Meet Fred. Eighty-eight-year-old Fred Privoroter was born in Odessa. He worked as a doctor in the Kirovograd region (South Ukraine). Fred’s life today is a far cry from the glamour that comes with youth and accomplishments. His wife has passed away, and he has no other surviving family members apart from a sister in Israel. He lives alone — in a dilapidated apartment complex. Since 1989, Gmilus Hesed, a Federation program, has been his lifeline. The dollars raised through the Federation system clothe him, provide him with daily meals, pay for his medication and help him keep his environment sanitary. 

Meet Sophie. Sophie Ambrose was born and initially raised in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas where there was no electricity, running water or Jewish people.  When she left Arkansas for graduate school, she got her first introduction to Judaism. “I felt like an outsider, never knowing what was happening during services and feeling out of place as everyone else recited those foreign Hebrew blessings during Shabbat. I felt awkward and uncomfortable.”

Then, during a simple Google search while trying to find a way to learn more about Judaism, she found out about birthright israel.  She participated in one of birthright israel’s trips in March and had never been with as many Jews in her life.  For the first time, Sophie was immersed in Judaism. She saw it from a cultural, ancestral, and religious perspective. She had multiple conversations with others on the trip about what it means to be a Jew, and out of that, something arose: an attachment that is beyond description, a feeling of belonging. 

“What I am certain of, though, is that if I hadn’t gone to Israel, I would not have begun teaching young children about Israel or speaking in my community about Israel.  Before going on birthright, I had never said ‘Next year in Jerusalem.’ But now, I think it, I breathe it, and I say it. And my children will say it.  And that is because of birthright israel.”

Meet Avi. At age 13, Avi and his 10 brothers and sisters passed through Ben Gurion’s arrival gate and through the second-floor processing desk in search of milk and honey and Jerusalem’s golden lights. While his parents were busy trying to learn Hebrew and make ends meet, Avi was doing some studying of his own. He learned to steal cars, speak Arabic, smoke cigarettes, drink and party. He stayed out till 2:00 a.m., lying to his father and older brothers about what he was doing and where he was getting so much new clothing.

The police got to know Avi well and his file was growing. He tried to fool his parents and brothers, but he wasn’t studying anymore, or even sleeping at home. A knock on the door one night at 3:00 a.m. ended Avi’s dangerous spiral. In front of his shocked parents, he was arrested for drug dealing and robbery, then sentenced to six months in youth jail. “The walls were suffocating me and I cried the whole time.” he remembers.

After his release, Avi found his own way by helping other youth through a new Federation-supported program — the Ethiopian National Project.  “I thought I was nothing, but somehow I realized I had a lot to give. I looked for a way to understand myself so I could give to others.”

Avi spends quality time now with a new crowd — Ethiopian-Israeli teenagers — at the community center in Lod. It’s a modest one-story building where a lone basketball hoop shares space with a weed-overgrown parking lot. Avi works with the younger boys who once worshipped him and his reputation. Now, he talks straight, telling them to pursue a better future for themselves. “We play backgammon, and I coach soccer. I talk with them afterwards about using alcohol and about life. We get deep into their hearts.”