Marci Ziff had prayed for a lot of things in her life, but never to have a breakdown. Yet there she was, a few months ago, sitting on a curb with her three children, ages 17, 15 and 11, right after being evicted for a second time from an apartment in Irvine -- and praying for a breakdown.
Two things had happened to ignite her prayer. First, she had hired an inexpensive mover, who, after loading most of her stuff on his truck and then deciding there were too many things to move, proceeded to unload everything on the street.
Second, she got a call from a woman named Norah from South County Outreach, the local charity that was supposed to help her by paying her deposit and first two months' rent on a new place. There was "another snag," she was told. "We can't help you."
That's when she prayed for a breakdown, because, as she says now, if she broke down, "then for sure someone would do something."
The problem is that Ziff is virtually incapable of breaking down.
Her odyssey started two years ago, when she moved to Irvine from South Carolina after a successful 20-year career as the owner of a recruitment firm. When the economic crisis hit and she lost her biggest client -- as well as her real estate investments -- the divorced single mother decided it was time for a fresh start. So she moved out West to Irvine, where she liked the lifestyle and the quality of the public schools.
She rented a nice place, assuming that with her credentials she'd have no trouble finding employment. But because she'd had her own business, recruitment firms were wary of taking on someone who might leave and take clients with them. With no employment, her meager savings quickly ran out, and she was evicted. Her best friend, a man from Tokyo named Shin, happened to be visiting at the time. He gave her enough money to move into a new apartment -- one much smaller and more modest -- and she was able to stay afloat.
Meanwhile, she continued networking and looking for work. She got a break one day by landing a major restaurant client. For almost a year, she worked on commission on their searches for senior executives and restaurant managers. Had most of them panned out, she says she would have made "well into the six figures," as she had in the old days.
But few of the deals closed, and things just got worse.
That's when she decided to do something that was brand new to her: She reached out to charities.
It's not as if she had much choice. By now, she had received another eviction notice and, without immediate help, she and her kids would be left homeless.
So Ziff went looking for help using the familiar tools that had helped her build her recruitment business: a cell phone, an Internet connection and a drive to succeed that you see in athletes who want the ball when the game is on the line.
She did research on Google and "contacted everybody." Every state and city agency, every charity group, every synagogue, every Chabad, every rabbi -- pretty much anyone she thought might help her get immediate relief or find employment.
But it was like fishing in an empty lake. More often than not, she got a polite brush-off or was told to contact another person or group.
There were a few exceptions. One of them was Rabbi Jonathan Hanish from Kehillat Israel, a Reconstructionist synagogue in Pacific Palisades, who she says sent out an appeal to his congregation and gave her $500 from his own pocket. A group from her temple in Irvine, University Synagogue, raised $1,000. A woman who works there, Sandy Lieberman, gave her $700. A secretary gave her $100.
She didn't have much luck with the local federations -- but they did end up paying a couple of her electric bills.
The donations she got were enough to cover food and some other expenses, but not the rent. So, still without work, she ended up again getting evicted. Which brings us back to that day she found herself sitting on a curb, her furniture on the street, praying for a breakdown after the call about the "snag."
Now, if this were a Hollywood movie, this scene would be the "climax" or the "money shot" -- the moment when she gets up, looks at her children's forlorn faces, looks at a piece of furniture and a family picture laid out on the street, looks at the soccer moms driving by in fancy SUVs, and decides that, well, no way, she ain't giving up. And she would then get up -- cue the John Williams music -- get through to the mayor's office, make a huge ruckus, get the "snag" fixed and the funds released, arrange for another mover and, by nighttime, find herself and her children safe and sound in yet another apartment, ready to fight another day.
Well, guess what? Except for the music, that's pretty much what happened -- that and the fact that she had enough chutzpah to contact this paper last week in the hope that someone might read her story and help her find work.
David Suissa is the founder of OLAM magazine and OLAM.org. You can read his daily blog at suissablog.com and e-mail him at suissa@olam.org.
