Message from the Front Lines

Dear Kindhearted Stranger,

I know how you feel when you see those girls. I know that familiar twist in your heart, the pang in your gut, that aching sense of helplessness. Your heart yearns to share its comfort and show its love, but you don’t know how to make the words cross your lips.

I was once like you. I also didn’t know what to say when I saw those girls on the street, or caught glimpses at the pizza shop on Motzaei Shabbos. Some of them were old acquaintances. Some were strangers. But it seemed as though they were all crying out in pain. I thought about how their parents must have worried about them. I visualized them back in the day, bedecked in tzniyus finery. I wondered what brought them to this place.

Today, I work with the girls who once tore my heart out. I know what to say to show them I care. And I want you to know that you don’t have to open your home and invite them for a meal, or even work with them in other settings to make a difference.

I know because they’ve told me.

There was the girl raised in a prominent chassidus, now looking anything but. Once, she told me, when she was raising money for a campaign, she called a ninth-grade teacher who had been supportive of her during her Bais Yaakov days. The teacher was emotional when she heard the girl’s voice. “I’ve been davening for you every day!” she said. “Please tell me how you’re doing.” The girl’s heart was so warmed by this encounter that her mindset toward her community shifted. There were people there who had hurt her tremendously, but she now felt love emanating from the community as well.