Left: Tillie Kronen personalizes her room with family photos.

therefore do not access the commodes.
Linda Blank, formerly a Borman Hall
social worker, now works as admissions
director for Heartland. She says Heart-
land has accepted more than eight new
Jewish residents since the change in
ownership.
She also noted that 85 percent of the
Borman staff has been hired by Heart-
land. Residents, therefore, see familiar
faces.
But some things are changing.
There is no longer a Torah at the Seven
Mile Road facility. The service last week
was conducted without it and Heartland
administrators are asking congregations
to donate a replacement. Yarmulkes,
readers, prayer books and artwork also
were removed from the home and trans-
ferred to Menorah House.
"We were aware this was going to hap-
pen," Ms. Blank says. "But sometimes

knowing it and seeing it are two different
things. They came in and removed it. They
carried it out. The Torah. The prayer
books ... Residents were sitting there dev-
astated. You know how a person's mouth
drops open and his eyes widen in total dis-
belief? That's what I saw."
JHA President Robert Naftaly hopes
members of the Jewish community will
not forget about Jews remaining at the
Detroit facility — or any other nursing
home, for that matter. But he stresses that
Federation's attention will be on Meno-
rah House from now on.
"We gave people the option," he says.
"If we hadn't found Menorah House, we
would have had to disperse people into
nursing homes all around the city."

Home

Jewish community leaders have

Above: Quick-witted Harold Finkelstein recalls New Orleans.

emphasized the special needs of elderly
people during these days of transition.
The Jewish Community Council's "Adopt-
A-Resident" program attracted more than
40 volunteers who offered to visit the
residents before and after their move to
Menorah House.
Among those attending the Dec. 11th
Torah gala was Scott Aaronson ...
Scott, 9, has made a friend. So has
Norman Richman, 90.
As Scott pushes Mr. Richman in his
wheelchair, up and down the halls of
Menorah House, they don't talk much.
They just enjoy hanging out, Scott says.
Max Eisenberg, 4, has made a friend.
So has Faye Goldstein, 89. Max tears open
a packet of creamer and pours it into a
cup of steaming coffee for Faye.
"It's very hot," he warns.
The Torah festivity ends. The crowd
disperses. Mr. Richman spots 5-month-

old Devorah Snow. They stare at each
other. The baby coos. The old man smiles.
It is nightfall. Harold Finkelstein has
lived at Menorah House for two days now.
Does he feel at home?
He shrugs.
"How's Borman?" he asks.
Does he miss it? No, he says, but please
say "hi" to his friend, Sidney Kern. Sid-
ney's wife was from Louisiana.
Mr. Finkelstein's face brightens. Down
in New Orleans there's a coffee shop in
the French Market. It's a place where peo-
ple gather to drink coffee with chicory and
eat powdered donuts.
Mr. Finkelstein thinks about a woman
in an evening dress he used to see there.
"And next to her there was a bum," he
says. "And this lady, she never complained
about the bum. It was the kind of place
where all types of people would sit and be
together."

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