Personal Stories

For a long time, I had lost my faith in people. The only faith that remained in my heart was in the Creator of the world — and it was that faith that kept me sane.

It is hard to describe in a few sentences what I went through. It would take a very long book to contain the trials and experiences I faced from the very first day I arrived at high school.

From a funny, warm, and life-loving girl, I became invisible — a disappointment no one could explain.

Learning difficulties emerged that were not my fault — difficulties that caused me to fall behind, to withdraw. There was no one to help me cope with what I was facing.

I felt rejected, irrelevant to anyone in the world. Slowly, I began to miss school, miss home — drifting between friends, feeling my self-worth erode, retreating further and further into myself.

When I needed to speak — when the pain and weight inside me were suffocating — there was no one to turn to.

I would sit alone in a garden or park, raise my eyes to the sky, and let the tears fall. I spoke to the Creator as a daughter speaks to her father. He was the only one who truly heard me.

I cried out to Him: "Master of the World — You know I am alone. Abandoned. I do not have the strength to keep depending on strangers. I want only inner peace. A warm bed. A shower. Something to eat."

Those prayers did not return empty.

A few days later, I walked through the door of Beit Naomi. There I was received with the emotional support I so desperately needed — with recognition, love, and warmth that lifted me from the floor.

In time, I felt ready and strong enough to build a home of my own. I married. I had children — beautiful children. And I was blessed with a loving, supportive partner.

Thank you, Beit Naomi team. Because of you, my life found its way back.

We received a phone call from a young woman named Noa (a pseudonym). She was eighteen years old — and on the street, with nowhere to go.

We explained that Beit Naomi gives its whole heart for every young woman — but all three of our apartments were full. Where could we put her?

We could not stand by and watch an eighteen-year-old face this alone. Not after hearing what she described. Not after recognizing in her story everything we had seen so many times before.

Noa arrived for a meeting with our team. Before anyone could ask what had brought her here, she began to speak.

"My parents divorced when I was twelve. My mother tried her best for us. We knew it was only a matter of time before she found someone new. She was young — life was still ahead of her."

"When I was seventeen, he entered our world. From a calm, even-tempered girl, I became restless and anxious. My mother was captive to him — she couldn't move without his approval. And I paid the price, because she could no longer protect me."

"The day I turned eighteen — literally the day after — he told me I was standing in the way of their relationship and that they had no obligation toward me. In other words: find somewhere else."

"The pain was devastating. I felt completely betrayed. Not an hour passed before I was outside, backpack in hand, no destination."

"I ended up at Gan Sacher in the heart of Jerusalem. I sat on the grass and wept."

"I raised my eyes to the sky and cried from the depths of my heart: Lord of the World, You have not abandoned me until today. Do not abandon me now."

"A friend from a hospital kitchen brought me food. That night I slept on a bench near the emergency room."

"In the morning, we found you through Facebook. I begged: please don't make me go back to that bench. I don't need luxury. Just the minimum a person needs."

Beit Naomi could not stand on the sidelines. Despite the apartments being full — we found a way.

Noa surpassed every expectation. She brought exceptional care and order that inspired all the other residents around her.

Today, Noa is studying at one of Jerusalem's most respected colleges — on her way to a future that will surprise everyone.

It is hard to forgive. Harder still to forget.

Every time I recall what happened to me, I cannot escape the wound. It still bleeds.

One morning — years ago, etched into my memory forever — I arrived at school. Standing before me at the entrance was the principal, eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"You are expelled from our school. Immediately."

I froze. I could not feel my own body. As if I stood before a rapid judgment with no right to speak in my own defense — and the verdict was sealed before I could say a word.

"What did I do?" I cried.

"Your appearance does not meet the standards of our school," she said.

I was sixteen years old, standing before a woman who could have been my grandmother.

My parents were in shock. They tried everything. But the trauma was too great. I refused to return — and so I was left without a school, without a framework.

Months passed in emptiness. The further time moved, the more I disconnected from everything and everyone. I withdrew into myself, drifted onto the streets, and found myself without a roof over my head.

By some miracle, I found my way to Beit Naomi — on the very edge of the abyss. There I received new strength, boundless support, and every tool I needed to stand back up.

My gratitude to Beit Naomi knows no measure. They gave me my life back.