To a broken and unloved child of a family of 12,
he seemed like a godsend. He told me what I've always believed -- that I
was special. "Your parents don't understand you," he'd tell me. "They
think you're a bad kid. The truth is you're just too creative for
them." He gave me an exercise that I will never forget. He asked me to
take a piece of paper and write about myself, my fears, my joy, things
that made me happy and things that made me sad. I only managed to
write down one sentence: "I'm a child who loves to be special and I
love special things." That was all I wrote. He was the first person who was ever kind to me. He also sexually abused me.
Luzer Twersky as a child
The first time David touched me, we were sitting
in the undressing room of the mikva (a ritual bath where men go to
cleanse themselves before prayers and the Sabbath by immersing
themselves naked in a body of water). I handed in my one-sentence
homework. He sat me on his lap, patting my thighs and said softly, "You
really are special. I think you're special." He hugged me tight and
began playing with my…
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