Harry Stemp was born in Uxbridge in 1934. He started his career with the Uxbridge Times-Journal as an apprentice typesetter at age 14. He soon began writing sports for the Times-Journal and eventually owned 10 community newspapers in central Ontario including the Times-Journal. He started writing his award-winning Stemp’s Stew in 1965. The column came to an end shortly after he sold his newspaper chain in 1989, but was rejuvenated in 2006 when Harry became a regular contributor to The Cosmos.
Renewal in Renanim
It was four years ago, almost to the day, that I last visited Israel for my companion's family celebrations. The war between Israel and Lebanon had been waging for some time, but was ending with a victory for the Israelis just as we landed in Tel Aviv.
We travelled to the small community of Renanim, a beautiful area close to the Lebanese border. During the battles that raged, Renanim had been hit by a large number of Lebanese rockets, one of which came down in the middle of a school for handicapped children.
Fortunately it was a field trip for the students and the only person in the school was the supervisor who was in an office at the front of the building and suffered no harm. But it was heartbreaking to see the classrooms ruined by the exploding rocket, school desks damaged beyond repair, computers trashed and small pieces of student projects laying around the floors.
I recall messages to Moms and Dads from these innocent kids that were facing enough of a challenge to make it through life without being in the centre of a senseless adult battle. It was during this visit that some of those on the tour decided to do something to make up for this tragedy. They went back to Canada and rallied financial support from various foundations in Toronto as well as their personal contributions and badgered their many friends to help out.
Fast forward four years. Monday I was part of the official opening of the new school built to replace the bombed out shell of the former school. I was there with the very same people who, four years ago, made a commitment to make things right for these handicapped children. It is even a more heartwarming story when one realizes that two of these families have handicapped children of their own who made this trip to be part of the grand opening.
One couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell as school officials made teary-eyed speeches thanking their Canadian friends for all of this. It was an afternoon I will never forget.
Also, it is events like this that make me look forward to these family visits to Israel. The organizers shy away from the normal tourist attractions with the exception of a must visit to the Wailing Wall. Always fun to watch the frenzy as people crowd and push to get a preferred position right up to the wall and close to God - in their minds.
A repeat for me this trip was a working visit to a soup kitchen. This is a feed-the-hungry project run by the Hazing Teshaya Humanitarian Network, which operates 14 kitchens throughout Israel. With a dozen young people in tow we spent about five hours packing over 300 bags with basic food staples donated by corporations from around the country.
Then we moved into the kitchen and peeled and chopped six large sacks of potatoes and the same number of carrots. It is fun to watch as the young folk who have had no training in this field slowly figure out how to use vegetable peelers and sharp knives without nipping off the end of a finger.
This chore completed, it was on to serving the poor and the homeless who arrive in large numbers for the noon-hour meal - probably their only nourishing meal of the day. This is where it really hits home to young and old alike as to how lucky we are to live with loving families in good homes in our country - Canada.
Our volunteer work over, I always take the time to walk through the long tables in the dining room and meet the people who show up every day of the year for a nourishing meal. Young, old and handicapped, none are turned away and this wonderful organization serves a meal a day to over 14,000 needy Israelis.
Being born before the start of the Second World War, one thing always strikes me as I visit the dining room. Looking and smiling at people enjoying a free healthy lunch, I can't help but notice the dreaded 'number' tattoo on some of the arms. This permanent branding means only one thing - a holocaust survivor - and I get a sudden sick feeling in my stomach.
I think to myself besides being in a food line, what terrible, horrible memories these people must live with. Treated as less than animals by the hated German Gestapo during the Second World War, they saw family and loved ones being sent off to the gas chambers and the crematoriums for no other reason than being born a certain nationality and I'm sure they ask every day - “Why did I survive?” As hard as I try, I can't even imagine what goes through their minds on a daily basis.
As I boarded our bus to rejoin the Canadian group, I felt good that I had again spent a few hours helping those who work daily for this wonderful cause of taking care of those less fortunate. But I also felt sad that, in countries as wealthy as Israel and Canada, food kitchens such as this are necessary.
Who ever said, “Life is fair”?
