Why I Give Back

The plight of refugees became real to me back in 2001. My friend’s brother in-law perished in the World Trade Center on September 11 of that year. In his memory she created The Welcome to America Project, an effort to aid the refugee resettlement agencies in Phoenix by furnishing the new homes of refugees with household goods collected by the community. I joined her in this effort at a time when the number of people coming to this country from refugee camps seemed massive. Through WTAP, I was fortunate to meet people from all over the world—Afghans, Cubans, Congolese, Burmese, Burundians, Iranians, Sudanese. My world was enriched and enlightened by hearing their stories about their homelands, my admiration for them increased by knowing what they endured in camps waiting to receive their papers to come to this country, and my affection for them magnified by their profuse gratitude for the meager help we could provide for them. In particular, I was enthralled by the stories the Afghan families told of the tribulations and changes their country underwent from the open freedom and growth of the 70s to the conflict, deprivations, and trials of the present time.

The constant refrain of Everyone was gratitude to be able to provide a good education for their children and a life without violence. It was always about providing a better future for their children. Some of those Afghan friends I made 23 years ago remain friends to this day. When I heard about the need from JFS Delaware for volunteer support with Afghan refugee resettlement in Wilmington, I saw it as another opportunity to help a nationality that I admire. This time, though, it wasn’t just a matter of furnishing their apartments, but rather helping them establish their new lives and, to be honest, it has been a challenge. The family I helped was a very young father, a younger wife, and two (soon-to-be three) little children. They needed to learn everything about this country to get ahead: from getting a job, to paying bills, to signing up for phone service and household utilities, to getting drivers’ licenses, enrolling a child in school, applying for asylum, learning to shop in a grocery store, finding medical and dental care—the list goes on and on. In the three years since they arrived, they have shown kindness, initiative, patience, determination, resilience, persistence, warmth, graciousness, gentleness, and hospitality as they work to establish themselves in America.

For my part, I have been privileged to see their development and growth as they work to become Americans, while still preserving and sharing the best of their culture. I feel so grateful to be invited to share a meal with them, especially knowing how carefully they must manage their groceries. It’s such a wonderful treat to laugh with them, join in birthday celebrations, witness the children learn, go to parent-teacher conferences. It was important to me that they knew, as soon as they arrived, that there was someone who cared about them, that they weren’t anonymous, as they faced the enormous task of assimilation. When their children become adults, I hope they will remember that they weren’t alone when they first arrived on U.S. soil and, hopefully, they will pay the favor forward. For me, though, I have received so much more than I have given. I already have six children and 12 grandchildren, but now my family has grown to include my Afghan children and grandchildren.

How lucky am I?

Marla Friedman

I grew up in a multi-generational immigrant home. My Bubbe, of blessed memory, Rae Karsh, was heartbroken that she wasn’t able to bring her family from the USSR to live with her in Pittsburgh. She sent letters of love and devotion to her mother and half-siblings and any extra cash to help them. When Bubbe’s half-brother, Shmuel, was sent to prison on bogus charges, she sold soup nuts door to door (her friend had a factory that made them) to help bribe the authorities to release him. She felt so lucky to be in America for so many reasons. She left her little village in Ukraine to join her brother in the U.S. (one month before World War I began) and avoid marrying an older rabbi! She was able to learn English, choose her own husband, and create a life that brought her joy and 10 grandchildren who adored her. I can’t imagine not giving back to those who are able to immigrate to America as my grandmother did. If not for her courage, I wouldn’t be here. In the 1990s, I helped acclimate some of our Russian refugees that JFS sponsored here in Delaware. I felt privileged to assist these families and they became a part ofour family. Since I was in high school, I have volunteered in rehabilitative settings and school classrooms. I love working with seniors and young children and have taught yoga to these age groups for many decades. JFS gives me the opportunity to share my skills to teach gentle exercise and breathing techniques at the Tuesday Memory Cafe. In this setting, participants improve theirphysical and emotional health in their daily life. Volunteering at JFS Delaware has had a positive impact on me and allows me to honor the memory of my Bubbe, a person who benefitted from the support of the Jewish community.

How lucky am I?