You never know who’s holding up the world.
It isn’t always the people whose names are constantly heard in the streets. Sometimes perhaps even oftentimes it is people on the sidelines. Their names don’t appear in the papers; no one sings their praises. They aren’t darshanim or community leaders; they’re just ordinary Jews acting out of a deep sense of mission and they are laying the foundations for tikkun olam.
Lofty words? Perhaps — until you meet one of these anonymous heroes of the spirit. As in my chance encounter with a man whom I’ve actually known for many years it suddenly became clear that I don’t know him at all. He’s a plain working man and there’s nothing there to bring him glory but it never occurred to me that his daily trade is nothing but a source of parnassah and in fact a cover for his real life. When I caught a glimpse of what was behind that curtain I realized I was looking at a person who walks on the peaks.
The revelation came when I stood in his store and heard him whispering to a woman on the phone “Don’t worry. Tomorrow I hope to have the money for all of your salaries. Yes… yes… I understand the problem. But you know it’s been a bit hard lately. I mean more than hard. Shalom shalom — and selichah.”
He hung up the phone sighed lightly and went quietly back to his work. And I curious since the day I was born came right out and asked him “Who are you paying salaries to all of a sudden?”
In an offhand way he replied “To my employees.”
“Employees? What employees? I’ve never seen any hired help around here.”
He smiled a bit bashfully and then as if to pique my curiosity further he explained “I pay salaries to a psychologist and some counselors who work in a sort of home…”
I tried to conceive of what he might mean and all sorts of suppositions ran through my mind.
Finally I said “Would you mind explaining?”
He laughed. “I mean the workers at Beit Naomi ” he said.
I was obviously not following him so he elaborated.
“I’ll explain. I opened Beit Naomi as a home for chareidi girls who ended up on the streets for various reasons. And I hired a psychologist who also serves as a house mother plus a staff of dorm counselors. That’s all…”
I was surprised to say the least. “I see ” I said although I really didn’t see at all. “But… what do you mean? You opened this place all by yourself? Just like that? With no organization behind you? No foundation or government funding?”
After a brief pause he admitted “Yes that’s right.”
Now I was really hooked. I arranged to meet with him for a talk outside of business hours. I wanted to hear the entire story.
Like all great stories it begins suddenly and by chance.
“I still get tears in my eyes when I remember that Leil Shabbat ” says Rabbi Yair Nahari. “A young girl came to the home of Rav Ovadiah Yosef ztz”l and asked me to let her in to see the Rav. [Rabbi Nahari was the gabbai at Rav Ovadiah’s beis medrash until the latter’s passing.]
“It was just after Maariv. The kahal had already gone home and the Rav had gone up to his house for the evening seudah. I asked her what she wanted and she wouldn’t tell me. She only wanted to speak with the Rav. I called the Rav’s daughter-in-law Rabbanit Yehudit and after a short exchange she brought her in to see the Rav. I could see on the girl’s face that she was extremely troubled. When she saw the Rav she fell at his feet held onto the edge of his coat and started shaking with heartrending sobs. What she told the Rav I don’t know. But the Rav asked us with tears in his eyes to find her a place for Shabbat with a warm family and after Shabbat we continued to look after her. Every time the Rav asked how she was doing his eyes filled with tears. That was how it started. Before I knew it I was involved in something that I had never considered or even thought about.”
And then?
“From there things developed on their own. Suddenly I was exposed to this agonizing pain that I hadn’t been aware of before. I’d heard about it of course. Everybody hears about young girls who end up unprotected on the street vulnerable to disaster. But you know out of sight out of mind. And now I was seeing it with my own eyes right in front of me: girls from chareidi homes mamash with no one looking out for them. Girls from all types of families… from every type. It would shock you.”
“What’s causing this?” I asked feeling overwhelmed myself.
“Believe me at this moment the causes don’t matter. What matters is that this horrific situation exists that a girl — and again it doesn’t matter whose fault it is — gets thrown out or runs away from home because of some story or other. And her family doesn’t care what happens to her.”
Rabbi Nahari told me story after story and I confess it was hard for me to contain it all. Girls products of our educational system are wandering around forlorn on city streets carrying a small bag of personal effects desperate for something to eat and a place to sleep and without even wanting to they slip to the lowest rung Hashem yishmor while engaged in a hopelessly complex war with their parents. I don’t want to go on about the stories. Readers can imagine what happens on the cruel streets on the cold hopeless nights. And then someone comes along and holds out a lamp to them in the darkness. A Jew opens Beit Naomi and they come there emotionally crushed neglected lacking faith in humanity and in themselves.
Rabbi Nahari describes the loving care these girls get from his staff in the warm protective environment he gives them; and how with professional help they begin to recover their self-image and prepare to live healthy lives equipped with the tools to overcome the nightmares of the past. And he speaks of the days and nights he dedicates to this holy work.
“All by yourself?” I ask.
Rabbi Nahari ignores the question and goes on telling me about Beit Naomi leaving out the part about the financial difficulty preferring to talk about the girls he has married off who are now building good Jewish homes.
I repeat my question: “You do all this by yourself?”
He answers indirectly: “I only support sixteen girls but for me I’m stretched beyond my limit. I have no funding; I have to support them myself. What more can I do?”

___

We speak for hours about chinuch about what lies behind such troubled and dysfunctional relations between parents and children and why this happens.
We stand on a Jerusalem street as night descends. Shadows grow long and fade away and suddenly our conversation is interrupted by a phone call. Rabbi Nahari takes the call and as he listens consternation creeps over his face.
“I hear ” he says. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s your phone number? I’ll call you in an hour. Shalom shalom.”
He puts away the phone and takes a deep breath.
“What can I do?” he says. “Can I tell her no?”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Another one. She’s standing on the street with a suitcase. Her father told her not to dare come home. What is she supposed to do? Where will she sleep tonight? On the sidewalk? On a park bench? I’ll see what I can do for her. If HaKadosh Baruch Hu directs the phone call to me then that means I have to do something. I told her I’d try to find a solution for her.”
He gives me a sad smile. We talk for a few more minutes and we part ways.
I’m still thinking over that chance conversation. It makes me both happy… and despondent. I’m happy to have met such a great man and devastated that his greatness has emerged through the tragedies and traumas of holy Jewish daughters.