"They’re these four girls who grew up together, and I’m the only sister-in-law, the only one who comes from a different house"

Shira: If we’re part of the family, why do you keep excluding us?

Brachi: Why do you constantly make us feel inferior just for being ourselves?

Shira

As soon as my husband said the words Succos plans, my muscles tensed. I knew the ritual already: Succos at my in-laws was a sacred time. My parents made aliyah soon after we got married, and we spend Pesach with them most years. So every Succos, we join Yoni’s parents — which means an entire week with my four sisters-in-law.

“I don’t understand why you don’t get along with my sisters,” he complained once. “They’re so harmless. They don’t mean anything bad!”

“It’s not what they mean that’s the problem.” Chani, Brachi, Blumy, Faigy — they look alike, they talk alike, they even think alike. That’s where the problems start.

“I hate sitting there feeling like the odd one out all the time,” I tried explaining to Yoni. “You know, they’re these four girls who grew up together, and I’m the only sister-in-law, the only one who comes from a different house. They have all these private jokes, and they’re always getting together with their kids. All the cousins are practically siblings, and then ours are left out.”

“So we can initiate sometimes, invite them over, things like that,” he said. “Or we could just join them when they get together.”

“When we’re invited,” I retorted. Then I felt bad. “Whatever, it’s one week, I’ll deal with it.”

Yoni looked relieved. He never understood the problem I had with his sisters, preferring to pretend that everyone got along fine. And it wasn’t like we fought or anything. It was just that they were in their own little world, sisters only, and outsiders simply didn’t belong.

I thought of Yoni’s advice when I booked tickets to the Chol Hamoed circus. Time was rushing by; if we didn’t book fast, the early-bird tickets would be sold out. I reserved six seats and then wondered if I should have offered to book for my sisters-in-law and their families, also.

I posted a message on the Friedman Siblings chat: Hey, anyone want to join us at the circus, first day Chol Hamoed? Early bird tickets still open.

I watched the two gray ticks appear — so everyone had received my message. But there was no response. It was oddly quiet for the 200-messages-per-hour chat.

After a couple of hours, Brachi sent a tepid Hmm, not making plans yet. Then Chani wrote, lol I haven’t even planned Rosh Hashanah yet — where’s everyone holding with menus? Any new ideas?

Of course, the group sprang into action instantly. Blumy and Faigy were typing… within seconds.

I swallowed, and shut down WhatsApp.

And Yoni would probably say I was overreacting again.

The family chat was quiet for a couple of days after that. Probably everyone getting busy for Yom Tov, after posting elaborate menus I was sure they wouldn’t end up producing. Not that I was bored, although my Rosh Hashanah meals were all cooked and waiting in the freezer — I’d offered my mother-in-law to make some side dishes for Succos, so I was elbow-deep in potatoes and mushrooms and liver blintzes.

I slid a pan of vegetable kugel in the oven just as my phone pinged. Chani: Hey all, I’m going to Kids Boutique soon, wanna come? Almost instantaneously, Blumy replied in the affirmative, followed by a panicked Omigosh, haven’t even thought about kids outfits yet!!! from Brachi. I hovered over the reply key but then decided against responding. Why should I tell them that all I needed were a few pairs of tights? I had already done the Succos shopping during summer vacation.

There were a few more messages about time and meeting place, then the chat went quiet. I typed a brief Good luck with the shopping, then deleted it. It would look too wannabe, trying to join a conversation that they probably hardly remembered I was part of. Although goodness knows they needed good luck, trying to shop a few days before Rosh Hashanah. The racks would be empty by now.

We arrived early on Erev Yom Tov, after I gave my kids a filling lunch and gave my kitchen a final wipe down. After greeting my mother-in-law, I made my way upstairs to hang up the Yom Tov clothing. Within minutes I was at work in the kitchen, helping my mother-in-law with the last-minute cooking, while the kids played in Bubby’s playroom, enjoying having the large toy collection to themselves until the cousins arrived.

Faigy turned up first, a couple of hours before lighting. Her Little Esti (Brachi’s was Big Esti) danced in, Shuey close behind.

“Hi, Ma, how’s it going?” she asked breezily. “Oh, hi, Shira. What are you doing? Ooh, that smells so good!” She dug around for a spoon, and asked a quick, “Okay with you?” before sampling some chicken soup. “I’m starving! We haven’t eaten anything today, it’s been manic. Can I give the kids some?”

Ma looked flustered; we’d just cleaned the kitchen. Faigy was oblivious, setting up her little ones at the table with bowls and spoons, chattering all the while. Of course, Blumy turned up a few minutes later, sneaked a few schnitzels, and a trail of crumbs followed her to the table.

“You didn’t have lunch before?” I couldn’t help but ask Blumy. She shrugged. “Aww, you know how it goes.”

Then she was dashing over to her twins, who were having a competition over who could eat faster, with predictable results on the tablecloth. I escaped to change for Yom Tov, taking my kids upstairs as well. I’d had enough of the disaster zone.