I was doing a favor for a neighbor in crisis — so why was I the target of so much resentment?

Shevy: I’m the one working so hard; why are you all so uptight?

Tova: You’re doing something special, but our kids are paying the price.

Shevy

I was in the middle of cooking supper when I heard knocking. I waited for about five seconds, hoping one of my kids would get it, then wiped my hands on my apron and opened the door. It was Rikki, my neighbor.

The two of us were friends — we’d lived in the same development for years —and I greeted her warmly, noting that she looked stressed.

“I need a favor,” Rikki said.

“Sure, what is it?” I asked. Maybe she wanted to send the kids over for the afternoon, or have one of my daughters babysit tonight?

Rikki was choosing her words too carefully. “So, you know that Shmuel got laid off recently?” She paused a moment, then plowed on. “Anyway, baruch Hashem, he found a job. Yesterday. And he’s starting next week.”

“That’s amazing!” I said. I was so happy for them, and I knew the rest of our close-knit development would be delighted to hear the news, too. “So, what’s the favor?”

Rikki sighed. “So you know how Shmuel used to do the carpools and stuff every morning? Well, his new job is in the city… and he has to leave super early. Like, 7 a.m. And I don’t drive. So it’s a huuuge headache, arranging how each of the kids is gonna get to school…”

So that’s what she wanted! “That’s so stressful, Rik. I wish I could help… but I don’t think my carpool has space. I can ask, though…”

“No, no, I’ve managed to sort the older kids out,” she said hurriedly. “It’s about Yoni. My husband used to drop him off at playgroup on his way to work. But now he won’t be home at that hour anymore… and I have to switch playgroups.”

I felt my shoulders tense.

“Shevy, please, I know it’s midyear and all that, and Yoni’s a few months younger than the rest of your group, but would you please, please take him for the rest of the year? He’s mature for his age, I think he’ll be fine, and it would be a huge, huge favor for me. I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do otherwise.

“I just have no way to take him across town every morning,” she finished plaintively.

I closed my eyes. A huge favor, indeed.

I have a playgroup for younger three-year-olds, I close registration for the upcoming year shortly after Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan, then spend the rest of the year fielding calls and refusing mothers. I feel terrible saying no, but I know I can’t take more than I can handle — everyone loses out that way. So my group was full.

Besides, Rikki’s Yoni had just turned three — he was younger than the rest of my group.

And yet, Rikki… was a friend. A neighbor. And she was desperate. What would she do if she couldn’t get her toddler into a playgroup nearby? Keep him home, together with her colicky four-month-old, while she worked part-time? I knew she needed this.

But I had lots of strong personalities this year, and I’d worked really hard to get the toddlers into a routine, settle them down as a class of sorts. One extra kid could really rock the boat.

And I never, ever said yes midyear — or any time after registration was full. Setting a precedent like this would just be asking for trouble.

“Let me think about it,” I said to Rikki.

“Sure, okay, fine, no problem,” she said. “Just, do you know when you’ll know? Because his current playgroup morah has someone to fill the slot, but they have to know tonight. If they don’t take it, I have to find someone else, or continue paying her — whatever, I just, it’s stressful. If you think you could take him in… you have no idea what a chesed it would be for me.”

It would be. Playgroup crises are insanely stressful. I know that. Especially now that it’s all become so cutthroat. Grab your spot by Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan, or miss registration and you’re doomed. People fighting over spots, booking their kids two years in advance, trying to push in a friend or sibling…

I was a playgroup morah, for goodness’ sake. Somehow, in recent years, that has given me an inordinate amount of power.