It all began on a wintry Friday night in 2005, on Hakablan St. in Jerusalem’s Har Nof neighborhood. Prayers had ended at the synagogue of HaGaon Hacham Ovadia Yosef, shelit”a, and the hacham and all the congregants had already gone home. As the sage’s faithful gabbai, Rabbi Yair Nahari, was about to lock the synagogue, a young woman, about 18 years old, walked in and asked to speak with Hacham Ovadia. Rabbi Nahari explained that the hacham had already gone home and was eating the Shabbat meal with his family.

Rabbi Nahari asked her why she so urgently needed to speak to the great sage, and she said simply, “I can’t tell you. It’s very personal.” He tried to reason with her, but the girl would not budge. Rabbi Nahari had been Hacham Ovadia’s gabbai for close to 20 years, and he had never experienced anything like this before.

Realizing that he had to do something, Rabbi Nahari asked the girl to wait and went to speak with Rabbanit Yehudit Yosef, Hacham Ovadia’s daughter-in-law. The rabbanit came downstairs and spoke with the young lady for a few minutes, and then returned to the gabbai and said, “This is a very serious situation. We need to take her to the rabbi.” She brought the girl straight up to Hacham Ovadia’s apartment.

As soon as she saw the hacham, she fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and grabbing at his coat. The hacham listened to her for a few moments, gave her a blessing, and escorted her out of the room, crying together with her.

Hacham Ovadia then approached Rabbi Nahari, with tears in his eyes and his voice breaking with emotion, and implored him to find the girl a family to stay with for Shabbat. “We must help her…” he said. The next morning in the synagogue, the rabbi went over to Rabbi Nahari, again with tears in his eyes, and asked about the girl. Did they find her a place to stay? Was she alright?

After Shabbat, Rabbi Nahari arranged for a social worker to meet with the girl and make sure that her problem (to this day, he doesn’t know what it was) was being handled professionally. But Hacham Ovadia’s tears continued to haunt him.

“Nobody Wanted to Get Involved”

Several years later, Rabbi Nahari was sitting at a Shabbat table with his brother, Knesset Member Meshulam Nahari, discussing the problem of girls from religious families who run away from home and wind up on the street. Meshulam noted that whereas boys in such situations have places to go, such as special yeshivot and other frameworks designed to help them, there was no parallel framework for troubled girls. Their options were either entering a state-run institution (which would usually be co-ed and not under religious auspices) or living on the streets.

“With girls, it is much more complicated,” Rabbi Nahari explains, recalling how at the time, “nobody wanted to get involved.” But then he remembered Hacham Ovadia’s tears. “I have to do something,” he said to himself.

In 2009, Beit Naomi (named for Yair and Meshulam Nahari’s late mother) opened its doors. Located on the outskirts of Jerusalem, Beit Naomi is literally a home – a warm, caring, loving environment for 16 girls at any given time. All the young women – generally between the ages of 15-18 – have left their homes and have been living on the streets. It provides the girls with a Shabbat-observant place to live, warm meals, Torah classes, clubs and workshops. The house is run by a full-time female director and a professional staff including a psychologist, educational consultant, social worker and counselors. Together, they help the girls improve their self-esteem, return to educational frameworks and succeed in their studies.

From the Police Station to the Hupa

Rahel*, a girl from one of Jerusalem’s well-known haredi families, saw her life begin falling apart when her father left, moved to Europe and married a non-Jewish woman. Her mother was left alone to care for Rahel and her two younger brothers, and was broken emotionally. The burden fell on young Rahel’s shoulders, and she couldn’t take it, either. She turned to the streets, sleeping in warehouses and on park benches.

One night she returned home after having too much to drink. Her mother refused to allow her into the house. Rahel continued knocking on the door noisily, until her mother called the police, who came and arrested Rahel for disturbing the peace. The police brought Rahel to the station, but didn’t know what to do. They had on their hands a drunk teenager, but they knew she wasn’t a criminal; just a sweet and holy bat Yisrael who needed a loving and supportive home. So they picked up the phone and called Beit Naomi, who took her in.

Three months ago, Rahel got married. Like all brides from Beit Naomi, she and her hatan received a personal blessing from Hacham Ovadia Yosef on their wedding day.

“Beit Naomi is My Home”

Odelia* also lives at Beit Naomi. Here’s her story, in her own words:

When I slammed the door of my apartment…it was clear what it meant: I am leaving, and not coming back.

I left my house for the confusing street, to the spiritual emptiness, materialism and desolation, as I shed all of the morals and values upon which I was raised…dissolving and sinking deep and fast in a dizzying and uncontrolled downward spiral… I remember days and nights of bone-chilling cold, suffering, roaming the city looking for a morsel to eat to settle my empty rumbling stomach…

After a lengthy period, one day I randomly bumped into a friend from high school… She barely recognized me. Her gaze was long and penetrating – she looked at me in disbelief, trying to say something but not quite managing – the words simply getting stuck in her throat. I smiled a confused smile – “Yes, you’re not mistaken, it’s me, Odelia…” Suddenly she embraced me, hugging me tightly, kissing me and bursting into sobs and tears filled with mercy.
I couldn’t believe she was crying for me; I had long since stopped crying for myself.

After a few moments of shock and tears, she pulled away and gazed into my eyes with a look of love and trust. “I want you to come to me for Shabbat,” she said. “We’ll have a chance to relax and catch up.” I thought about it. What did I have to lose? “OK,
I answered. I’ll come.”

At the end of a wonderful Shabbat, my friend tried to convince me to stay in touch with her. “Who knows?” she said, “Maybe some time you’ll need help. I will always be here for you, any day at any hour.” Tired and weary from previous disappointments, I mumbled a response: “We’ll see…I hope…” I gently avoided any commitment.

After Shabbat we parted with a hug and I was on my way to the regular meeting spot for the Saturday night party. I walked slowly down the sidewalk, thinking about the Shabbat I had just experienced, the incredible hospitality, the delicious food and the warm reception I was given by my friend and her family. These were things I missed so deeply.

I arrived at the party, which as usual was filled with alcohol used to escape reality. But this time I let myself go with no control… Suddenly I felt dizzy; I turned around and passed out. I remember nothing else from that evening.

I awoke the next day in the hospital, bruised and wounded from my fall to the ground. I didn’t know what to do with myself – the pain, the shame. I asked myself, “How low have I sunk?”

That moment was the dramatic turning point in my life. I suddenly remembered the words my friend had spoken just hours before. “Maybe some time you’ll need help. I’ll always be here for you.”
I gathered all the emotional strength I could find and called her. In a voice choked with tears, I told her about the horrible ordeal I’d been through. “Relax; I’m on my way,” she responded, and a short time later we were walking out of the hospital together.

…We sat and chatted just like in the old days. This time I opened up and told her everything I had been through since leaving home… “Don’t you think, after so long, it’s time to go home?” she asked.
I shook my head. In my current state, it’s not the right time.

She thought for a few minutes and said, “OK, give me a few hours…” Two hours later, after a quick telephone call a meeting was set up that very day with the staff of Beit Naomi. I was greeted with a caring look and a warm smile.

From that moment on, Beit Naomi is my home.

The Heartbreaking Tears

As a private institution, Beit Naomi is not entitled to any government funding. Every penny is provided from private donations. “Our biggest difficulty,” says Rabbi Nahari, who does not take a salary for his work, “is to face the heartbreaking tears of girls asking for help, and due to lack of space and budgets, to have to leave them exposed to the terrible dangers of the street.”

In a video posted on the home page of Beit Naomi’s website (www.beitnaomi.org), Hacham Ovadia Yosef describes Beit Naomi as “a holy and pure institution that saves lives.” Indeed, Rabbi Nahari and his staff at Beit Naomi have been saving lives for the last several years, and they now invite the broader community to take part in this sacred endeavor. Rabbi Nahari is working to form a board of American women to organize activities to assist the holy work of Beit Naomi, and allow it to offer its life-saving services to each and every girl who needs them.

Anyone interested in helping this organization or volunteering is asked

to contact Rabbi Nahari

at Beitnaomi@yahoo.com.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy.