No! Please don’t! Don’t hit me, please!”

His mother’s frightened screams tore Jeremy away from a wonderful dream, thrusting him back into the terrifying reality which was his life. Tears streamed down his face as he heard his father’s heavy blows and his mother’s desperate cries echo through the house. More times than he could remember Jeremy had awakened to similar sounds. Several times per week his father came home drunk and angry. And when Dad was angry, he was dangerous.

Tonight’s beating had go on for hours. Finally Jeremy heard his father stumble down the hall and collapse on his bed. For several more minutes Jeremy remained hidden, afraid to move. At last, when all he could hear was his father’s heavy snoring and the sound of quiet weeping from the kitchen, Jeremy snuck out to check on his mother. What he found made his own tears flow harder and a deep anger begin to build in his heart.

Mama lay on the floor by the sink, curled in a ball, blood seeping from a small cut on her lip and an angry bruise beginning to form below her eye. Jeremy hurried to the freezer to get some ice. Gently he wiped away the blood and applied the ice to her swollen lip and eye.

With tears in his voice Jeremy whispered, “Why? Why does Dad do this?”

Struggling to get up, Mama replied, “He doesn’t mean it. It’s the booze that makes him this way,”

Jeremy angrily shook his head. “That doesn’t make it right. This has to stop! We’ve gotta get out of here!”

“It’s no use,” Mama whimpered, “there’s no place to go.”

Suddenly Jeremy remembered a news story he’d heard that evening. It had been about a shelter for battered women and their children. Maybe that was the answer. Gently he lifted his mother from the floor and guided her toward the door.

“Where are we going?” she mumbled, still dazed from the beating.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I know just the place.”

Afraid of waking his father and unleashing more violence, Jeremy and his mother didn’t waste time packing. Instead, they pulled on their coats, grabbed some boots from the closet and hurried off into the night. It wasn’t until later Jeremy realized he’d grabbed an old pair of his mother’s snow boots rather than his own. His face burned with shame as he walked into the shelter wearing the pretty fur-trimmed boots on his big feet. He hoped no one would notice, but soon other children were giggling and pointing at his feet.  Jeremy wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

As the days went by Jeremy’s embarrassment grew, but he kept a smile on his face. When one of the other children would tease him about his boots, Jeremy would reply, “It’s better than nothing. At least my Mama’s safe.”

Eventually Jeremy got used to the teasing, but as the weather warmed, the boots became unbearable. Every night, after sliding his sweaty feet out of the boots, he prayed, “Please God give me shoes.” Then one day something amazing happened.

“Hey, Jeremy, you gotta minute?”

Jeremy turned with a smile at the sound of Mrs. Fischer’s voice behind him. She was the shelter’s director and, in spite of her busy schedule, she always had a kind word and a smile for him.

“Jeremy, have you heard of the Gotta Have Sole Foundation?” Mrs. Fischer asked, squatting down so she could look him in the eye.

“No, what’s that?”

“It’s an organization based right here in Providence, Rhode Island, which was started by a boy named Nick Lowinger last year as a Bar Mitzvah project.”

“What’s a Bar Mitzvah?”

“A Bar Mitzvah is a special celebration Jewish boys have when they turn 12. It signifies they’ve become men and can start taking a more active role in Jewish society. They have to do a special project at the same time.”

“Oh, I see – I think. But Mrs. Fischer, why are you telling me this? I’m not Jewish.”

Mrs. Fischer laughed, “No, I guess you’re not, but hear me out. You see when Nick was only 5 years old he went with his mother to a shelter to give some of his old clothes with the children who lived there. Nick remembers one little boy especially. He was running around in bare feet because he had no shoes and when he saw the box of clothes he grabbed an old pair of boots off the top and pulled them onto his little feet. The boots were too big for him, but the boy didn’t care. He ran around the place jumping and laughing, just happy to have something on his feet.”

“Nick never forgot that experience, so when it was time to choose a Bar Mitzvah project he decided to start a foundation which gave away new shoes to kids who live in shelters. He’s given away over 750 shoes so far and he’s only 13 years old!”

“Wow! That’s just one year younger than me! But, Mrs. Fischer I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Well, Nick was here today and I told him about you. He said to give you these.”

With a smile, Mrs. Fischer pulled a box from behind her back and handed it to Jeremy.

Jeremy’s mouth dropped open in shock when he saw what he held in his hands. It was a shoebox! Slowly he pulled off the lid and there, nestled in crinkly white tissue paper, was a brand-new pair of black sneakers. Excitedly, Jeremy sat right down in the middle of the hall, pulled off those awful fur-trimmed boots and slipped on the new sneakers. A grin split his face from ear-to-ear. They fit! The sneakers fit perfectly!

Jeremy jumped up and hugged Mrs. Fischer as hard as he could. Tears poured from his eyes as he exclaimed, “Thank you! Thank God! Thank those people who gave them to me! I love you! Tell them I love them too!”

All the embarrassment and pain Jeremy had experienced since that awful night when he’d first put on his mother’s boots was for the moment forgotten. For the first time in a very long time Jeremy felt good about himself and his future. Jeremy received much more than new “soles” that day. He received hope – and hope can make all the difference.