My son, who is now 14.5 years old, has been attending the Ezer Mizion sleepaway camp for boys for the past three years. Before that, he attended the Ezer Mizion day camp for younger kids in Jerusalem. In both cases, the group’s painstaking organization--to the last detail--is so impressive, and I am always moved to tears by it. But the emotion doesn’t stop there. Weeks before camp, when you call to register, you are greeted as a long-lost friend when the office staff recognizes your son’s name from previous years.

When your forms are filled out and returned to the office and registration complete, you can expect a few calls: First, the person who double-checks and confirms that understand all your forms correctly, including everything written by your son’s teachers and pediatrician. Next, the call from the person in charge of delivering the daily medicines to your son, also to confirm that they deciphered everything correctly (dosages and hours, for example, and don’t we all know how important that can be). Last but not least, you get the phone call from your son’s “one-on-one.” This is like a “blind date,” and you pray that you get the same one as the year before or someone even better! After all, you are about to entrust your special child to a total stranger for 9 days and nights.

Our son is MR, epileptic, and non verbal; he has eating issues and sleeping disorders, to mention just a few of his special concerns. Entrusting him to a stranger is certainly a test of our emunah.

Before D-Day, you get a packet in the mail with stickers for your son’s luggage – pre-labeled with his name – and a bracelet for him to wear on travel day. (Our son needs all of 10 seconds to remove his bracelet.)

The first year our son participated, I underwent months of mental preparation – this would be the first time our son left our care overnight. I spoke to social workers, friends, other parents who had done this, and so on. One experienced mother told me firmly but warmly, “If Ezer Mizion tells you they can handle him, then they can! If they tell you they can’t, then start crying--because if they can’t, no one else can!”

That’s when I realized I should be grateful he was accepted.

I remember crying at every label I sewed on his outfits, and at every line of the forms I had to fill out. I was doing this against my heart, but I knew with my brain that I had to do it for him and for the rest of the family.

When the time came, we drove him and saw him off. Despite all the preparation, I was inconsolable.

Of course we planned to take advantage of those days and take the trips any normal family takes--those trips we avoid because they are just too much with a special-needs child.

These were the days before cell phones were so popular. Yet, we really wanted to have some way of being in touch daily or every other day with our son’s one-on-one, and we wanted our son to be able to hear our voices – otherwise he might think we had all died or disappeared or whatever else he might imagine – we had no way of knowing.

Our first prayer was answered when, out of the blue, the night before his trip, a kind neighbor lent us a cell phone for him.

Nevertheless, I was still inconsolable and kept repeating that I could not go for 9 days without seeing my son. Needless to say, I was not helping my family enjoy the “time off.”

Hashem heard me!

We decided to take advantage of the fact that we were without a wheelchair, and we could take my mother-in-law – who was visiting in Israel at the time – to the kotel.

That is the day my prayer was answered “big time.”

Having loaded all the siblings and the two grandmothers in the car, we headed for the kotel. Unexpectedly, as we neared the access road, all traffic stopped and there was no moving forward or backward. This went on for over 30 minutes, with everyone going out of their minds in the August heat, and already regretting the idea of going to the kotel.

We speculated the whole time – maybe there was a car accident, a suspicious object, a rally - until finally, someone said, “There are eight buses backing into the kotel plaza.” Then someone added these were Ezer Mizion buses. I refused to get excited, but the adrenaline did start pumping. Finally, traffic started moving and we indeed saw the buses. I still claimed it could be any of the Ezer Mizion buses and so there was no reason to get excited.

Having an impossible time finding parking, we almost gave up and left, but Hashem had mercy and we eventually did find a spot.

We got out of the car and started walking to the kotel. Slowly our pace accelerated to a race, to match my heart beat.

I will never forget the excitement and the screams of joy when my sons (all younger then their special brother) caught a glimpse of our Shealtiel and screamed out his name. He was among the 500 holy souls who were dancing and singing on the plaza by the kotel.

This sight alone was enough to choke me with emotions. But the emotions reached the sky when Shealtiel ran (hobbled along) to us and gave me the longest and wettest embrace ever. I don’t know who cried more. Cries of joy. Hashem had heard my prayers. I was not going to be without him for 9 days. In addition to the immeasurable joy of seeing him, I was reassured to find him happy and clean.

Since that year, we make sure not to miss the Ezer Mizion kotel day – and they do come to the kotel every year, despite their extremely full schedule.

The emotion continues to grow year after year, as the sight of 250 special neshamot and their one-on-ones at the kotel remains breathtaking for me. Some of them are on their feet, some on crutches, and some on wheelchairs, with or without oxygen tanks attached.

This amazing caravan of 10 buses and half a dozen ambulances drives from Netanya, escorted by the police, all the way into the plaza right in front of the kotel. They receive the VIP treatment usually reserved for aged Rabbonim and high-ranking officials.

The kotel, which is accustomed to hosting all sorts of guests of all ages and ethnicities, speaking all languages of the world, is now filled with the true angels of this world. The immeasurable logistic effort of organizing such a trip is worth every bit when you see the smiles and the tears on everyone’s face, as the children forget their handicap for a minute, and as the public realizes they too belong in Beit Hashem and maybe their tefillah, which is the purest, just goes straight up, at a time when our world needs so much tefillah.

When off the buses, this army of angels will first sing and dance on the plaza, then they will be escorted to the kotel by their one-on-one. Sometimes they will get a bracha from whichever Godol was able to meet them that day.

Some parents come to meet their children at the kotel, but there are many people - not connected to Ezer Mizion - who just happen to be at the kotel at that time; they stand by in awe at this unusual site.

It is hard to put into words the emotional and spiritual high one feels at this sight. Perhaps, to paraphrase the mishna: “Mi shelo ra’ah simhat beit hashoeva lo ra’ah simha miyamav. Mi shelo ra’ah kaytanat Ezer Mizion bakotel, lo ra’ah hitragshut miyamav.”

Shabtai (Originally from the US) and Elisheva Atlow (Originally from France) met and married nearly 18 years ago in Gush Etzion, Israel where they have been living and raising their family of 5 sons. Shealtiel, 14.5, is their eldest son and he has Angelman syndrome. He has without any doubt made the family into a "special" family and has given the a chance to do and receive much chessed. Shabtai and Elisheva created and run the Angelman website in Hebrew, www.angelmanisrael.org , as well as the Israeli Angelman support group (IMA).

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