You would never imagine who is getting those packages. It could be your friend, your brother, your son. I know, because once, it was me.
For 11 months, after an unexpected series of events, my wife and I were scrounging for a few dollars to buy even the basics. There was no summer camp that year, no afikomen presents or shoes that weren't hand-me-downs. But there was Shabbos: challah, fresh fish, ice cream in the freezer, magazines, and so much more.
Baruch Hashem, we are no longer there. But each week, as I volunteer some of my time packing boxes for the families who are where I once was, there is a silent blessing on my lips for the giants who set this into motion, ensuring that every family in Lakewood is fed with dignity and abundance.
S.M.
