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When one homeless woman came to visit, Henny gave her her bed.
A mutual friend told me after Henny’s death, “When I was with her, I felt embraced by God.” The question – indeed the challenge – of Henny’s life is: How did an ordinary Jew born to a regular middleclass family in Brooklyn in 1957 become so great? Like most of us, “reality” intruded in the actualization of the ideal.
She had already been battling metastasized cancer for a couple agonizing years.
I decided to drop in at her house, and braced myself to see the battle-weary and fear-worn look that characterized other cancer patients I had known.
They mortgaged their apartment to the hilt, took out personal and bank loans – and kept on going.
As Henny once told me: “We are living in the midst of a spiritual holocaust.
For those who gauge greatness by the level of selflessness a person attains, Henny also scored off the charts.