It’s the people, stupid
Reflections on volunteering for Family Promise in Hackensack
It’s all about people. Not ideals or ideologies. Not abstract ideas or categories. Just people.
Serving food recently to 164 people at the Hackensack shelter — as part of my synagogue’s volunteer cohort for Family Promise, a nonprofit organization that “offers prevention, diversion, shelter, and stabilization programs to help families avoid or overcome homelessness” — I was struck by the fact that my fellow volunteers, from both synagogues and churches, were, well, civilians. Not clergy, or political activists, or professional do-gooders. They were, like me, just individuals wanting to help other individuals.
(Note, I did not say “the needy.” They were too different from one another, too individual, to be lumped together under one heading.)
Could I categorize those 164 people? Not by age, or gender, or style of dress, or race. They ranged from young to old, from well-dressed to shabby. They had their food preferences, and their allergies. One bearded gentleman was denied soup by our team leader because he doesn’t do well with salt. Another refused a proffered roll because of gluten intolerance. Another turned up his nose at salad because, you get the feeling, he doesn’t like anything green. One guy, deadpan from start to finish, did not want the roll and butter I offered. “I feel rejected,” I said. “Do you need a hug?” he asked.
A fellow congregant of mine — we’re from Congregation Beth Sholom in Teaneck — was serving the dessert and wishing everyone a happy holiday. I did not, imagining that the homeless couldn’t possibly have a happy holiday because they were, well, homeless. How very elitist of me. Who was I to withhold a greeting from the people who stood there, each with their own story, with their own personality, and each expressing sincere gratitude for the food they were receiving? Why withhold a greeting because they wouldn’t be celebrating the way I do?
The food distribution was methodical and well-coordinated. Our team leader cheerfully directed each of us to perform distinct tasks that ultimately melded into the efficient placement of food (some in cooling trays, others in heating trays) and assembly-line serving that took into account the need for plastic utensils and napkins. When one man politely requested ketchup, it was located. Food was labeled with the date served and placed in the refrigerator according to freshness.
If the food recipients were each their own person, so too were the volunteers. I spoke with some of them.
Beryl and Howard Steinbach are longtime volunteers, part of the Beth Sholom crew who worked at the shelter from 2013 until covid temporarily paused the program.
“I like to do chicken,” said Howard, explaining that as the first person on the food assembly line, he gets to put the main dish on the plate and greet the guests. Harold, who became emotional during our talk, said he is the child of Holocaust survivors, and that hunger is an emotional issue for him. “I do it for selfish reasons,” he said. No other work leaves him feeling more fulfilled and appreciated than doing something for the working poor.
Beryl said she wants to restore some dignity to those who have fallen on hard times. “I want to be able to look someone in the eye, smile at that person, and offer him or her a choice of hot, homemade food.
“When I see a homeless person on the street in NYC, I don’t take the time to interact with him or her — honestly, I’m sometimes afraid to do so. And I don’t know if the few dollars I offer will make a difference. At the shelter, I can offer a genuine greeting, a big scoop of pasta, and a moment of respect. One human to another.”
Roz and Alan Hantman, who serve on the “cookie team,” also are longtime volunteers. “Each of us has had a few more lucky breaks than others,” Roz said. “In most cases, the working poor have tried,” but sometimes the choices they have to make between rent, medicines, and food put nourishing meals last on the list.
Roz and Alan’s daughter, Debbie Landzberg, works with a food pantry in Danbury, Connecticut. She tells the story of a young boy whose eyes opened wide at the sight of a food he rarely sees. “Huevos,” he cried. The thought that eggs could elicit such joy really brought the message home to Debbie and her parents. “The people we serve are so appreciative,” Roz said. “That’s our thank-you.”
Not only does Family Promise serve hot meals to people in the shelter’s dining room, but volunteers hand out meals to people outside, who are waiting at the facility’s loading dock. Sometimes, hesitant people have to be urged to accept a meal.
“It was my first time working on the dock,” Alan said. “I had to kneel to reach down to our guests, to be at their same level. It really brought home to me the meaning of ‘There, but for the grace of God….’”
I could echo that feeling. Working another shift, a week later — this time directly for Family Promise, which I have now joined as a volunteer — I worked on the dock and chatted with the food recipients. One family politely rolled their eyes at my mangled attempts to address them in Spanish. Another gentleman graciously declined bagels, pointing out that they were too hard and chewy for his weak teeth. A third kept her eyes downcast, grateful for the food but clearly uncomfortable about having to accept it.
“The working poor have great dignity,” Alan said. “Some of them work two or three jobs but don’t have benefits. When they come up for meals, you have to respect that dignity.”
The Beth Sholom connection to Family Promise was forged years ago, guided and coordinated by congregant Ilana Picker, who could not be reached for this article. According to Howard Steinbach, her contribution was immense. Now the program is also coordinated by Adina Grossman and Karen Misler.
Adina has been a longtime volunteer at Beth Sholom, working mostly with children, music, and prayer. When she decided she wanted to volunteer “from the outside,” she took on the role of baking ziti when it was the congregation’s turn to make a meal. (The shul prepares meals four times a year.) She was given a handbook on how to prepare various dishes and how much was needed.
“It takes a lot of small zitis to feed people,” she said, calculating that her contributions alone have fed hundreds. “I was getting out of my insular comfort zone, doing something for the greater community.
“Within the past year, as an admirer of Ilana, I volunteered to help her think about spreading responsibility and getting more volunteers. With Karen Misler, I put in some new recommendations and recruited people to be involved.”
There are many ways to be involved, Adina said. Some people shop for rolls and cookies. Some cook or place the order for chicken and pick it up from ShopRite on Route 4. Others warm it up on serving day. There are people to drive and to deliver food, while others do the serving at the Hackensack shelter. “Rather than Ilana having to do everything herself, we gave her a team to work with,” she said.
And she noted, “Of everyone approached to help over the last six months, no one has said no.” She has a new goal, “figuring out how we might be able to involve teens and children in rolling napkins.”
P.S. The government shutdown that loomed last month wasn’t about people — despite the fact that real people would have lost their jobs, salaries, and benefits the week before the holiday, and many more might have ended up on the receiving end of a Family Promise meal. Rather, it was about partisan politics, with decisions made by folks who wouldn’t have to worry about where their next meal would come from or if they could afford to heat their houses. (Or, The House.) Perhaps they all should take turns serving meals to the real people whose lives their decisions impact.
Lois Goldrich of Fair Lawn is, among other things, an editor emerita of the Jewish Standard.
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