Hashem doesn’t need bargain basements and secondhand deals. He has all the money and all the furniture in the world

Episode One: Home Sweet Home

IS this actually happening? I look in the mirror. I don’t look like a total adult. I look young and happy, my gray beanie and crimpy fall look on point, and my husband, Binyamin, looks even younger, a perpetual bar mitzvah boy. But here we are, heading to the lawyer’s office to sign on our very own apartment.

The lawyers are jolly and jovial and I’m all out of ‘j’ words, but they’re having a great time. Binyamin and I initial and sign and initial and sign, and then they pull out the l’chayims, and everyone’s smiling. This is huge. We are actual homeowners. I’m going to throw up. Oh, I’m actually going to throw up.

“We need to go,” I hiss at my husband. I make it to the restroom. Shaking, we head home.

Several hours later, we sit, stunned. I guess Hashem wanted to let us know that the third bedroom in our new apartment would be put to good use.

“Babies are born with bread in their hand, right?” I say to my husband weakly. Because our brand-new mortgage is big like the size of New Jersey.

He nods quickly. “Right,” he says.

Right.

I start saving up a bit of my — uh, sparse — paycheck every month into an unofficial “furniture fund.” Our current apartment came furnished, so the only thing we actually own is two of our seven beds. We’re starting from scratch on everything else. It’s like being a kallah all over again, except a kallah shops for two and I’m shopping for furniture for seven people. Slight technicality.

But I’m excited. I have a penchant for interior design; I’ve indulged in tablescapes and Purim costumes to quench my thirst. But here’s where I’m going to let it all out: my very own home in Yerushalayim Ir Hakodesh.

Pinterest boards, here I come.

Well, I got the boards. I mean, I have enough “inspiration” folders to fill up a first-grader’s backpack. What I no longer have — thanks to one very fancy arnona lawyer who informed us we owe him all our money plus a kidney (fine, 8,000 shekels) — is money.

There was my husband’s wisdom teeth surgery. Which in hindsight should have taken been care of around 12 years ago. And then that super fun fender bender. Either way, by the time Moving Day is two months away, my Furniture Fund has a total of five dollars and seventy-four cents in it.

This is going to be fun.

“Well, we have two beds,” I say brightly to my husband. “So on Shabbos, we’ll bring one bed out, put a tablecloth on it, and it’ll be our table. I have great tablecloths. Same for a couch. Hey, I even have that velvet green couch cover from Ali. It’ll fit a bed, right? So chilled, no?”

Actually, no.