From Jersey, With Cuddles

by Deena Yellin
Special To The Jewish Week

The herd of brightly colored stuffed animals paraded onto our front porch with all the panache of an overblown Muppets production. They arrived by the dozens in gargantuan bags and boxes — Elmo, Kermit, Big Bird, Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh, and enough Beanie Babies to strike envy in collectors everywhere.
The cuddly creatures soon covered so much of our home, the housekeeper surmised we were opening a toy store. In fact, we planned to give them out for free.
It all started when my 6-year-old daughter Meital asked me if some kids in Israel don’t have toys. When I nodded, her eyes flew open. “Not even Barbies?” She exclaimed. “Or stuffed animals?” She pulled out her purple knapsack and stuffed it with

dolls. “I’m going to take this to them,” she declared. Charmed by this outburst of altruism, I agreed to help.
I forgot all about it until days later when a neighbor offered to donate stuffed animals for “my daughter’s project.” Meital had announced a stuffed animal drive for Israeli children. Her teachers enthusiastically joined in the campaign by encouraging students to donate. Our 4-year-old son, not to be outdone, wanted to collect at his school. The animals arrived at all hours and without notice. Some were from acquaintances or friends, but many were from strangers. With each delivery, my daughter beamed, seeing our community’s concern for children in Israel. Some donations came with heartwarming notes.
“What a wonderful idea. You should be so proud of your daughter,” said one. “Chazak Veyamatz,” said another. “Thank you for doing this,” said a third. One 4-year-old girl came to our door cradling a Teddy Bear in her arms. She was hesitant about giving up the beloved toy. But my daughter reassured her, “We’re taking it to a child in Israel who needs it.” The girl slowly handed over her bear.
Initially, I anticipated we’d receive a handful of stuffed animals; we ended up with 400. When my husband saw our entire living room covered in Jim Hensen décor, he inquired, “How are we getting all of this to Israel?”
Good question I thought, as I stuffed the toys into 12 oversized duffel bags. Clearly, professional expertise was needed, so I called Claire Ginsburg Goldstein, head of Bears for Bergenfield, an organization that has sent 70,000 stuffed animals to sick and needy children in Israel. She obtained permission from El Al airlines for us to bring extra bags, solicited volunteers to take the rest, helped us get a large van ride to the airport, and offered a list of Israeli organizations where I could distribute the furry friends.
But first we needed to pass El Al’s airport security checkpoint. “Did anyone give you anything to take in your suitcase?” inquired the intimidating official. I gulped looking at the bag of toys, and fessed up about our project. I expected kudos, or at least a smile from the official. Instead, she declared us a security threat and insisted on checking each Elmo and Kermit for explosives. Fortunately, they were all cleared to fly.
A few days later, we were giving them out at the children’s ward of Shaarei Zedek Hospital in Jerusalem. We visited children who were lying motionless in hospital beds, some hooked up to tubes and machines. Sitting beside them were grim-faced parents who were puzzled when we walked in, certain we were in the wrong room. We explained that we brought stuffed animals donated by New Jersey Jews who wanted to wish them well. Their faces lit up.
“That’s beautiful,” said one surprised mother after another, as we made our rounds. My children took turns handing out the animals and their shouts of “chag sameach” and “refuah shleimah” reverberated through the halls. When we encountered a solemn-faced child in a wheelchair, we held out various stuffed animals and grinned until he did too. A grandmother chased after us and grabbed my husband’s arm. “You have no idea what you did for us today,” she said, tears in her eyes.
We delivered the rest of the stuffed animals to families living in Jerusalem’s poorest neighborhoods. We went into decrepit homes where the paint was peeling and the roof was leaking. We met families with six or more children living in one- or two-room dwellings. Some had members who suffered from medical problems, like the 7-year-old girl who was left paralyzed by an illness, or the father of four who has a severe heart condition. None owned a TV, car or electronic games. My son noticed that the children had few toys. When we gave the children stuffed animals, they acted as if we had brought them the world.
When it was all over, I asked my children how they felt. “We’re lucky,” said my son, as both he and my daughter nodded.
But their work wasn’t done, and soon they began packing up the remaining dolls. The kids in rocket-battered Sderot would need them. n
Deena Yellin has written for The New York Times, Newsday and The Jerusalem Post. She was recently published in the anthology “Bread and Fire: Jewish Women Find God in the Everyday,” (Urim Publication 2008). She lives in New Jersey with her husband and three children.

Westchester Jewish Conference

Westchester’s Jewish Community Relations Organization