

Milestones Integrated Services, (occupational therapy, physical therapy, registered nurses), collaborates with Full Circle Equine Centered Activities to provide the team necessary for our Hippotherapy program. Milestones provides the therapists and registered nurses who work closely with the family to determine goals and specialized treatment plans. Full Circle Equine Centered Activities, collaborates by providing a certified therapeutic riding instructor and dedicated and trained volunteers. They also offer access to a variety of adaptive equine equipment that enables them to customize therapy sessions to each child’s

needs. A typical team consists of a client, horse, therapist, therapeutic riding

instructor, horse leader and side walker volunteer.

In Milestones’ experience, Hippotherapy

has consistently produced positive results (a decrease of impairments and an improvement in function) with

individuals who have been diagnosed with

the following: abnormal muscle tone, autism, cerebral

palsy, developmental delay, Down’s syndrome, multiple sclerosis,

sensory integration disorder, speech/language disorders and genetic syndromes. We’ve seen it affect not only the client, but also the extended


family. Parents, siblings, grandparents and friends are welcome to watch and support their loved ones. We’ve never seen anyone leave without a smile on their face.

There’s great energy radiated throughout therapy sessions. Besides for movement, we’ve come to realize that the horse contributes so much more than the physical stimulation. Having been involved in pediatrics and rehabilitation for many years, our team has never experienced or utilized another tool that has affected such positive results, and elicited so much interest and participation from the young clients themselves.

One of the unique highlights of our program is that it offers an alternative

which promotes continuous success. Often, when

a client improves their functional

abilities and no longer requires professional therapeutic intervention, they still prefer

to continue participating in

equine activities. They then have the option

to transition to Full Circle’s therapeutic riding program. It consists

of a team that includes the client, therapeutic riding instructor, horse leader and volunteers, and the

goal is shifted to teaching the client “real” riding skills. This adds a new and exciting dimension to the client’s life, and instills confidence and pride in the successful new rider. The transition is typically met with ease, because the client continues working with familiar faces in a familiar setting.

There are other equine services available through Full Circle Equine Centered Activities as well, including: Equine Assisted Psychotherapy (EAP), which is provided in collaboration with Journey’s Way Mental Health Counseling, Veteran Equine Transition Therapy (V.E.T.T.) and fieldtrips which can be customized to meet the specifications of the attending group.

For more information you can visit:www.milestonesintegratedservices.com

or www.fullcircleeca.org

Where does the term Hippotherapy originate from?Hippos is the Greek word for horse. The

literal translation is ‘horse therapy’. Hippotherapy is the use of a horse by health care professionals (physical, occupational, or speech therapists) as part of a treatment plan to improve neuromotor function in a

non-clinical setting.


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Plotting a course through the world of therapy options can often be confusing and frustrating to parents who seek the best care for their child. The logistical, practical and financial dimensions of therapy are an endless maze that many find impossible to navigate. Having a clear understanding of the dynamics of therapy and the choices available, is therefore crucial when pursuing any form of therapeutic treatment.

Sparks magazine acknowledges the need for guidance and direction, and is pleased to share with you some comments and observations made by mothers who have significant experience in the world of therapy.

Malka B., a mother of a child with developmental delay, offers some practical guidance:

When a new form of therapy is introduced to you, it is vital that you do an extensive amount of research, especially in the form of references. Personal experience from a parent who has ‘been there’ will often provide you with the

most accurate information. If you can’t get the references, DON’T go ahead with it!

When initiating a new therapy, bear in mind that progress should be expected within three sessions. The change may vary in degree, ranging from subtle to drastic. However, if there is no noticeable progress within the given timeframe, it is recommended that you re-asses your decision and/or discuss the method with


another professional in the field. Similarly, when engaging in a specific

therapeutic method and you feel you’re your child’s progress has reached a plateau (standstill/deadend), you may question yourself, or the practitioner treating your child whether it is time to move on. However, it is strongly recommended to discuss this with a different professional as well, such as your pediatrician, in order to get the most accurate analysis.

One of the proven theories regarding most therapies is the need to give your child a break from the therapy. The body often needs time to absorb the effects of what it has learned, and to integrate it in a natural environment. Giving the child a ‘break’ for a few days doesn’t necessarily mean discontinuing the treatment. Rather, it is a temporary suspension, while you maintain the routine carry-over you are regularly instructed to do. This concept has proven to work very well with children with developmental disabilities. It is promoted and accepted by insurance companies, as well as experienced therapists.

Remember that every child is different. What

works wonders for one child, may not necessarily work with yours. While it is important not to get discouraged too quickly by disappointing results, it’s always worth experimenting with a new method.

Yehudis M., mother of child with autism, shares the following:

When challenged by a situation in which your child displays a limitation of any sort, it is hard to remain positive. Regardless of the ‘packaging’, accept your child. He really feels it!

Acceptance does not mean giving up on the situation; but rather that you love

him regardless. Maintaining a positive outlook is crucial for

your child’s development, as well as for the rest of the family. They pick up on the vibes and unspoken cues, and interpret it instantly.

When the burden of therapy overwhelms you,

take a break! Spend some time with your child, and enjoy each

other’s company without the stressful atmosphere that accompanies a therapy session. Bonding with your child without strings attached,

“Maintaining a positive

outlook is crucial for your child’s development.”


often provides the quality time that you would otherwise not enjoy.

Lastly, don’t forget that aside from your child with special needs, you have the rest of your family relying on you, in your role as mother/wife. It may be challenging to juggle your responsibilities, but losing focus of your family as a unit may foster resentment. Remember to work with your husband and kids as a team, and they, in turn, will work with you.

Klary B., mother of child with PDD, offers some thoughtful words of wisdom:

The financial strain that ongoing therapy places on a family’s budget, can sometimes be enormous. In certain instances it can be the monetary restraints that limit your child’s access to beneficial treatment. Therefore, if your child really needs a certain therapy, consider the money spent like your money you would be paying for s’char limud with. When making these decisions, also remember that money spent on tuition or Shabbos expenses are guaranteed to be paid back by Hashem.

We can compare the dynamics of our family life to a pot simmering on a stovetop.

Sometimes our children are on our front burner and we stir them, showering them with love and care. During more stressful times, they get pushed to the back burner. Yet, regardless of the details, they are always on our ‘burners’…

Remember to take one step at a time. Fretting over a situation that might arise in the future will only cause you unnecessary stress. As you enter each new stage, Hashem

will give you the binah yeseira to make the right decisions and to guide you properly.

Esther S., mother of child with Down’s syndrome, shares:

Sometimes, we are delighted when we hear about new options that become available that might benefit our child, and we are eager to try them. Yet, we may often find ourselves worrying that “maybe there’s a certain therapy out there that could’ve possibly helped…” Following those thought patterns are definitely היצר ,עצת because it’s ultimately bashert from Above what information should come your way. Therefore, don’t regret lost opportunities. Whatever is meant for your child will definitely be directed to you.

Appreciation goes a long way. Therapists and staff members who aid your child’s development, deserve your recognition and gratitude. Aside from it being an obvious obligation, I’ve personally experienced the tremendous effects of showing appreciation; it has always impacted the manner in which therapists have interacted with me and

my child. Whether it’s a nice poem or a simple gift, your expression of appreciation

will take you far.And finally, trust your

motherly intuition. I’ve seen countless situations in which my natural instinct for doing the best for my child has led me in the right

path. Of course, it is loads of siyatta d’shmaya that has

enabled our many successful encounters in the world of therapy.

Don’t get discouraged from doctors or therapists whose expertise might throw you

off guard. A mother’s intuition is a strong voice in a child’s life.

“And finally, trust

your motherly intuition.”


I was coming home much later than anticipated. I knew everyone was going to be hungry and irritable, and I

knew the house was going to be messy and I too, was going to be irritable. Everyone would start talking at once, telling me exactly who did what to whom, and when, and I would be expected to assume position of judge still with my coat on. I almost wouldn’t have minded remaining stuck in traffic. I exhaled long and hard. I was just so, so tired.

Suddenly, I had this flash of clarity: it didn’t have to be this way. It was up to me. I made a detour to the pizza shop, and as I made my way into the house, the smell wafting out of the oil-stained cardboard box was enough to change the atmosphere. “Surprise! Pizza!” I shouted with a smile on my face.

It was a happy homecoming. I almost forgot about little Malky who stayed behind in the rehab center with my husband. We were a family; a happy one; and we were coping, even enjoying.

As I reminded my children to thank Hashem, and make their brachos acharonos, I said my silent bracha of hoda’ah. I thanked Hashem for redirecting my route home, and for redirecting my attitude towards myself. I would have to rethink my duties, and how far I should and could stretch to be everything to everyone. Perhaps pizza originated in Italy; but, on that exhausting evening it sure had taam gan-eden.

- • -For weeks and weeks after the surgery, we took shifts

sitting by my nephew’s bedside. True, it wasn’t my child, I was only an aunt; but still, the stress of watching a child in pain was getting to me. And true, I only taught a half-day and I really had the time, as I was constantly being reminded, but I was used to having some time for myself before my kids trooped in. My present schedule left me

without a minute to breathe. Of course, because I was not in dire straits financially, it couldn’t possibly be as hard for me as it was for the rest of the extended family. Now, please do not ask me to explain that connection, just trust me that one exists. So if I sound like I was whiny, it’s because I was. Don’t get me wrong; I was doing it willingly, with all my heart and soul. It’s just that I felt drained, and unappreciated. I wasn’t exactly waiting for a thank-you card in the mail; I just didn’t think anyone realized what a toll this schedule was taking on me, my children and even my students. Like I said, I was definitely kvetchy.

One day, on the way home from yet another wrenching shift in the hospital, I passed an exotic florist. The colors, the shapes, the natural loveliness of the delicate flowers in the window, seemed to reach out to me. I walked in to the shop just to get a closer look, to touch, to smell, to feel. I inhaled deeply, the rich aroma spreading gradually through my weary bones. I felt my tension slowly seeping out of my stiff shoulders, and I exhaled. At the risk of sounding too spiritual, honestly, I reveled in the knowledge that these exquisite and precisely formed flowers were the Handiwork of the One who runs this world down to the minutest detail. There I could make a connection...

It was an impulsive purchase. A gift of beauty to myself, in appreciation of all I was doing to give of myself, wholeheartedly, willingly and selflessly. It stood tall in a glass vase on my dining room table, its presence and fragrance filling my room and my heart. It was my personal message and chizuk to myself; my reminder of how much nachas I was bringing to our Father Above and how valuable my contributions were.

My flower; my silent applause. - • -

of the

By: Esty Friedman

TradeTricks


It might sound weird, but the fact of the matter remained, that the trip down to my four-year-old’s bus with newborn and toddler in tow, was the hardest part of my day. I know what you are thinking. With all that she has to contend with caring for her paralyzed teenager, this is the most difficult part of her day?

Yes, schlepping up the stairs and knowing what awaited me was mentally and physically exhausting. My brain craved a coffee, my toddler wanted breakfast again and the beds were waiting to be made. Breakfast dishes were a thing of the past, since we started using plastic plates, but the kitchen table needed clearing, and my son and his aide both needed my attention. I could cope with doing what I knew I had to do. I could juggle the many decisions that had to be made every day. But, starting the morning feeling overwhelmed, surrounded by pajamas and negel vasser, and being pulled in so many different directions, left me totally depleted.

Scene Two: Curtains part. Enter Allysia. It’s only two hours a morning and it is not in my budget,

but, Allysia is now a part my life. Now I schlep up the stairs after the bus, and I can’t wait.

The table is clear. The beds are made. The house already smells clean. I hear the gentle swish and swoosh of the washing machine working. I am surrounded by order; I feel like I am in control. I can now be the mother I want to be, nay, the mother I really am.

My coffee has never tasted so good.- • -

I love my grandchildren. I adore them. But when they come for Shabbos, all of them at once, it gets really hectic. I put all the breakable and fragile things out of the way, and I buy enough nosh to keep them munching away. However, whichever way I slice it, by the time Shabbos is over, I am exhausted, and my house is a wreck.

I am no medical expert, so I can’t really help my son in that respect, and I don’t have the means to assist him financially. But, when they need to go out-of town for yet another consultation or another experimental treatment, the least I could do is offer to take the rest of the brood. And take them I do.

So, comes Sunday, the residue of the nosh party litters my house, and the echoes of the noise still swirl around in my head. I need to get off the treadmill and recharge. I need to be there for my children with calm and strength. I need a change of scenery.

The ride to Prospect Park is short. I walk into the park and start weaving my way in, farther and farther away from the sound of the traffic, deeper and deeper through trails of heavy tree cover leading to fields of vast green openness. Ahhh! The peace, the quiet, the breathing space, the endless expanse of sky; it is so liberating, so soothing, so transforming. I walk slowly, aimlessly, without

direction. My eyes wander, my mind wanders, and I feel myself unwinding, relaxing and enjoying. I sit down on a bench, take out the snack I brought along,

(what’s a trip without a snack?) and observe the calm comings and goings of the other park visitors.

Finally, with a spring in my step I head back, closer and closer to the roar of the city. I am ready to go home.

- • -Some people need Florida or a trip across the ocean. I

love the park. What speaks to you? What helps you cope? What are your tricks of the trade? Getting lost in good book? Joining an exercise class? Taking a long hot bath? Having lunch with a friend? A quiet drive? Swimming? Going back to sleep after the kids go off? Taking the phone off the hook for an hour, (cellphone included)?

Every once in a while, get off the roller-coaster, pause, and reevaluate. Reflect. Indulge. Treat yourself. Remember: You are the most important person in your life!

Trade


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A Walk to GloryAn Interview with Mrs. Chana Brill

When Rayim first contacted me, asking if I would interview Mrs. Chana Brill, I had no idea how my life would be enriched by her story. Though I am no stranger to lengthy interviews, this particular experience was both eye-opening and rewarding.

Mrs. Brill, I soon discovered, is a legend; a woman who has taken her unique, so-called limitations, and used them to soar, teaching others to fly.

A beloved kallah teacher, therapist and life coach, Mrs. Brill is blessed with a sparkling sense of humor and an ability to connect with anyone she encounters. A daughter of the renowned Reb Amrom Tauber shlita, she is a survivor of the polio epidemic that ravaged Eretz Yisroel in the fifties, before the Salk vaccine became available.

Although Mrs. Brill gets around with the help of a scooter, and has difficulty maintaining her balance, she is one of the most ‘balanced’ women I have been privileged to encounter. (“It’s my custom-made car,” she says, with a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m so sorry I can’t give you a ride.”)

Mrs. Brill has experienced numerous difficult stages in her life. She endured months of post-surgery hospitalizations as a child, and left school at a young age to work in her father’s fish store. That was followed by her marriage to her first husband zt’l, motherhood and her subsequent remarriage. Her chochmas hachaim, gleaned from her myriad life experiences, is a marvel. In her soft-spoken, incredibly warm and down-to-earth manner, she opened my eyes to the beauty and potential of a life well-lived.

Here is her powerful story. I hope it inspires you as much as it has inspired me.


Chana Speaks:I was born in Shaarei Tzedek Hospital in Eretz

Yisroel in the year of 1950, five years after the Holocaust, and only two years after the War of Independence. My beloved parents had a unique story of survival. They got married when Hitler came to power, as the mass deportations of Polish Jewry began. They lived in Hungary, and thus were spared the initial horror of the Holocaust. During the next five years, my four older brothers were born in rapid succession.

When the Nazis invaded Hungary in 1944, my mother was taken to Auschwitz. She was expecting at the time, and my baby sister was born and left to die shortly after her arrival. My 25-year-old mother was forced to continue standing at the appel, roll-call, and working in the camps, lest she share the same fate. She became a source of support and chizuk to the young girls in her barracks, telling them to do, and eat, everything they could in order to stay alive. Many credit their survival to her mothering and care.

Miraculously, my father and brother managed to escape certain death, by hiding on the Aryan side and masquerading as a gentile family. During this time my father adopted a series of disguises; sometimes he was a woman, taking care of her brood, while at times he wore the uniform of an S.S. officer. At one point he hid one of my brothers in a suitcase with holes, as he delivered him to a safe house. B’chasdei Hashem, they all survived the war, and were reunited with my mother after liberation.

After the war, our reunited family went to Antwerp, where another brother and sister were born. In 1948, shortly after the War of Independence, they moved to Eretz Yisroel, to begin life anew. In fact, my mother had made a promise to Hashem that if He saved her and the family, she would always live in the Holy Land. Years later, due to my medical condition, she was forced to be matir neder and come to America.

At war’s end, my parents and siblings stayed in a DP camp, and then moved to Eretz Yisroel to begin life anew.

Chana's BirthI was born two years after their arrival to Eretz

Yisroel. I was the sixth of nine siblings, five boys and four girls. The world I was born into, in 1950, was a completely different reality. Eretz Yisroel, then in the early days of its independence, was inhabited mostly by poor, desperate Holocaust survivors, determined to rebuild their lives. There were few conveniences available, and even medical care was primitive.

My early childhood, I am told, was idyllic. I grew up surrounded by doting parents and loving siblings, in our humble apartment in Sanhedria. But then, when I was eighteen months old, tragedy struck: the vicious polio epidemic spread like wildfire. Young children contracted polio just from contact with someone who was infected, or from going to a public pool.

At that time, the Salk vaccine had already been discovered, but it was not yet approved for use in Eretz Yisroel. And so, when I contracted a virus as a toddler, and began to convulse with fever, my parents summoned Dr. Wallach to our home. This tzaddik of a doctor came right away, checked me carefully, and spoke to my parents, his face grave. “Your little girl is very sick,” he said. “I suspect she may have caught the polio virus.” In those days, this

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was practically a death sentence, since most children did not survive. Those who did recover were often paralyzed for life.

Yet, I was fortunate because the famed Rav Moshe Wallach, was my doctor. He was known as the Tzaddik of Shaarei Tzedek Hospital, and he single-handedly saved thousands of lives.

Rabbi Wallach insisted that I be hospitalized for the protection of my parents and siblings, especially my newborn baby sister. I was sent to an isolated ward in the hospital, where all the children afflicted with polio were kept quarantined together. This was more like a prison ward with deplorable conditions.

Due to the rampant spread of this dangerously contagious disease, no one was allowed to visit the polio ward. Even the doctors and nurses refused to treat these patients, terrified that they too, would become infected. Only a few dedicated, elderly nurses, who had no fear of death, dared to enter the ward. Yet, even they cared for us children quickly, hurrying out when they were done. Life in the ward was a very lonely, difficult existence. We would lay there, on metal shelves, kept alive by iron lungs, (a large breathing machine, the precursor of today’s ventilators), neglected and starving for warmth and attention. Our diapers weren’t changed; we were barely fed, and we felt almost no human contact. Despite our desperate struggle to survive, we grew weaker each day.

A Father's SacrificeThough my father was not allowed to visit me, he somehow sneaked in,

and was appalled by my condition. I was semi-conscious, malnourished, surrounded by children who were slowly dying of hunger and neglect. My father was furious, and desperate to take me home, but I couldn’t be moved until my condition improved. The doctor of the ward, mincing no words, told him that the next few days would be critical. If the disease traveled up my body, I would die; if it traveled downward, I would ‘merely’ lose feeling in my lower extremities. Fortunately, after ten agonizing days, the polio ran its course. I was from the lucky ones; I was left disabled only in my left leg, which was paralyzed from the hip down.

My father wasted no time in taking me out of that hospital. The doctors were furious, warning him that he was putting me into danger, as my condition was still not stable. However, my father had seen enough. The Holocaust survivor, who had stared death in the face many times, bravely told the doctors that if they stop him from taking me home, he would to tell everyone about the rampant neglect he witnessed in the polio ward. Once they realized he was serious, they no longer tried to prevent him from discharging me.

For the next few weeks, my father became my sole caretaker, while my mother took care of my other young siblings and my newborn baby sister. My father devotedly bathed me, massaging my atrophied limbs. Many

“But then, when I was eighteen

months old, tragedy struck...”


people predicted that this might bring back sensation to my legs, but it never happened. To this day, my left leg remains paralyzed.

When I was two years old, my father heard about excellent doctors in America, who were able to perform wonders with polio patients. (At that point, America was light years ahead of Eretz Yisroel in the medical field.) However, my mother refused to uproot her young children and move to a distant continent, with a culture and lifestyle so different than what she was used to. More importantly, she had made a promise in Auschwitz, and she did not want to break it.

My father, however, was determined to give me the best chance, and so he took me to America to see if the specialists there could help me. We lived at the home of an aunt for what turned out to be two years!

Initially, my father thought that I could be treated for several months, and then we could return to Eretz Yisroel to rejoin the family. However, after meeting with the top doctors, he realized that the therapies and surgeries would be a process of many, many years. He began to pressure my mother to come to America with the other children. Still, my mother refused to leave. Traveling alone with the children and starting anew was too daunting.

Desperate, my father went to the previous Skvere Rebbe, Rav Yaakov Yosef zt”l, and asked for a brocha. “Send her the papers, and she will come,” the Rebbe said. And that’s exactly what happened. My father sent her tickets to come by boat for the whole family, (travel by jet was still a luxury,) and davened for the success of his mission.

A few months later, my mother showed up in America with all the children. What happened? In those days, our home in Sanhedria was on the ‘front

lines’ in the constant battle with the Arabs, who wanted to drive us out of Yerushalayim. One day, the Arabs threw a grenade onto our apartment building; it landed on a corner section of our apartment, blowing it open. Fortunately and miraculously, my mother and siblings survived. If that wasn’t traumatic enough, a whole platoon of Israeli soldiers moved into our apartment and used it as a station to shoot at the Arabs and defend our neighbors.

My poor mother was hysterical. She was all alone with seven children, five boys and two girls. From one day to the next, she packed up the children, took the papers my father sent her, and boarded a boat headed for New York. Indeed, the Skvere Rebbe’s brocha was fulfilled.

A New BeginningSoon after, my mother and my siblings arrived in New York! We moved

into an apartment in Williamsburg, on 232 Penn Street, where my parents lived for decades, until their petirah several years ago. So it was in my ‘zechus’ that our family ended up living in America.

While my siblings quickly acclimated to their new lives, adjusting to a

“My parents were determined not

to turn me into a nebach...”


brand new culture and environment, I was the one going through a crisis. For over two years I had my beloved father all to myself, the sole recipient of his love and attention. Now he had to divide this love among all my siblings, and I resented it greatly. (My youngest sister was born a few years later.) My new status, as one of many children, was very painful.

My father wisely tried to continue giving me undivided attention when he accompanied me to treatment appointments. For the rest of his life we shared a special bond. I idolized my father; in my eyes he could do no wrong. Even if he ever punished me or raised his voice, I accepted it willingly, without question. In fact, all of us were very obedient and respectful to our dear parents, never questioning their authority. It was a different generation in those days…

My father was unquestionably our king, and my mother our queen, while we were the princes and princesses. My father was very warm and loving; he would sing to us, play with us, and listen to our stories from school. Yet, there was one thing my parents were careful about: we were not allowed to cry or kvetch about silly things. If we ever complained or had a sour face, my mother would tell us, “Don’t you know that the Bais Hamikdash was destroyed because the yidden cried for nothing?”

My parents taught us hashkafa, broadened our horizons, and gave us the tools we needed to reach our goals. “Don’t worry about what other

people think,” they would teach us, time and again, “The most important thing is to think about what Hashem wants.”

When I was six years old I joined the first grade at Pupa girls’ elementary school, which I attended together with my sisters. Though I walked with a pronounced limp, a side effect of the polio, I did not receive any special treatment, neither at home, nor at school. My parents were determined not to turn me into a nebach, to allow me to grow without clipping my wings, and to help me develop my own independence and self-esteem.

At home I was just like any other child: I had regular chores, including washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, etc. I was even asked to go to the grocery store and bring home groceries, an arduous task when one leg is shorter than the other. I was outfitted with braces, which helped me walk, but I would fall very often.

My uncle had a grocery store on the corner of Penn Street and Bedford Ave, located several blocks from my home. Every Friday, it was my responsibility to buy groceries for Shabbos, and schlep them home in a brown paper bag. On more than one ‘memorable’ occasion, as I would carry the bags of milk and eggs home, I would slip and fall on my back, the groceries scattering in every direction, leaving the pavement splattered with egg yolks. Undeterred, I would pick myself up, assess the damage, collect the surviving groceries, and continue home. In this manner I learned responsibility and self-reliance.

Even if I would complain or feel sorry for myself, my parents never pitied or coddled me. The message they gave me unfailingly, was, “You are strong and responsible. You can take care of yourself, just like anyone else. There is nothing you cannot do if you try hard enough.”

My mother’s positive motto, which she repeated frequently, was, “Be grateful that you are alive.”

These words of triumph made a tremendous impression on my sensitive soul, and I grew up knowing I was just like everyone else. In fact, I was


blessed with a healthy dose of self-confidence, which gave me the ability to raise my beautiful family, especially later when I was widowed at a young age.

In the Hospital AgainBut I digress. Let me go back to my treatments,

which consumed months, if not years of my life. At first, when I was a small child I was fitted with a brace. I underwent surgery on my leg when I was only eight years old. This was a complicated surgery followed by a lengthy recovery period: I was encased in a cast which extended from my legs to my stomach. I had to lie on my back for months at a time, and the boredom and loneliness were intense.

When I was ten years old I had another operation, this time to fuse my ankle. The surgery took place at the Hospital for Joint Diseases, on 123rd Street and Madison Avenue. I had to remain there for several months, until I could be mobile again. I was in tremendous pain for many weeks, but even worse than the pain was the sense of isolation. I was the only Jewish child among many non-Jewish children. They looked at me as if I were from another planet.

They made fun of my special diet and of my religion, and treated me like an outcast. In those days a parent was not allowed to stay at a child’s bedside, and could only visit during regular visiting hours. I had occasional visitors, especially my father, who tried to visit several days a week. Yet the days—and especially the nights—were long and lonely. On many nights I cried out from pain, and the nurses would wheel me into the hallway so that my cries wouldn’t disturb the other patients! Yet, I rarely complained to my parents; I sensed that this was where I needed to be.

The other kids received visitors almost every day, and especially on weekends. Without exception, Shabbbos was the hardest day of the week. I felt so isolated, with no kiddush, no seudah, and not one familiar face.

And then there was the mockery, both open

and covert. “Hey, Hanna, why can’t you wash your hair on Saturdays?” the other children in the ward would taunt me. Or, if I asked the nurse to adjust my bed, they’d make fun of me, saying “Hanna, what’s the matter? Can’t you press the button yourself?”

Once, a girl my age, another long-term patient at the hospital, played a mean trick on me, teaching me an inappropriate word. Naturally, with my sheltered background, I had no idea what the word meant, and I proudly ‘showed off’ by repeating it to the nurse. She was horrified and punished me severely; I was not allowed to go to the playroom for a full week. How I cried that week!

Then there was Pamela. I can never forget her! Pamela, was a black patient who weighed about 400 lbs. She would speak horribly to me, threatening to ‘cut my throat’ and ‘bust my eyes off’ if I misbehaved.

Most traumatic of all, though, was my roommate, a very sick young girl. Nowadays, children with terminal diseases are placed in a separate ward, far from the children who ‘merely’ had surgery on their legs. In those days, we all bunked together. I was placed in a room with a cancer patient, whose moans of pain and retching were very painful to witness. One day, she didn’t wake up, and soon I got another roommate. That brought the concept of ‘life’ and ‘death’ home to me in a very real way.


My Spiritual HealthThe kosher food was another ‘parsha’. Officially, they were supposed

to provide kosher food, but the reality was another story. One day, my father happened to come visit me at lunchtime, and found me sitting in my wheelchair, munching on a treif salami and cheese sandwich. I was so naï�ve, I had never seen cheese before, and had no idea what I was eating!

My father watched me for a moment and then uttered a heartrending cry of “Shema Yisroel!” He ran to the nurse’s station and began to sob, “Why don’t you give my daughter kosher food?” His anguished cry penetrated my heart and shook me out of my stupor. I never forgot the sound of his heartbreak…

In addition to the loneliness and isolation there was another, more serious issue. One of the nurses tried to encourage me to ‘expand my horizons,’ and not be so dependent on my father. “You don’t have to listen to everything he says. Open your eyes and see what’s out there. Make a new life for yourself,” she encouraged me. Young and impressionable as I was, I didn’t want my own life. I desperately needed my father’s support.

Though I loved my parents dearly and was very loyal to them, I was still a child who was lonely most of the time. I tried to deal with the incredible isolation by reading anything I could get my hands on. In those days there was very little kosher reading material, and I had a TV facing my bed. Often I would borrow the comic strips from the newspapers the nurses on my ward discarded. I would read about the exploits of “Popeye” and “Charlie Brown.”

When my father noticed my choice of reading material he was very upset. The next day he brought me his own version of “Jewish reading material,” including a pile of classic mussar seforim, such as Shevet Mussar, Kav Hayoshor, Pele Yoetz, and Menoras Hamaor. Though I tried valiantly to master them, the material was way over my ten-year-old head.

One day my brother Reb Ezriel Tauber, (who was then newly married), paid me a surprise visit. He took a look at the comics I was reading, which I desperately tried to hide, and chided me, “This is not appropriate for a choshuva girl like you.” I was so shaken, I never read them again. Nowadays, I sometimes jokingly remind him of this story, telling him I was his first baal teshuvah.

When I was thirteen I had yet another surgery, this time on my good leg- to shorten it, as it was a few inches longer than my diseased leg. In this manner, the doctors tried to correct the imbalance and restore my normal gait. Once I recovered from surgery, my diseased left leg was ‘only’ two inches shorter than my right leg. A year later, at fourteen, I had a final surgery on my left knee to straighten it a bit. The surgeries only helped marginally, if at all. I still had a terrible sense of balance, and would fall frequently.

In fact, I still remember walking on the street as a child, the neighborhood children taunting me, calling me “alte babitchke” (old lady), due to my limp. Once I wanted to cross the street, when three little boys stopped near me,

“Without exception, Shabbbos was the hardest day of the

week.”


and stooped to study my crooked legs. “The girl has a broken leg,” one little boy announced.

“That’s impossible,” said his friend. “How can she walk if her leg is broken?” I continued on toward my destination, crossing the street with a secret smile.

School and Self-EsteemBetween my hospitalizations and recoveries, I went back to school, where

I was treated like a minor celebrity, especially when I showed up with a cast. Remember the old-fashioned plaster casts that were common in those days? All my classmates, and even some of my teachers, signed their names on my cast.

My teachers were supportive and exceptionally caring, expecting me to do my share of schoolwork and pass my tests, just like my peers. I never allowed my physical limitations to define me, and neither did anyone else. My favorite subjects were literature and poetry, while I wasn’t always interested in history, geography and math. I was a creative soul, who enjoyed writing and expressing my thoughts, instead of memorizing names and dates. There was only one thing I couldn’t do easily-- climb stairs. Therefore, whenever we had to go to the fourth floor to take a class, the teacher would come down to the first floor instead!

Though I merited having some exceptional teachers, the teacher who had the greatest impact on my life, was the unforgettable Rebetzin Ruchoma Shain a”h, who taught our class from the eighth to the eleventh grade. In fact, Rebetzin Shain wrote about me extensively in her bestselling book about her teaching career, “Reaching for the Stars”. She entitled that chapter, “To Walk to Glory.”

It was Mrs. Shain who made me memorize excerpts of the classic poem that epitomized the struggles and triumphs of my years in and out of the hospital:

Think big and you’ll grow, think small and you’ll fall behind.Think that you can and you will; it’s all in a state of mind;Life’s battles don’t always go to the strongest or fastest man,Sooner or later, the man who wins, is the man who thinks he can.

During my lengthy and frequent hospitalizations I tinkered with poetry, writing creative ditties for my teacher and friends. Whenever the writing teacher would assign an assignment, there would invariably be a line of girls at my desk, begging me to help them with their work!

Several years passed. I was now in the tenth grade, fifteen years old.Throughout my childhood and teenage years, my parents had imbued me

with a healthy sense of my self-worth. And so, I often wondered, “Who will merit the privilege of marrying Chany Tauber?” I know, it sounds ludicrous, but these were my thoughts. I didn’t consider myself better than anyone else;

“I never allowed my physical

limitations to define me...”


I just was aware of my strengths and downplayed my deficiencies. We never made a big deal out of what ‘people will say.’ To my parents, it was enough that we fulfilled the will of Hashem.

Unexpected ChangesAnd then, without warning, my life changed

180 degrees. During the winter of my tenth grade year, my father took me out of school, literally from one day to the next. In order to bring parnasa, my father opened a fish store in Boro Park. He needed a reliable and dependable assistant, and decided that no one was more suitable than his dear Chany. (My older sister was already teaching, and my other sisters were too young.)

Despite my protests, my father insisted—actually, decreed, that I stop going to school and help him build his business. I did so unwillingly, dragging my feet, incredibly embarrassed to drop out of school at such a young age. “Tatty,” I tried to protest, “What’s going to happen with shidduchim? Who will want to marry a girl who dropped out of school to work in a fish store?”

“My dear child,” my father replied, in his kind, yet determined manner, “One never knows where one’s shidduch will come from. Perhaps you have to work in the fish store in order to find your zivug!” And so it

was. My first husband zt’l, Reb Avrum Ber Schwartz, was introduced to me through the Faltitchaner Rebbetzin, who met me in the fish store.

I learned a tremendous amount of Torah and life-skills in the fish store. As my father zt’l cleaned and prepared the fish, he repeated divrei Torah and stories of tzaddikim. We would spend many hours engrossed in fascinating conversation. Now that many years have passed, I look back at my stint in the fish store as some of the most productive and inspiring years of my life.

I also acquired two wonderful hobbies during my two years in the fish store: one of them happened quite by ‘accident.’ One day, one of the customers, a young woman, walked into the store lugging a heavy, unwieldy box. “What is that?” I asked with curiosity. She opened the box and showed me her accordion, which she played professionally. She was on the way home from her lessons, and she stopped at our store to buy fish.

My father was fascinated by the instrument. When he saw that I shared his fascination, he asked the young woman, “Vi krigt men azants?” (Where one can purchase this)? The next day, my father drove all the way to Flatbush Avenue to buy me an accordion, and arranged for the young woman to give me lessons. I loved playing the complicated instrument, and after a short while, I already knew three songs, including a waltz.

I still play the accordion frequently, especially at family gatherings or on long Motzoei Shabbosos: that investment turned out to be a wise one. Another skill I picked up during the years in the fish store, was painting. Upon the advice of another customer, my father purchased a paint set for me at Lola’s Art Store on 16th Avenue. Pretty soon, I graduated to painting my own creations.

To be honest, my initial attempts at painting were awkward, even primitive. Yet, my parents praised my ‘masterpieces’ effusively, giving me the courage to keep on painting and improving my skills. Today, my paintings are framed, hanging on my walls, a testament to the chizuk my parents gave me.


I think this is such a powerful lesson for parents today—you can ‘break’ or ‘make’ your children so easily, with a few well-chosen words. Sometimes children have everything going for them, but their parents ‘knock’ them, and they don’t succeed in life. Other children may not be as gifted, but they receive chizuk and love, which encourages them to fulfill their potential. Parents, you have a tremendous responsibility! You have awesome power! Don’t waste it!

Hashem's Master PlanAlthough I had often wondered who I would

marry, I didn’t have to wait too long. My husband was suggested to me when I was sixteen. My father told the Faltitchaner Rebbetzin I was too young, and that she should call him back in two years. And she did—shortly before I turned eighteen. I was one of the first girls in my class to become engaged, and I got married before I was nineteen. My first child, a boy, was born ten months later. We had another three beautiful children, and I became a full-time mother, lavishing my love and attention on them. Life was full of promise.

And then, when my husband was 45 years old, tragedy struck. Reb Avrum Ber was niftar on Yom Kippur, from a massive heart attack, suddenly, and without warning. I became a widow at the age of 36, with four young children, ages 4-17. It was during those difficult times that the chinuch I received from my parents enabled me to remain strong, for my children’s sake, to be both mother and father to them.

A vort that my brother Reb Yechiel had taught me was also a tremendous help. He said to me, “Worrying is baal tashchis. It doesn’t get you anywhere, and only makes life harder.” So I tried not to worry about the future, about how I will support and raise my children alone. And indeed, Hashem had a wonderful plan for me. Only a year after my husband’s petirah, my sister redt me a shidduch with my husband, Reb Shlomo Zalman Brill, who also had four children of his own. So

now we were a blended family with eight lively, beautiful children.

I wouldn’t be honest if I’d tell you it was ‘easy street’ from the first moment on. There were plenty of challenges, but we were committed to making it work, to building our new family despite the difficulties. I am naturally a very positive, bubbly person: it’s not my credit, just like my disabilities are not my fault. That kept me going. I didn't lose hope or become overwhelmed.

Still, I learned to work on my communication skills, to avoid confrontations and to view things with a positive eye. My new husband, who has wonderful middos, did the same. Boruch Hashem, our efforts bore fruits, and our blended family continued to thrive. Today all our children are exceptionally close with each other, and we have wonderful relationships with all of them.

Today, our children are married, raising beautiful families of their own, and we b”h already have married grandchildren as well. I keep busy with family simchos, teaching kallahs, lecturing in high schools, counseling families, and thanking Hashem for the wonderful gifts and abilities He has granted me.

My weak leg isn’t an impediment. In fact, it has become the vehicle that enables me to focus on what ‘does’ work well, and to appreciate the blessings I was given.


SPARKSPERSPECTIVE

Featuring:- The Invisible Signature- To Bend is to Depend- View Master

Inspiration and Chizuk derived from every-day life situations, may at times be your guiding light. Reach out for them.

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By: Draizy Lemberger

The Invisible Signature


T he structure was impressive. Detail and design emerged gradually, as the many phases of construction brought the blueprint to reality. Among the many spectators that buzzed around the construction site, one young

passerby seemed to take considerable interest in the details of the architecture. He noticed how the architect took the time to engrave his initials into a raw beam at the center of the structure. The purpose, he figured, was that his name should remain forever etched in his artwork.

A few days later, the same observer chanced upon an opportunity to stop by the construction site again. The completed building stood tall in its splendor. Ironically, he noticed that the beam the architect had inscribed his name in, was now totally covered, finished with beautiful stucco. His name was no longer visible now. He approached the architect and questioned the intention of his action.

The architect smiled, and offered lasting words of wisdom.

“In years from now, when people will pass this structure, they will be awed by the beauty and intricacy of its architecture, but they will not know to whom to attribute this masterpiece. The fact that my work will not be associated with my name does not take away from my sense of achievement, nor does it detract from the grandeur of this edifice.”

In life, we continuously build structures, aiming and striving for success. In our role as parents, we not only design and plan; we actually construct and support the structures we build from the beginning to the very end. One cannot fathom the toil, labor and hardships involved in these undertakings. Nevertheless, our strongest desire is to be partners with the Ribono shel Olam in the creation of a child who will grow up to be a pride to Klal Yisroel.

In years from now, people will marvel at our awesome accomplishments. The fact that the endless toil and effort we invested will not appear obvious, will not minimize the magnitude of what we accomplished, since our ultimate goal in life is to try, to do, to achieve, regardless of whether we will be given credit or not.

On another note, we know it is only Hashem who can measure and evaluate the real level of success a person has reached, especially when dealing with a challenging situation. Success is determined according to a person’s potential and strengths, rather than the number of challenges surmounted. Ironically, it is precisely with those special children who are limited in ability and potential, that we are tested and given the opportunity to rise to heights we never dreamed we can reach.

The fruits of your labor יגיע כפיך כי תאכל אשריך בעולם הזה וטוב לך בעולם הבאwill be your reward and it will be good for you in this world and the world to come.


To Bend is to Depend

By: Israel Fried

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The atmosphere in the art gallery was one of quiet respect. The paintings in the exhibit elicited expressions of appreciation and

reverence from all the visitors. There was one masterpiece specifically, more so than the others, that attracted a constant crowd. It was a scene depicting sprawling wheat fields, mountains, birds and little creatures scurrying about. It had obviously required tremendous skill and painstaking attention to detail to recreate on a canvas so realistic and beautiful a panorama.

Among the many impressed spectators, there stood a farmer who had worked the land all his life. After carefully scrutinizing the painting, he shared his observations with the other visitors. “I am not an artist, and it is apparent that this scene was painted by an incredibly talented one. However, there’s an obvious flaw in this painting.”

Pointing to a particular stalk of wheat, the farmer elaborated. “The artist exercised poor judgment when he painted a bird atop this stalk. The pressure of the bird’s weight would normally cause the stalk to bend over. That is what makes these fragile stalks survive winds, storms, and heavy snows, as they sway and bend accordingly. If the stalks would be rigid or unyielding, they would break or crack under the slightest force.”

His audience slowly nodded their understanding of the laws of nature, and continued on to the next exhibit having acquired an unexpected morsel of wisdom. The secret of maintaining strength under pressure is, flexibility.

As we go through life, Hashem has a perfectly orchestrated plan in store for us every minute and every day. There are days when we are presented with constant opportunities for success, nachas, pleasure and the achievement of our dreams. Then, there are days that are filled with challenges, pain, confusion and desperation. Those are the days we have to reach deep inside ourselves and tap into our inner strength, our inner reserves of emunah and

bitachon. We must be strong in the face of adversity, but we also must be accepting; bending our will to the will of the Ribono shel Olam without questions or bitterness. That is how we adjust to the burden of the nisayon without being crushed by its weight. Acceptance, acceptance with humility, allows a person to bend low without “cracking under the pressure.”

This concept is reflected in a story mentioned by Chazal (Yevumos: 118). "I was once traveling by boat when we encountered a severe storm," recounted Rabban Gamliel. "From afar, I saw another boat that was unable to withstand the force of the storm, and eventually was wrecked by the powerful winds and huge waves. My heart went out to the people on board who lost their lives, but I grieved especially for one of the passengers, the Torah sage, Rebbi Akiva. Eventually, I reached land, and immediately devoted myself to resuming my studies.

“One day I was shocked to encounter Rebbi Akiva sitting among his talmidim, teaching and discussing halachic matters. When I inquired about his miraculous rescue from the wrecked boat, Rebbi Akiva answered, ‘I grabbed a plank of wood from the ship that was floating in the water. I clung to it fiercely, and every time a wave came surging toward me, I bowed my head and let it pass over me.’”

Accepting a challenge is a multi-step process, and every person discovers their unique and individual coping style and mechanism. Finding strength in our belief in the Master Plan, and bowing with deference and humility as we accept our challenges with love, is the one approach that works for everyone. Then, when the storm passes, we will be proud that the fragile stalk stands erect, absorbing the sunshine once again.


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VIEW MASTER48 | SPARKS Winter/2014 Winter/2014 SPARKS | 49

She figured that after all she had heard about the magnificence and splendor of the Swiss Alps, it was definitely going to be

worthwhile. The back and forth with the travel agent, the aggravation over unexpected (and unfair!) additional fees for carry-on luggage, and the hours spent planning and shopping, were all going to be quickly forgotten when she finally got her first glimpse of those famous mountains. Never mind that her kosher meal was mistakenly given to another passenger, and that her new never-wrinkle skirt was wrinkled already. It all didn’t matter. She was going to see one of the most beautiful sights in the world. It wasn’t every day that one had that opportunity. She was positively ecstatic.

She landed in Zurich, Switzerland in the evening, guidebook in hand, her carefully packed luggage by her side. The sky was velvety dark (unlike the sky at home which was just plain dark…) the lights twinkled against the black backdrop, beckoning her, welcoming her. She hailed a cab, reveled in the sounds of a foreign language swirling around her, and waited impatiently to reach her hotel. Finally, she was in the land of the Alps. She had arrived!

The next day, well rested and excited, she ran to the windows, holding her breath, and with trembling hands, parted the curtains.

Oh, no! Her shock and disappointment were devastating! Instead of towering majestic mountains, her view consisted of heavy cloud cover, fog and moisture laden windows. Her heart fell. Was this what she had traveled over the ocean for? Was this what they meant when they referred to people falling for marketing schemes? Was this what she had emptied her bank account for? With hot tears rolling down her cheeks she repacked

her luggage and headed for the airport. Home was going to be splendid and majestic enough after this fiasco.

Dear Reader, We laugh at the poor woman’s limited vision.

We almost feel sorry for her small-mindedness and disappointment. It is so obvious that with just a little more patience the clouds would have dispersed, and she would have gotten to see the awesome Swiss Alps. If only she had waited, and held on just a little longer.

But, there’s a profound lesson to be learned here.

We are all travelers in what we know is a temporary world. Some days we open the windows of our hotel rooms and the fog of pain, confusion, grief, struggle, or betrayal is all that we get to see. Occasionally the moisture is so dense, that we can’t even see past the haze on the window. It all makes no sense; the hester panim is overwhelming. Is this what we came for? Our hearts break as we give up looking for the majesty and beauty, the health, the nachas, the pleasure and enjoyment we hoped to experience.

But, no! Take heart! Strengthen yourselves! There’s a Master Plan. You just need to be patient and hold on a little longer. You have a loving Father who will soon lift the clouds and allow the sun with its warmth and light to seep into your lives. The panorama will be magnificent; the clarity, stunning. Chazak!

By: Dini Landau

Was this what she had traveled over

the ocean for?


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Strength & courage, shared by three

amazing mothers

By: Ruchel Einhorn


Shoshana E.*: Fraidy was a beautiful baby girl, the second child in our family. She was a perfect baby in every sense, developing and achieving her milestones on time. Over the next few years we welcomed two more children, and Fraidy became a rambunctious toddler. When Fraidy was two and half we enrolled her in preschool, a place she absolutely loved. Halfway through the year, we realized that something just wasn’t right. Fraidy began exhibiting irregular movements and regressions in her body movement. Her hand seemed to be slightly twisted in an upward fist. We also noticed a limp in her walk, as well as a delay in her speech. Out parental intuition told us that something was terribly wrong. And thus, our foray into the medical world began.

A visit to a top pediatrician didn’t discover anything worrisome. We were advised to either go for therapy, or simply wait for the nightmare to pass. However, we instinctively felt something was terribly amiss, and we went in search of a second opinion. A simple exam by our family’s pediatrician revealed a weakness in Fraidy’s right extremities. He instructed us to go for an extensive MRI to find the cause of these frightening symptoms.

The next day found us with Fraidy, our up until then healthy child, in the pediatric ward of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. It was a fateful Friday night

when the doctor broke the terrible news to us; our lives were forever changed from that moment on. The MRI showed a brain tumor, the size of a lemon, growing deep inside of the left side of Fraidy’s midbrain. The doctors advised us to have emergency surgery performed to remove the growth. At that point, we did not know whether or not the tumor was malignant or benign, and whether it would require chemotherapy follow-up.

The risks involved were terrifying; blindness, deafness, loss of speech and even death. There were only four doctors in the United States who were qualified to undertake such a risky surgery. Consulting with professionals, and weighing all the pros and cons, took us on an emotional roller -coaster though, we knew that ultimately it would be our decision, and we would follow daas Torah. After many sleepless nights, we finally settled on Dr. Wisoff at NYU, hoping and praying that he would be the shliach from Hashem to perform this risky procedure and save our daughter.

Finally, when we thought all was going well, we were challenged again a night before the surgery. A phone call from the doctor informed us that our insurance carrier had denied the request, and the surgery was therefore cancelled. Personally, he

Introduction: What brought on your child’s TBI diagnosis? Tell us a little about it.

>>> Next page

The following ongoing column is an interview that provides a forum for a powerful and open discussion among parents, who are currently dealing with children who suffer from Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). TBI is when a healthy brain experiences an injury or trauma that affects its ability to function. The diagnosis of TBI is distinct, since it does not exhibit a clear set of symptoms like other disorders. Since the brain is responsible for every movement and function of the body, symptoms ranging from moderate to severe, may present in ways that would otherwise be unpredictedable.

The willingness of these parents to share and their endless fount of wisdom and experience serve as a source of chizuk to all of us. May we all be zoche very soon to complete healing for all yiddishe kinder and to be able to recount these challenges as a thing of the past iy”h.

*Names have been changed to protect identity. However, should anyone like to contact any of our intervieweesfor further information or guidance, they can do so by reaching out to the Rayim office.


advised us to try everything possible to reach out to anyone who would be able to persuade the insurance company to approve the surgery. After frantic calls to every askan we knew, we ended up reaching Rabbi Yaakov Freund. He had strong connections to the Pataki administration, and he was able to get hold of the Superintendent of Insurance, (Howard Mills, at the time). Finally, at 2:30 am, we got the phone call that the request for the surgery was approved, and it would be able to take place the following morning. The yad Hashem was so palpable, that we literally felt Hashem’s presence in every step of the way.

The surgery was a long and emotionally taxing experience. Burech Hashem, it was successful and we were informed that Fraidy’s tumor was benign. In our innocence, we chose to believe that this meant the end of the ordeal. Little did we know that TBI is a condition for life.

Raizy M.*: Michal, the second child in our family, brought us tremendous joy since the day she was born. She had an assertive and confident personality, and was the type of daughter who always tried to please. Her years in kindergarten and early elementary grades were full of life and laughter, as she soaked up knowledge and information enthusiastically.

Eighteen years ago, a few weeks before Michal’s eighth birthday, a horrifying car accident shattered our dreams. Our beautiful flower suddenly stopped blossoming, and instead of watching her go forward to the life we envisioned for her, we were hit by a crushing, new reality. The car’s impact jolted Michal eight feet into the air and then her limp body landed, unconscious. When I came running to the scene, I found my daughter lying on the floor in a fetal position, clearly indicating a physical injury.

An ambulance transported her to the nearest hospital, where extensive scans and MRI’s were done to determine the extent of her injuries. To alleviate her pain, the doctors put her into an induced coma, which was to last five days. When that time frame passed and she didn’t wake up, the doctors were surprised, since the MRI didn’t show a severely injured brain.

At that point, Michal’s fragile body was unable to function at all, and she was put onto life support machines; a ventilator,

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g-tube etc. The following weeks and months consisted of transfers between rehabilitation centers and hospitals. While she was in the rehabilitation center, we integrated many forms of therapies and methods. Among the many therapies we included OT, PT, speech, cognitive therapy, as well as introducing her to many different sensory objects in order to stimulate her brain. Throughout that time, I would engage in many one-sided conversations with my daughter, without noticing the slightest response. Yet, I knew my precious daughter might be listening, and I hoped that one day the coma would slowly lose its grip over her. After four and half months we began to observe very small and subtle responses, which indicated that she was coming out of the coma. The long road to recovery was just beginning.

A couple of months after Michal’s accident, we welcomed a new addition to our family. It wasn’t easy to juggle the many different duties and happenings in my life, yet once my baby was three months old, I felt ready to pursue a new form of therapy for Michal. Eleven months after the accident found us flying down to Florida, where we began to experiment with a wide array of alternative therapies and methods. To name a few: we tried an approach called the “hyperbaric oxygen chamber”. It is a method in which the oxygen level gets compressed – providing higher levels of oxygen to the injured brain. Along with that, we also tried bio-feedback, a procedure of hooking up wires to a computer and connecting it to a person’s muscles. The computer then follows

a certain program that aims to wake up the groups of muscles and nerves attached to it. Our weekly therapy regimen also included cranial therapy, regular PT, OT etc. Our days consisted of a long chain of hishtadlus, constantly aiming to help Michal get back to her former self. Our stay in Florida lasted seven months, and during that time we carefully monitored her gradual, continuous improvement.

When it was time to return home, we decided to transform our living room into a sophisticated therapy center. Michal’s significant physical limitations affected every detail of her previous independence. From head control to sitting properly, her progress required persistent intervention. On a cognitive level, we used constant repetition as the method to awaken her memory to the concepts she once knew. Aides, therapists and teachers were all part of a team effort to help Michal reach her maximum potential. After two years at home, we enrolled her in Ohr V’daas, since we recognized her need for more social interaction. Being surrounded only by therapists, aides and other adults did not provide her with the environment in which to acquire her social skills.

Currently, Michal is a very beloved member of our family, who enjoys doing chores at home as well as attending day-hab. Although she still suffers from several deficiencies, including processing information and retaining short-term memory, every ounce of effort we invested in her rehabilitation, undoubtedly paid off.

Yitty G.*: I left to work one morning, and waved good-bye to my adorable and active six-month-old baby. He excitedly waved back with his cute chubby hands as I walked out the front door. A few hours later I got a call that there was some kind of emergency, and that my son was being taken to the hospital. It was only once I reached the hospital that I was notified that my son had gone into cardiac arrest, and had sustained an

anoxic brain injury. Our child was unconscious, and his situation was critical. The doctor coldly informed me, “If your child survives, I don’t know what condition he will be in.” He was hooked up to all kinds of machines and monitors that were keeping him alive. Doctors were asking questions, explaining procedures, discussing options and we, his parents were suddenly forced into an unfamiliar and confusing world.


Shoshana E.: TBI not only changed our child, it also affected the daily life of our entire family. Our family dynamics changed dramatically, as we were thrown into uncharted territory, totally unprepared. We suddenly found ourselves struggling to balance a complicated schedule. Fraidy’s days following the surgery were filled with doctor’s visits, medical procedures, physical therapy, follow-up visits to the neurologist and to the orthopedist (for leg braces). We did everything, in the hope that it would stimulate Fraidy’s brain to rehabilitate completely.

Today, Fraidy is a very happy nine year old girl with several physical limitations. She wears braces to support her balance and walking, and she does not have full function of her right hand. Since her right-side vision was also affected, Fraidy keeps on bumping into people, and therefore has social difficulties as well. To date, Fraidy receives intensive therapy to address her delays, and her progress is evident when her therapy is consistent. We try to give her equal treatment compared to her siblings, and she is responsible for certain chores around the house that she is capable of.

How did TBI affect your child’s development? What differences do you see in your child today, compared to how she was before the accident?

Raizy M.: The afternoon of Michal’s accident brought our entire life to a sudden halt. Our once outgoing, active and exceptionally bright girl, became a needy, unresponsive and dependent child. We always knew Michal as the one ahead of the game, whether it was with learning cursive writing ahead of time, or arranging parties for her classmates on her own. Her personality became a lot less assertive, yet thankfully, her giving and thriving nature was not affected by her brain injury.

Traumatic Brain Injury usually affects a person’s short-term memory, and this remains a struggle for Michal every day. Constant repetition is the tool to help Michal process and remember information. Fortunately, her long term memory wasn’t as badly affected, and Michal can actually sing songs and recite stories she remembers from her early childhood.

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Yitty G.: Our Moishy was an active and lively six month old baby. He had reached all his developmental milestones, and was very interactive and playful. Suddenly, without any warning, Moishy became a baby dependent on a respirator, feeding tube and unable to move his limbs voluntarily. Even as he regained consciousness, his body was twisted and bent in an awkward position, and he was very agitated when awake. Slowly, Moishy calmed down as his brain adjusted to the trauma. Gradually, we were able to see his brain reawaken as he started responding to sound, sucking from a bottle and recognizing familiar faces. What

had started out as a simple, normal developmental process for Moishy, now turned into a complex and painful process where intensive therapy was needed for him to learn the most basic functions.

Moishy was enrolled in several therapy programs in order to re-teach him basic skills, and help him become as mobile and independent as possible. He has B”H been blessed with a cheerful disposition and a strong determination that enables him to work hard and not give up easily. Moishy’s survival and progress is a complete miracle for which our entire family is extremely grateful.

Can you explain how a TBI diagnosis differsfrom other developmental disorders?

Shoshana E.: Since the brain is what controls the entire body, all body parts are affected when the brain suffers a traumatic injury. Unlike a diagnosis at birth, TBI can occur at any given time, and is a very unexpected challenge. Additionally, when having brain surgery, one gets

only one chance to be successful. With no room for mistakes, the repercussions of error can be terrible, or even fatal. Siblings of a child with TBI also go through the trauma of dealing with a new and difficult reality that hadn’t existed for them before.

Raizy M.: On an emotional level, getting used to a different child than the one you always knew is a painful and poignant adjustment. However, the fact that the child already experienced normal development is an advantage compared to a situation where one was born with a disability. The process of rehabilitation is one in which neurons are ‘turned-on’ and fine tuned to generate new pathways. On the one hand, a TBI patient has the chance of re-creating her prior development, but on the other hand someone with an existing

disability never incurred the damage and trauma of having brain function completely and suddenly impaired.

Since the brain is the organ that coordinates ALL bodily functions, there is very gray area in the understanding of TBI. Every situation therefore, brings with it unexpected and unpredictable reactions and responses to different stimuli and circumstances. (Our dear Michal never ceases to surprise us by saying or doing things we would never have expected from her.)


Raising a child with special needs is a daunting task. What are your thoughts after a challenging day?

Yitty G.: Parents of a child with TBI mourn the loss of the child they knew. Physically and cognitively the child is no longer the same, and they are forced to get used to a new and painful reality. In addition, there is the injury to deal with, and the medical repercussions that accompany it. When parents have a child who fails to develop properly, there’s a gradual process of facing reality. However, TBI offers no gentle hints, no warnings, and it leaves parents feeling cheated out of something they already had.

Medical knowledge keeps expanding, and once a child receives a diagnosis parents know somewhat what to expect. However, little is known about the brain, so parents need to do a lot of their own research. They need to keep trying new approaches and therapies in the hope of finding something that can remediate their child, and get back at least part of what was lost. On the other hand, because so little is known about the brain, there is no ‘cap’ to the progress your child can make. As one of my sisters told me, “It’s not even an open nes if your child recovers fully. The brain is an amazing organ, and even the top neurologists acknowledge that they don’t fully understand how it works; so recovery isn’t governed by science.”

Shoshana E.: We have no thoughts. Exhausted and tired, we go to sleep knowing that we tried to do our very best that day.

Raizy M.: נסתרים דרכי השם. We don’t understand Hashem’s ways. Although some days are emotionally draining or physically stressful, I try not to complain. Instead, I ask Hashem to please give me a better tomorrow. I try to focus on the fact that we enjoyed eight beautiful, healthy years with Michal. By always trying to keep things in proper perspective, we automatically find it easier to deal with the pressure and stress we face every day.

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Yitty G.: Some days leave me too emotionally or physically drained to think. On other days, I find myself being amazed and grateful to Hashem that Moishy is

B"H alive and thriving. During especially trying times, I try to keep myself focused on the fact that bechasdei Hashem he is alive and keeping us very busy.

How did your immediate and extended family accept the news?

In which way does your child affect the rest of the family?

Shoshana E.: Our family was exceptionally kind and supportive, and was always there for us. They took our kids when necessary, sent us thoughtful gifts and even took Fraidy to appointments and therapy sessions. Throughout

the entire crisis, we never felt alone; we were surrounded by loving family. What we appreciated most though, was that they stood by our side without interfering or offering unnecessary advice and opinions.

Shoshana E.: Early on, our children were very unhappy with the situation. They were jealous of the constant attention Fraidy received, and they craved the normalcy of daily routine. They were upset when they had to go to other people’s homes

so frequently. It was very difficult for us to explain to them what was going on; they were too young to understand. However, as they grew older they developed a heightened sensitivity to their sister’s needs and feelings.

Raizy M.: Throughout the entire crisis, we had the most amazing, supportive family. They became the caregivers to my other children. We knew that we couldn’t be both at home and in the hospital, and we therefore often relied on the help of my parents and siblings. In hindsight, we later realized that the situation was probably more difficult for our parents than for us, since they not only worried about Michal,

they also worried for our wellbeing. Although we had family members who probably

disagreed with some of the approaches we pursued for Michal, they never shared their opinions with us. We didn’t have to endure the pressure of discouraging and negative comments; our decisions were always respected, and we received endless emotional and physical support.

Yitty G.: Moishy’s tragedy was a real shock to my family, and it was a difficult blow for them as well.

However, they all pitched in with their support and assistance wherever and whenever it was needed.


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Raizy M.: Michal’s accident was a very sudden disruption in our lives; it didn’t allow us any time to think or analyze. Our children were young at the time, and we knew Michal relied on us for her chance to survive and recover. Our choice of treatment might have been unconventional, but we knew that whereas my other children will be ok, Michal might never have a second chance. Today we can say with confidence that the experience gave them the opportunity for growth that they wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Their sensitivity and understanding is probably a lot more profound than other children/adults their age.

Yitty G.: Our family grew a lot through this experience. We always try to appreciate the small things in life, and to never take things for granted. We have learned that what we have today may not necessarily be here tomorrow. Due to our unique circumstances, we are also constantly zoche to see unbelievable hashgacha and yad Hashem in so many aspects of our Moishy’s survival, injury, and recovery.

Therapy has become the primary focus of our daily schedule, and everything revolves around it. I try to include Moishy’s siblings in the therapy sessions, to the extent that they perform certain therapeutic activities with him. Our policy of inclusion gives our other children the sense of being needed and a part of things. When they complain or feel overwhelmed by the situation, we explain to them how, if chas v’shalom the situation would’ve been different, and they were the ones that were struggling, what they would have wanted the rest of the family to do for them. We have B"H been able to have open discussions with them, and they are very proud of their little brother's achievements.


How do you deal with your ‘thoughts’ about the future?

Shoshana E.: We feel very confident that when Fraidy will become an adult, we will be able to look her squarely in the eyes and tell her that we did everything we possibly could for her. Although Fraidy is still behind her peers in certain areas, we

are davening and looking forward to her growing up and becoming an independent and productive individual. We have high aspirations for her, and we are confident that she will one day contribute to society in many significant ways.

Raizy M.: I try to stay away from territory called ‘worrying’. Knowing that on a practical level there is nothing I can do to shape the future, leaves me with only one thing; trust in Hashem. We try to enjoy

the present and hope that the best is yet to come. I do consider the future when we implement long term goals that would encourage Michal’s eventual independence.

Yitty G.: Initially, I thought I must know as much about brain injury as possible. Thoughts of the future kept haunting me, while I envisioned the worst. As I slowly came to terms with the new reality, the future became less important, and we took all our energy and started investing it into the present. I came to the realization that worrying about the future doesn’t get me very far and only produces anxiety. Therefore, I try not to think about it. With every milestone our child reaches, we rejoice, celebrate the moment, and daven for him to continue making progress.

I know that it’s human nature to worry, but when I find myself pondering the future, I tell myself that

if the Eibershter brought our child back to life, then he has a very special mission. We, as the parents, don’t get to choose which tafkid our children should have. We just daven that we should have the koach to help our son reach his fullest potential. I know and am comforted by the fact that I’m constantly being guided by Hashem about which therapies to be aware of, and which ones to choose for the benefit of our child. If I didn’t hear about a specific therapy, then it probably wasn’t meant for my son. I don’t need to feel guilty about not having done enough for him, because everything that I do or don’t do for him is ultimately guided by Hashem.

What message can you convey to other parents and family members in similar situations?

Shoshana E.: When our Fraidy starts a new school year, we tell the following to the teacher and whoever else will be working with her: “Fraidy didn’t choose to be in this situation, and neither did we. Hashem gave

us this challenge, and we ask you to please treat our child with the care and love she deserves.”

On a positive note, one of the effects of our challenge >>> Next page


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is the close relationship we developed with Hashem. It has encouraged us to reach a new and better understanding of life, and an appreciation of every moment we can do the ratzon Hashem. In conclusion, we must accept every challenge, whether big or small, and utilize the time to bring us closer to Him.

Raizy M.: Family members of parents going through a similar situation should try to be as supportive as possible, even if they might differ with the chosen approach. Respect their decision and honor their choices, because ultimately it is their child.

Similarly, parents should bear in mind that when people offer comments or opinions, it is usually with good intentions. Their advice might come across as painful, but we must try to dismiss these remarks.

Lastly, being positive in spite of a difficult situation makes the hardship so much easier to bear. Aside from the fact that Michal’s progress was directly influenced by our positive vibes, it has preserved our sanity. Back then, instead of brooding about how terribly sad our situation is, we constantly shared with Michal our hopes and dreams for a refuah shleima.

Yitty G.: When faced with any new diagnosis, do your hishtadlus and reach out to people that have gone through similar situations. Along with the ‘package’ of a new diagnosis, come feelings of fear and uncertainty. The more you are aware and knowledgeable about your situation, the more you are empowered to deal with it. Every person responds to this challenges differently, so give yourself the space you need, and don’t compare yourself to others.

When the incident occurred, our rav told my husband that we were in a unique position. We would have the opportunity to make a kiddush Hashem every step of the way in our child’s recovery and rehabilitation. Although parents are a child's best advocates, parents need to advocate for their child in a way that brings about a kiddush Hashem. Even if it means postponing something, or doing something more difficult, it is worthwhile; the z'chus of making a kiddush Hashem can affect a child in a way conventional medicine or therapy can’t. This has been in the forefront of our minds with every decision that we have made, and B” H we have been zoche to a tremendous amount of siyatta d’shmaya on our son’s road to recovery.


Shifting Gears

Sheindy Weiner

I turn to the left once again, pondering, What will be then?I turn to the right, as I can’t stop wondering,Happier moments will come, but when?

When will my life be as I have pictured, just so, When will I be the mother I want to be,When will it be like a few months or years ago. A happy, blissful me.

Then realization diverts the thought, Why think of what was, or what will be.It is frustrating and all for naught, I can't change what was nor what will be.

I can aspire to change my present state,How I accept and react.It is the attitude I create,To accept today with gratitude and tact.

I shall not drive in lanes of the future, I shall not ride in the paths of the past. I shall confidently stay on the roads of present, Achieving true happiness at last.

With my tefillahs for future brucha,And with Hashem as my constant guide, I feel assured it will be with hatzluche,My life's travels; a successful ride.


Sibling Support group in Brooklyn

Rayim has taken once again the initiative to expand their

support network, by forming a Support Outings initiative. Lev

Bonim, is a support group for the brothers of our special needs

children. While we aim to provide chizuk for parents through

our year-round programs, we now also focus on the much-

needed support these siblings can benefit from. A warm and

inviting atmosphere is all it requires to establish a close bond

among the children that lasts for many years.

The program is directed by an exceptionally talented Rebbi with

years of experience in the field. Whether it is listening to the boys, or sharing

encouraging stories and thoughts with them, his warm personality and

devotion convey a strong message of understanding. The schedule always

includes a hot meal, and features an interesting demonstration that is greatly

enjoyed by the boys.To date, the program has already sponsored many inspirational events,

including an exciting Chanuka gathering and pre and post camp get-togethers.

The events have been a tremendous source of chizuk and support for these

young boys. It is no wonder then, that the mention of Lev Bonim brings a smile

to their faces; they truly cherish their connection to this wonderful program.

New Location of

Monroe Respite Program

Rayim’s After School Respite Program prides itself with

its well-deserved reputation among the parents of our consumers,

our special needs children. Aside from its excellent curriculum, the

program is known for providing very flexible services, such as respite

during hectic seasons like Bedikas Chametz, catering to individual

circumstances, and adjusting its schedule to parents' schedules.

Over the past five years, the available slots were quickly filled,

and the need for expansion of our premises became apparent. After

many attempts to find the right place for our dear kinderlach, who

spend lots of time in the loving environment of Rayim's "Play House",

we finally found the most suitable house. Surrounded by lush greenery

and spacious grounds, the private property provides exactly what

Rayim was looking for.

The house itself, freshly furnished and painted, offers a beautiful

and practically planned haven where the kids spend time among

devoted staff and friends. As in the past, Rayim's after school respite

From Rayim’s Bulletin Board


Experience in Tranquility, Mothers RetreatRayim’s division of Experience in Tranquility will once again be hosting an exciting retreat for the mothers of the special needs children.

Aside from Rayim’s annual Shabbos retreat, Rayim also offers other inspirational events throughout the year that give hardworking mothers the opportunity to relax, rejuvenate, and revitalize. They derive tremendous benefit from the support and friendship of those who relate to them best – other mothers raising special needs children.

Raising a special needs child is an awesome and consuming task, and the Rayim family recognizes that quality time is a necessity, not a luxury. To that end, Rayim is pleased to invite the mothers to an invigorating day out. On January 22nd, the mothers will meet at the doorstep of a luxurious day-spa, near Williamsburg. There, they will to be welcomed in an inviting and relaxing environment where they could leave their daily stresses behind. The facility will be offering an array of services and amenities for them to luxuriate in, along with a lavish lunch that will be served with soft music as the backdrop. (Rayim is thoughtfully planning the schedule so

that it won’t interfere with carpool and bus schedules, ensuring that the atmosphere of relaxation is complete.)

In the years since Experience in Tranquility was established, the coordinators have proven themselves time and again. Their understanding of the unique needs of the parents and families, and their sensitivity to their individual situations, has allowed them to continue providing helpful and enjoyable programs in a framework of care and friendship. Experience in Tranquility is indeed another jewel in the crown of Rayim’s golden reputation!

continues to be top-rated with its outstanding curriculum, recreation and harmonious environment. The opening of the new location was celebrated with enthusiasm and anticipation, just in time to accommodate the summer break program that preceded the new school semester.

In recognition of this momentous occasion, Rayim scheduled an afternoon loaded with fun and recreation that the kids enjoyed immensely.

It is only with siyatta dishmaya that we have been able to mark this day of another achievement in our quest to give our dear kinderlach the best. May we constantly merit assistance from Above as we continue our work of providing our children with a much needed "home away from home.”

From Rayim’s Bulletin Board By: Perry Lebowitz


Jump ‘n’ Slide at Jumping Jakes

Our share in our Most delicious potato kugel!

Concentrating on my turn

to WIN!

Music in our ears through musical chairs!

Peeling… Blending…

Engrossed in my own bubble!

Kiryas Joel Division

A-teasker-a-tasker in Rayim’s backyard...


Designing our very own placemats

We’re Parachuting through the balls!

Rayim’s face painting artists

at work!

World star singer!

Setting our cars on the road...

Baking our “own” cookies by

“ourselves”!

Mmmm... Pizza tastes better than ever!


Producing our own wine

at our trip to Kedem!

Creating my own

masterpiece!

Our drama queen puppet!

We’re splashing through the world!

Making our own masquerade!

My! Are we totally twisted!

We’re bubbling

through the

foam!

Our world’s greatest computer whiz!

Planting our very own seedlings!

Monsey Division


Mastering knowledge at

the library!

Mr. Clown adores me!

Watch out! Bumping ducks

in Rayim!

Board games never gets us bored!

"Pulling open the open bag and chewing all the chips burns more calories than

leaving the bag on the shelf"

"I'm on a low-carb diet.whenever I feel low, i eat cards!"

"Your brain is like a sponge that absorbs knowledge, but that's not exactly how it's done"

Cartoon Corner


hings just did not make sense. I mean, wasn’t I the smarter one? The prettier one? The more reasonable, capable, mature, talented, normal one?

Then, why…? That’s what I was wondering as I followed that lady’s receding back with my gaze, as she left the grocery store that Thursday. But I didn’t tell you about the lady yet.

I was on my weekly excursion to the supermarket when it happened. I go there every Thursday evening to help stock up our house for shabbos, and I usually take along my sister Tzippy. Sometimes she stands on the bottom of the wagon, holding on, and I puuush. Sometimes she just holds my hand; but, either way, it’s fun to take her along. I enjoy her company and the

friendly comments from strangers (well, almost). Plus, it’s sort of a double way of helping my mother, which I feel good about.

That Thursday, I was throwing cans of tomato sauce into the wagon, when I realized I didn’t feel Tzippy’s warm clutch on my hand. “Tzippy,” I called, looking for the canned tuna. No response. (Which was not unusual.) “Tzippy,” I said a bit louder. Oh, there were the tuna cans. But hey, Tzippy... I turned around and glanced up and down the aisle, but no Tzippy. (Which, actually, was not unusual either.) Grabbing the half-full wagon by its bar, I sauntered past the shelves full of cans, and dashed straight to the nosh aisle. (Guess why.)

She was not there. Trying not to get frantic, I ran up and down the aisles in search of my runaway sister, the wagon’s inertia making me feel as if I were on a ride

TSparkling

For Siblings

By: Malky Stein


In-deed!Special

at Adventureland. My skin felt hot as I reached the last aisle, but to my credit, I kept my cool and headed for the registers, hoping a kind staff member would help me out.

There she was! It was her back I saw first, bent over, and she was obviously carrying something big. Her entire frame shifted left and right with great effort as she trudged clumsily, yet determinedly, toward the register, her disproportioned figure making it a somewhat comical sight.

And comical it was, or rather it would have been, I thought wryly, when I saw what she had heroically managed to place on the counter. It was

a tremendous box, half-opened, with the words “Potato Crisps”, and in smaller, “barbeque flavor” emblazoned on the outside. Aha! So she had gone to the back of the store, lucked upon a fresh shipment of potato crisps and with her endless curiosity, opened one box, found these enticing treats inside, and decided to purchase it!

You can imagine what a commotion this aroused. Amused shoppers came running from all ends of the store, pointing, whispering, laughing and some even discreetly snapping pictures with their cell phones, as though theywere watching an elephant performing at a circus. One lady, wearing a black wig that was especially wavy and a purple hat perched on top of it, even went over to pinch Tzippy’s cheek and make all sorts of adoring noises.

Tzippy was unperturbed.“Sweetie, where’s your mother?” the cashier, an

old, grandfatherly man, smiled to her. “She’s home, baking challos lekavod shabbos.”

Tzippy answered innocently. To which her audience erupted in peals of poorly concealed laughter. And to which I flushed an even brighter shade of red. Abandoning my wagon, I hurried to her rescue. But Mrs. Purple Hat was already there, holding an affectionate arm around her and offering to pay for the enormous box. All the onlookers were exclaiming their approval, with obvious admiration for this virtuous woman.

“Tz… Tz…Tzippy…,” I stammered. But my voice

got lost in the crowd. “Wait, lady,” the cashier was saying, “there

must be somebody in charge of this lovely yong lady.” His voice rose. “Does anyone know who she is?”

Tzippy’s voice was clear and steady. “Yes, I know. My name is Tzippy Feldman. I am 15 years old. I live at 64 Elm Drive. My phone number is—“

I furiously pushed my way to her and pulled her sleeve. “Come,” I whispered through clenched teeth.

“—1-4-2-8. And this is my sister Shevy. A pleasure meeting you all!” She was absolutely delighted to all the attention showered upon her.

“COME!” I repeated stupidly. My cheeks were flaming. My palms were sweating. My toes were tight, gripping the bottoms of my shoes. My


In-deed!

stomach felt like our kitchen sink must feel when the water goes whirlpooling down its drain. (My brain had altogether disappeared by then.)

You see, my sister Tzippy is two years older than me in age, but quite my junior in other areas. She has Down’s syndrome, plus a one-of-a-kind personality, piercing eyes, and an amazing knack for mischief. All my life, I’m used to strangers stopping us on the street with a friendly “hello, there” or “hi, sweetie” in Tzippy’s direction. When Tzippy does something that is difficult for her, it becomes an occasion, and the entire world cheers her on. Her teachers are of an entirely different breed than the ones I’m familiar with: smiley, soft-as-butter, angels from heaven who treat her with kid gloves and clap with downright ecstasy when she reaches a milestone, as opposed to my stern, no-nonsense, you-better-know-your-arithmetic-or-else type. Sometimes, like when my parents spend their every ounce of strength and every last dollar on Tzippy, I wonder if I’m really less special. When I’m told she has a holy neshama, I wonder if my neshama is really less valuable. But I have a niggling feeling that this attitude of mine stems from a tiny bit of resentment at all the attention she gets (and, I know, deserves). And that is ridiculous.

Still, I couldn’t help thinking that way when the purple-hat-lady pulled a wad of bills from her pocket, handed it to the cashier and requested that the sensational box be delivered to our address, which Tzippy had so endearingly provided.

I watched as this righteous “baalos chesed” treated my sister’s face to some warm, mushy kisses, and waved her a heartfelt “G’bye, Dearie!”, (not a word to me) to which Tzippy responded with her classic “t’was a pleasure meeting you!”. And, as I said before, I watched as she left the supermarket, some unsettling thoughts whirling about my mind.

Funny, how the mortification I felt at this incident was so easily forgotten, buried under the weight of my irrational envy. It’s not like I would’ve wanted to switch places with Tzippy, you know. It was just… perhaps… I guess I would’ve liked people gushing in whispers about how sweet I was, too. Or at least they should see past my plainness and appreciate my own special qualities and capabilities. But my uniqueness was not written on my face like Tzippy’s was on hers. And therefore, I was simply another ordinary fish in the ocean.

Later, when all the groceries (including an additional

SparklingFor Siblings


box, the contents of which became the subject of a family joke for many years thereafter) had been delivered and duly unpacked, I was chatting on the phone with my friend Ruchie.

“These people think they’re being nice. I think they’d be nicer just leaving her alone,” I fretted, after recounting Tzippy’s adventure of the day.

“Seems to me like something’s bugging you tonight, Shevy.” Ruchie was always on target.

“Errrhmmphh.” “Let me tell you something. Your family is very

fortunate to be living in today’s generation. My uncle Yiddy also has Down’s syndrome, and my mother is always telling me about the heartache that came along with having a brother like that. Children used to mock him on the street, calling him names and degrading him terribly. Even mature adults were embarrassed to be associated with him or his family. For the first ten years of his life, my grandparents tried to hide him from the world. Growing up, my mother could never invite friends to her house or host parties. Things got much harder, once he became older, though. Eventually, they had no choice but to send him to an institution. My grandparents never talk about him; it is too painful for them. Especially now that they’ve married off their kids, having Yiddy around might have added some color to their lives.

“My mother is always marveling at all the wonderful organizations for children with special needs that are around today. There are so many amazing services that improve the quality of these children’s lives and allow them reach their fullest potential, so they can become independent and productive individuals. What’s more, society in general has much more of an open mind toward children with special needs. Today, there is so much more awareness, sensitivity and compassion toward them. Had Yiddy grown up in our times, his life would have been completely different. His family would have been proud and accepting of him. Today, these children, like your sister Tzippy, are treated as the human beings they are and as the special neshamos they are.

“And, Shevy, that doesn’t mean that we’re not special. Hashem gives each of us a customized package of abilities and challenges with which to

achieve the mission assigned to us. He also adds many silver linings to each of our challenges, so that we can better cope with our circumstances. How ‘special’ we are is determined by how we use our specific set of tools. Get it?”

I let her words digest as she continued.“Tzippy is one lucky girl. Hashem sent her a

tremendous challenge. But he sent her so many silver linings along with it by putting her into our generation and specifically into your wonderful family. The extra doses of love and attention she gets, makes her difficult life so much easier to bear.”

“You’re so right. I know it. I just wish people would notice me more, like they notice her.”

“Oh, Shevy! You have your own custom designed package. And, by the way, of course you’re noticed! Though nobody makes a grand deal about you, because… well, wouldn’t you get insulted if they do? I mean, you don’t really want ladies in purple hats kissing you in the supermarket!”

I giggled. Clarity can be amusing.And when I met Mrs. Purple Hat in the

supermarket the following Thursday (only her hat was green this time), I smiled. To her, but mostly to myself.


“Honey, do me a favor and see who’s at the door.” Rikki’s mother called. It was T”u B’Shvat, and Rikki was very busy preparing the most amazing fruit party ever. She was quite embarrassed to open the door; their house was in a state of havoc. “I dunno,” she mumbled. “I can’t now.” But when the knock came again, Rikki stood up with a sigh and opened the door. There stood a short, plump, disheveled looking man, his suit smudged and his necktie wrinkled. “A beggar,” she thought grumpily, about to tell him to come back some other time. But there was something about his pained smile and pitiful appearance that told her that she just couldn’t let the man go.

“Just a moment,” Rikki said. She fumbled in her coat pocket for some change, but it was empty. She checked her mother’s pocket. Empty. And all the fruits were waiting for her.

Read this story out loud, as fast as you could. As you read, listen out for the names of the fruits in the box below. How many words in

the story (alone or combined) sound similar to words that mean fruits? (Example: “The little

blue beary” could be “blueberry”.) Have fun!

A Juicy Mitzvah

Apricot Peach Kiwi Nectarine CherryMango Pear Banana Pomegranate Lime

Avocado Fig Honeydew Orange Plum Cantaloupe Kiwi Cherry Date Apple Papaya Olive



Honey, dohavoc. “I dunno,”plumpnecktie wrinkledappearance

man go. necktie wrinkled.pea, chokingbeen analyzingRikki, we

are injured.”can’t tell apart palm. A granite“Lipa, pay adate

sublimecherishinguh, livergrappling

“Come back later.” She told the man. A little lump of guilt slithered down her throat as if she’d swallowed a round pea, choking her up just a tiny bit. She dashed back to the dried fruits she had been analyzing, trying to figure out a way to turn them into a tall tree.

“Who was here?” Rikki’s mother asked, coming down the stairs.

“A beggar,” Rikki answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t find any change, so I told him to come back later.”

“Rikki, we don’t do that.” Her mother admonished. “You should have called me. Maybe he was hungry. And now, he might not come back. Maybe his feelings are injured.” She shook her head. “You, know, Hashem constantly sends us opportunities to do mitzvos. To us, some mitzvos look big, and others look small. But the truth is, we can’t tell apart one mitzvah from another. Only Hashem knows the value of each mitzvah. We have to grab each opportunity as if it’s the

greatest mitzvah we’ve ever done.” “You’re right, Mommy. I

hope he does come back,” Rikki said sincerely. “Now, let’s start cleaning

up. Rikki, please wash the dishes and the counters. And

when you’re done run over the counter with your palm. A granite

counter can look clean even if it’s still a bit sticky, so please feel it to make sure it’s perfect.”

Rikki got right to work, and humming a tune, she transformed their messy kitchen into a sparkling clean one, as my mother added salt and paprika to the steaming pot of

soup. Then she prepared the table elegantly for their T”u B’shvat party.

Soon, her father and brothers arrived and took their seats around the table, oohing and aahing over Rikki’s beautiful work. Her father began delivering a nice p’shat on T”u B’Shvat, as her mother served the delicious fruit.

“Lipa, pay attention,” her father said. “So from here we see that T”u B’Shvat is a special date in our—“

Knock. Knock. Rikki’s mother rose to open the door.

She came back, followed by a short, plump, disheveled looking man. The beggar!

“Would you like to join our party?” her mother was asking. The man nodded gratefully as everyone clambered to make place for him at the table.

“This is sublime,” the man said as he hungrily devoured the fruit salad Rikki had made earlier, cherishing every spoonful. “My daughter, uh, is in desperate need of a, uh, liver transplant. I am grappling with a financial burden that is way too heavy for one person to carry.”

Poor man! Rikki thought. And to think she had sent him away like that before. I’ll never send anyone away again, she resolved. She watched as her father wrote out a check for a large sum and handed it to the man.

“May you and your family be blessed!” He exclaimed gratefully. And as he headed toward the door, his smile felt a lot sweeter to Rikki than any fruit she’d tasted.

Answ

ers:



1. What has three hands, but the second hand is really the third?

2. What is something that has four legs and two arms?

3. What can you spend but never buy?

4. Bewtiful is a hard word to spell. How do you spell it correctly?

5. A woman dropped a coin in a beggar’s bowl. The woman is the beggar’s sister, but the beggar is not the woman’s brother. How are they related?

6. If a man lives in Massachusetts, why can’t he be buried in Maryland?

7. Do the British have a Fourth of July?

8. Can you stick a needle into a balloon without busting it?

9. Can you cut a hole in a sheet of paper so large, that you should be able to stand inside the hole and even have room to walk around?

10. Can you tie a knot with a rope by holding on both ends and not letting go even once?

11. Put 2 coins right next to each other on the table. You may touch one coin but not move it, and you may move the other coin but not touch it. Can you get the two coins to be at least three feet apart?

Brain Teasers...

Can You Do This?

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Answ

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Fruity Flowers Directions:1. Fill the cylinder with the dried cranberries,

apricots or other fruits of your choice.

2. Gently pluck two leaves from the top of the pineapple. Push the skewer through each leaf, so that the skewer’s sharp end protrudes about 2 inches.

3. Stick the skewer through a dried apricot disc close to its edge, and push the disc down until it touches the leaves.

4. Repeat this with 7 more discs, positioning them as wide apart as possible so that they resemble the petals of a flower.

5. Starting from the bottom up, use the toothpick tips to connect sets of two or three petals, by sticking the sharp ends through the petals and back out (similar to a sewing needle). Use more toothpicks as needed to form a realistic looking flower.

6. Place a couple of dried cranberries covering the top of the skewer to create the center of the flower.

7. Repeat these steps for as many flowers as you like, then place the flowers in the vase. Push the bottoms of the skewers through the dried fruits so they remain in their positions.

Presto! You now have a beautiful, fruity floral arrangement!

Tip: You might want to break some toothpicks into different sizes, as needed.

Variation: Try using alternative types of dried fruit discs for each flower, such as guava, kiwi or mango for a more colorful effect.

T"u B’Shvat with Nissi FruchterOpen up any typical family’s nosh cabinet, and you are likely to be bombarded

by a rainbow of color. Various shapes, sizes and textures of goo might come tumbling out at you. Sticky or squishy, sugary or salty, natural or artificial, these items have only one thing in common: they happen to be edible. Check out their fruit bin, and you’ll find a similar variety of colors, shapes and sizes. The foods there are equally delicious (if not more), yet many times more nutritious.

Sometimes, when I bite into a tangerine and its cold juice squirts into my eye as its tangy flavor dances deliciously on my tongue, I stop to think: why do we even need all these artificial foods when nature provides us with such delectable treats? Fruits are marvelous gifts sent straight to us from Hashem; they are even gift-wrapped! We ought to appreciate them accordingly. That’s why I love presenting fruits in a beautiful, impressive and eye-catching way, especially for T"u B’Shvat.

Here’s a fun idea for you to try. Good luck!

What you will need: Food:• Dried apricot discs • Regular dried apricots, or any dried fruits of your choice• Dried cranberries• Pineapple leaves

Supplies:• Tall glass cylinder or vase• Skewers• Toothpicks, tips broken off


It is cold and dark. The fire is out.

Its power to light and warm has

been extinguished.

There seems to be no hope. But

wait! There is one tiny spark

among the dying embers that

still flickers with life. It has the

potential to reignite into huge and

glorious flames that will radiate

warmth and light. Sparks, the

power of rebirth, of bringing to

life new hope and joy.

SPARKSM A G A Z I N E

Sparks magazine

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