To the staff at the Ezer Mizion kitchen,
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve loved the kitchen, with all its secrets, magic, and aromas. At age ten, I functioned like a young chef. After I got married, I opened a boutique catering business at home for pastries and specialty dishes, and this served as an adequate source of income for our young family.
About a year ago, I started feeling an annoying sensation of tingling in my hands. At first it came in brief attacks and I didn’t attribute any importance to it. But then it became very bothersome and tiring and I understood that I had to check it out. I went to our family doctor. He was very concerned and sent me for a series of comprehensive and exhausting tests, which resulted in the diagnosis: a “degenerative disease.”
The sky fell in on me, my husband and our serene home. From an active and energetic woman, I became a woman who could not even get up in the morning to send out the children. From the owner of a catering business to a woman who serves her children pasta and hot dogs and whose neighbor has to come in to load our laundry in the washing machine…
After turning to Ezer Mizion for counseling, our eyes were opened. Beyond the medical counseling and assistance, we received a great deal of physical and emotional support.
I remember the first hot, nourishing meal that we got from you. Finally, the kitchen again had the aroma of real food but I cried because it was not produced by me. As time went on, there were many more daily meals and also Shabbos meals. Every time I opened the Ezer Mizion carton, I burst into tears. It was hard for me to handle. I promised myself that when the attack would pass, I would utilize my talents, too, on behalf of those who needed it and for whom it would give strength for another day of coping.
Now, baruch Hashem (thank G-d), I am in a period of remission, in the great hope that it will always only get better.
And today I was able to cook a Shabbos meal for a family of six (like ours)!
For me, it was a day of celebration! I added a personal “strength-boosting” letter to the mother of the family who would receive the delivery, with a request to include it with the meal. The letter, too, like the food I prepared, was sent straight from my heart, wishing her a speedy and complete recovery among all sick people .
A giant thanks for the delivered meals that always revived me and my family, and also for the privilege of now being on the giving end.
S. Friedman
