why is he poor?

I had suppressed this memory for years, and for some reason, it just came back to me, and I am in tears as I write this...

We are sitting in class, learning about hilchos tzedaka. Having just heard the shocking news from my parents that the only way we would be able to continue to exist, was through tzedaka funds....I found the class hard, to say the least. I was trying to sort of tune out, because I didn't really want to hear the halachos that a person would have to learn before pulling out a checkbook...to support...us. As hard as I tried, I simply couldn't tune out completely. The teacher was discussing the Halacha to support an ani up to their former standards. He gave an example. "If a man comes to me and says that his business went sour, and he is no longer able to make the payments on the four high-luxury cars sitting in his driveway, and he is no longer able to make his mortgage payments on his mansion on the fanciest street in town, I might be tempted to say 'hey! Cut back! I don't even have all that stuff!' but I am not allowed to, according to Halacha. We have to support the ani up to his former standards."

My classmates had a hard time understanding this. As I sat there, trying to sink further and further into my seat, my classmates debated with our teacher about this. "How could it be? If the man is poor let him go out and get a job. I work hard, he should too!"

I couldn't believe the naivete going on all around me. Were they actually saying all this? Do they honestly believe all this? Do they think that my father is just copping out? Do they think that it isn't destroying every fiber of my father's being, just accepting these checks? Do they think that we don't choke on food that comes from charity boxes? Do these privileged little girls seriously not get it?

Do they think that just because their tatty goes out to work and makes money that all people who go out to work make money?

How could I ever explain to these girls the shame, the embarrassment, the worry, the fear, the pain, the tension, the horror, the heartache that goes into accepting tzedaka?

No words in the world could ever take all the emotions and the misery of not being able to support your family. Nothing I could ever say or write would ever let this girl understand even a fraction of how wrong she was.

Lazy? My father worked his heart out, quite literally, to make a parnassa. If efforts would me reflected in livelihood, my father would be among the richest men in the community.
Lazy? My family is fighting for survival. I don't think that she would handle this life for an hour, and yet she calls us lazy.
Lazy? I wish I would have the luxury of spending a bit of time remembering the meaning of that word. Right now It remains a hazy memory buried somewhere deep inside my soul.

No my classmate. We aren't lazy. We aren't copping out. We aren't living on easy street. We are suffering. Please try to understand that. We did not chose this life, nor would we ever.