Cookies and Caring

It wasn’t the money that brought people back again and again. We’d created a haven for them to unburden their hearts, and sent them away with the sweetness of home cooking. They became part of our family.

Everyone came through our door. The learned and unlearned, the unwashed, the unkempt, those reeking of cigarettes, the ones who needed extra attention because the world was too difficult for them, and those who came back week after week just to sit at our table.

There was a lady who called me “Mommy” who came once a month. I’d empty my cupboards into her bags and tell her to come back soon. Before Pesach, she’d appear, and I’d give her the groceries I knew she couldn’t afford to buy.

While we shared their problems, they shared in ours. When I was sitting shivah for my father, they insisted on coming in and wishing me arichus yamim. When our daughter came to stay after giving birth to twins, they showered her with brachos.