Bat Sheva’s Story

Everything used to be so different…

My father used to be a very known active volunteer of MADA, he used to attend accidents and tragic incidents to help out, and then return to the regular hustle-bustle of life. Everything changed once the intifada began and tragic terror attacks happened, due to the nature of the incidents my father suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), my father the strong figure, was now in-and-out of  psychiatric hospital wards.

My mother was worn out from all the sudden treatments and could not continue to care for us. She was not there for me when I was severely beaten by my brother and was left with a deep scar. I slowly refrained from going to school. I wandered the streets and began eating without control. I was going down a dark path.

From heaven, I was thrown a lifeline with the name: The House of Hope.

I was accepted with a smile and a huge hug. I was provided with a place to eat and sleep and even more- a place for my heart. A place to dream, a place to explore the things that I love, a place to cry and laugh and a place of happiness. It’s my place.