For One Afternoon, They Were Just Dads
A volunteer reflects on Aleph’s Family Unity Day at FCC Lompoc
I felt like I was at a carnival.
A dad walked up to my face-painting station with a little girl next to him, beaming like he’d just won something. “This is my daughter,” he said, to no one in particular and everyone at once. His daughter squirmed happily and reached for a brush. He laughed and said, “Her name is Hope.” Then he looked straight at me. “It’s the perfect name for our family.”
This was Family Unity Day at FCI Lompoc—a low-security federal prison tucked into the mountains of Southern California—organized by the Aleph Institute so that incarcerated men could spend real, unstructured time with their families. And it was one of the most unexpectedly joyful afternoons I’ve ever been part of.
For two and a half hours on that Sunday, around fifty men—fathers, husbands, sons—got to feel regular again. Their kids weren’t seated across from them on a cold bench in a visiting room. They were running on a field, playing ball, getting muddy, making sand art. I watched whole families (even three generations!) relaxing together outside in the fresh air. And all I could think was: this is exactly what the Rebbe had in mind.
The afternoon opened with words from Rabbi Zvi Boyarsky, Aleph’s director of Advocacy and National Policy, whose tireless dedication made this day possible. He was followed by Mrs. Sarah Pachter, author of Is It Ever Enough , who spoke about the quiet, often unseen strength that emerges in moments of deep challenge—a strength that was deeply felt and visibly reflected in the families gathered there.
We then heard from Josh Smith, Deputy Director of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, who reflected on the challenges faced by families navigating the incarceration of a loved one and the importance of supporting them.
Fathers spread out across the field with their kids. On one side, yeshiva students were dancing in circles with dads and children tangled together. On the other, a serious softball game was underway. My friend and I must have face-painted fifteen kids between us. The energy felt so… normal . Just families hanging out. And for those two hours, I genuinely forgot the reality of the ground I was standing on.
For the last half hour, the group gathered together to hear some closing words from Mrs. Zahava Farbman, a trauma therapist from Aleph who flew in from New York to be present. She spoke about Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was taken hostage by Hamas and later murdered, and how Rachel came to understand her grief not only as a wound but as her “badge of honor,” and an undying expression of her rock-solid love. She held that idea up gently in front of everyone on that field: that to love someone who is absent, to keep showing up for them, is one of the most valiant things a person can do.
I glanced around as she spoke. Fathers were holding their children a little tighter. A girl had her face pressed into her father’s chest. He wrapped both arms around her and didn’t move. Their tears arrived softly after, when they had to say their goodbyes.
Our car was silent on the dri ve home. It’s difficult to describe the feelings my friend and I were carrying—the sensation of being hollow and raw but absolutely overflowing at the exact same time. She finally put it into words: “I did n’t come there to underst and everything I saw. I came to help, to bring happiness, to bring love, respect, and humanity to a place that’s not usually known for those things…”
“But I also saw the G-dly, yet achingly human ability we all have to unconditionally love each other. I saw a huge amount of strength. I saw it in the tears and hugs, and I saw it in the volunteers and people who made this day happen.“
Later that afternoon, another volunteer wrote to our group: “It was beautiful to see all religions, races, creeds, and cultures blend so beautifully. There was zero judgement. Everyone got along. And the best part was seeing the fathers enjoying quality family time, in a happy and relaxed environment with their families.”
“Aleph injected so much chizuk and inspiration to each of these families today. I’m just spellbound by the amount of love shown by every member of staff and volunteers.”
Here is what I want people to understand about Aleph:
Day in and day out, they are bringing a sense of wholeness and normalcy to places that feel utterly broken.
They didn’t just organize an event. They navigated federal systems and bureaucratic walls and every obstacle that stands, deliberately, between an incarcerated father and an afternoon in the sun with his kids.
They did it because t hey operate from a belief so deep it has become their entire foundation: that every single human being, regardless of what they have done or where they are, carries an irreducible spark of dignity that demands to be honored.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe built Aleph on the conviction that no one is disposable, no one is forgotten, no one is beyond the reach of love. And Aleph inherited it as an obligation and life’s mission, and they truly fulfill it every single day .
In that field I watched something that the world does not offer these families very often: the chance to just be.
That Sunday, I just came to paint some faces.
But instead I found Hope—there she was, reaching for a paintbrush.