Naomi: Why can’t you show some consideration so I can have a chance at functioning?

Yocheved

I never realized how much I loved my job until I lost it.

To be fair, my boss — after ten years, I’ll always think of her as “Morah Shiffy” — gave almost a year’s notice. She was moving to a different neighborhood, to be closer to her married kids. All fine, except that her gan would be closing down — and that left Chaya and me, her veteran assistants, out of a job.

I didn’t think about it too much until after Pesach, when Aryeh muttered something about the electricity bill. I knew we weren’t doing great. Aryeh was teaching in a cheder and I was assisting at Morah Shiffy’s gan. Between us we somehow edged over the page to the next month, but now all that was changing.

“Why don’t you take over?” Aryeh asked me one night, out of the blue.

I blinked. “Take over what?”

“The gan.”

I shrugged. It’s not my style; I don’t like leading. I’m happiest when there’s a person in charge to tell me what needs doing, and I’ll willingly sit cross-legged on the floor reading a story to a dozen two-year-olds while someone else writes the schedules and speaks to parents.

“Mmm… I don’t think so.”

Summer approached. Chaya and I schmoozed with Morah Shiffy about her upcoming move after all our charges were collected at the end of the day.

“People keep calling,” she said, with a little sigh. “I feel so bad to tell them the gan is closed. All these people are so desperate.”

Chaya shrugged — you can’t help it, so why stress — but I was quiet.

The mothers would miss our gan, the three of us and our warm, family-style atmosphere, the familiar songs and toys and crafts that sibling after sibling proudly paraded. And then I realized — I would miss it too.

For the first time all year, I thought about what it would be like to take another job, be a secretary, travel agent, help someone with their catering or party planning or whatever. To work in a store. Answer calls for an American-based office at crazy hours of the night.

Until now, I always thought I’d do whatever it took as long as it paid the rent. Now I looked at the smashed crayon nibs and tattered pages of Is It Shabbos Yet? and my heart tugged a little.

Maybe Aryeh was on to something.

I spoke to Morah Shiffy later that week. I was a little insecure — after all, she’d had months to suggest it herself — but then I realized we’d both kind of taken it for granted that I’d look for a similar position. As soon as I broached the idea, though, she jumped on it.

“A hundred percent!” she enthused. “That’s an amazing idea! You’re going to take all my craft supplies —that whole box. I was just thinking what a waste it would be to throw it all away! And the books! And our Yom Tov picture file… I’m so excited for you, Yocheved!”

After that, it kind of took a life of its own.

My gan was barely a thought before it became a reality. Morah Shiffy took it upon herself to spread the word, and by the time Elul rolled around, my closed-in mirpesset had been cleared of laundry racks and filled with colorful, if a little worn-out, toys and books.

I invested in a few kiddie chairs and lots of crayons, magic markers and glitter glue. All in all, though, I was lucky to have a lot in place already. I decided to start small and manageable, though I ended up hiring an assistant because Morah Shiffy was right — demand was high.

I thought I’d get an early night right before my debut, but midnight found me feverishly reviewing my plans and rearranging the closet — yet again. I had to clean my living room too, I realized suddenly, because all the mothers would be coming through there to drop off their little ones. I baked cookies and took down one of the pictures from the wall, switched it with another one of dancing alef-beis letters.

“You see the difference?” I asked Aryeh in the morning, hands wrapped round my coffee mug like a life preserver.

He peered around. “Um… not really?” He grabbed his briefcase and a handful of cookies. “But whatever it is, it looks all ready. I’m sure it’ll be good, you’ve done this for years.”

Sort of.

There was a knock.

“Hatzlachah,” Aryeh said, dashing out. I followed him to the doorway. A woman stood there, a toddler hanging on to each hand. Right — the Perl twins.

I half-expected Morah Shiffy to come up behind me and welcome them inside, with those wide-open arms and enthusiastic greeting that made her the most popular gannenet in the area. But then I remembered that I was Morah Shiffy now.

“Hi,” I said to Mrs. Perl, and then, trying to find my way back into my comfort zone, I bent down to make eye contact with her girls. “Hello! I’m Morah Yocheved. Do you want to come inside and play with some special toys?”

One nodded, the other stuck her thumb in her mouth and huddled closer to her mother.

“Sweetie, look what that nice morah has for you.”

“Don’t worry about this, it’s normal,” I told Mrs. Perl. “Just bring them inside, show them the toys, and leave everything else to me.”

Behind her, I could see another mother climbing the stairs.

“Is this the new gan?” she called.

I looked at my watch. Where was my assistant?

And then everything was happening at once: Three more little ones showed up, pudgy hands clinging to mothers, wide round eyes. Lots of thumbs in mouths and one trailing a tattered, grayish stuffed rabbit. Baily, my assistant, appeared as well, said hi to the mothers, and hung around awkwardly for a few minutes before I had the chance to give her a few instructions. But as the door closed behind the last mother, I looked around and realized: It’s really happening!

“Kinderlach!” I said, clapping my hands. “Do you know what we’re going to do now?”

Twin One came running to hear, her sister remained in the corner clutching a dolly. Baily was trying to calm down a little boy who wanted his ima. Two girls were fighting over the doll carriage.

I took a breath. I can do this.

I had a music playlist prepared for our morning davening-singing routine. As soon as I put it on, the atmosphere changed. Baily’s little one stopped crying. The girls stopped fighting. Some of the other children sat on the floor quietly, listening, and I could direct them into a circle of sorts.

I winked at Baily. “Come everyone, let’s daven!”

We were having a great time singing, motions and all, and that was probably why I didn’t hear the door for a while. By the time I answered it, the knocks had escalated to full-scale banging. My heart stopped. Another child? Someone I’d forgotten about? The poor mother must be frantic by now…

I sent Baily to the door while I switched songs and began singing “Ani Ma’amin,” clapping my hands so that my charges would clap along. My assistant reappeared a moment later.

“It’s for you… she’s asking for you.”

My neighbor Naomi was at the door. I was surprised to see her, and even more surprised at how she was dressed. Naomi always intimidated me slightly. I was a nursery assistant, she was a nurse. I had a tiny apartment, hers was a double one, completely redone and immaculately furnished. My dress code was comfort and Crocs; for all I knew she wore the same during her shifts at the hospital, but during daytime hours she never left the house without makeup and a coordinating handbag to her outfit.

Except now.

“Hi, Naomi. Everything okay?”

She looked upset. “What are you doing in here?”

I was taken aback. “It’s… new. Just started today… I have a gan. I took over from Morah Shiffy, you know Shiffy Taub… the one I worked for the past ten years.”

She took a step back. “You’re running a gan in your apartment? Permanently?”

“Uh, I guess… like I said, I’ve just started.”

She ran a hand across her eyes, frowning. “I couldn’t sleep. The music is really disturbing. Could you maybe keep it off till after 2 p.m.?”

Oooh… she must have done night shift last night. I knew she worked three night shifts a week. And my closed-in mirpesset shared a wall with her apartment.

“Uh, I guess…” I said doubtfully. Gan ended at 1:30. If we had to keep the music off until 2, that would mean no music for davening circle and no Morah Music dancing, which I’d pencilled in as an activity for the end of the morning. But Naomi was exhausted, and I felt bad to be taking away her much-needed sleep.

I signaled Baily to stop the music and we continued singing. The children stopped clapping along. Second Perl Twin started to cry, and the little boy joined in. The fight over the doll carriage resumed.

An hour into the morning, and I was deflated already.

I met Naomi later that evening. Instead of our usual schmooze, she gave a tight smile and nod. She looked tired. But she could’ve thanked me for keeping the music off all morning. It made my job harder, but I’d done it for her.

Things settled down into a routine. Baily and I perfected our davening voices, and the children relaxed as they became familiar with their new environment. The mothers seemed happy, and I found I enjoyed sending cute notes home with their little ones — sometimes a rhyme, sometimes just a sentence or two — telling their parents how they were doing. Another mother called to register, someone new in the area. Things were good, and I was holding my breath and hoping it would continue, because Aryeh’s cheder salary never came close to covering our Yom Tov expenses, and the burden was kind of falling on my new venture.

“Did you get all the money from Elul yet? All the mothers know that they have to pay for Tishrei at the beginning of the month, right?” he kept asking me. I knew from the crease between his brows that things were really tight.

And then Naomi paid me another visit, this time right after gan was over for the day. She was back to coordinating her accessories.

“Yocheved, I need to ask you for a favor.”

We hadn’t really spoken much since my grand opening. “Sure,” I said, hoping I could help her out.

“Could you move your gan? To another apartment, maybe rent a machsan somewhere or a room in someone’s apartment? Or at least maybe do it in your living room instead of the porch? I just find it so noisy and disturbing, you know I need to sleep during the day.”

I shrugged. Rent a room? I was barely covering the costs of crayons. And my living room was the size of a thimble. Even if I moved the table every morning (where?!), it wasn’t childproof. I had open shelves and a sofa that we wanted to keep in somewhat decent condition — which wouldn’t happen if a bunch of toddlers had free rein of the room.

And in all honesty, I wasn’t blasting music or using any loud equipment. I was doing my part. Weren’t there some options that Naomi could think about too? A white-noise machine, earplugs, maybe even sleeping in a different bedroom on the other side of the house?

“It’s not easy, to work night hours,” she said.

I mumbled something about trying to work something out. But later, I wondered why she couldn’t even say thank you for my not having played music once since she came.

The last day of gan before Rosh Hashanah was busy. We finished our crafts projects, golden-glitter honey and red-painted apples. Baily and I sang Avinu Malkeinu about ten times and little Sruly Stein kept imitating the shofar sounds and making everyone laugh. My apartment door was open and the mothers were already arriving; we tried to make sure every child left with their craft and all their belongings.

I didn’t bother going to the door when I heard another knock, just sang out, “Come right in!”

A man hovered uncertainly on the edge of the premises. It was our neighbor Shua, Naomi’s husband.

I wiped my hands on a paper towel and straightened up from the little chair I’d been perching on. “Is everything okay?”

“Listen, my wife really can’t take this anymore,” he said, gesturing toward the mirpesset. The mothers ooh-ing and aah-ing over the crafts went quiet. One or two edged out and the others kind of hung back, avoiding each other’s eyes. “It’s really not right. She asked already if you could work out a different system, it’s been two weeks. You don’t realize. She used to manage her night shifts so easily and sleep during the day and now she’s exhausted all the time, the noise from your gan…”

My face burned. “Uh, let me explain…”

Thankfully, Aryeh turned up on the scene. “What’s going on?”

I slipped back into my domain, hoping he would take care of things. Mrs. Perl had just turned up — double the packing to do.

When I stepped back out into my living room with the two matching backpacks, Naomi was there too. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were hard.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even do a thing about it.” She signaled toward the mirpesset. “I told you I couldn’t sleep at all! Do you know what it means to do night shifts? I haven’t slept in weeks. Couldn’t you be more considerate?”

Baily poked her head out. “Yocheved, do you know where... oh, never mind, I’ll find it.”

“And the singing.” Naomi went right on. “At least if you’re there, you should keep the noise down a little.”

“It’s almost Rosh Hashanah,” Shua added, sagely. “And seriously, it’s been a few weeks of real gezel sheinah. We’re moichel, really,” he said quickly — how generous — “but please, no more of this, let’s start the new year on the right note.”

I saw Aryeh was getting angry too, and the mention of Rosh Hashanah made me feel bad.

“I’ll… try,” I mumbled, with no idea how or what I would do. The mirpesset was too quiet; how many of the mothers had heard the whole tirade?

Shua and Naomi left and I headed back to clean up the glitter. It didn’t have the same sparkle.

If there was one thing I could tell Naomi it would be: I’m doing whatever I can to keep things quiet, but you don’t seem to be open to any adjustments of your own. Don’t you realize how desperately I need this job to work out?

Naomi

When I went into nursing, I knew about night shifts. Still, it’s hard to really understand what it’s all about until you’ve done it. And not even done it once or twice, but making it your life: three times a week put up supper, blow good-night kisses, head off to the hospital.

The hospital is a world of its own; a sterilized bubble that blurs the whole of the outside into one vague other, while inside lights burn round the clock, there are beeps and drips and voices and the smell you kind of get immune to after a while.

Night shift, while quieter, sometimes comes with a unique adrenaline rush: less doctors, more scares. It’s jarring to catch glimpses of midnight skies and shifting moonscapes from the windows when you’re working the hours away. Strangest of all is coming home to an empty house, knowing the kids made it out to school without so much as a glimpse of their mother. But it works. I learned to make their rumpled beds, put in a load of laundry, then draw the curtains tight and sleep until they come back home.

And the extra pay helps cover the mortgage and Avi’s therapy, so when things get tough, I reminded myself that the benefits of my strange schedule outweigh the difficulties.

Until it stopped working.

It had been a long night. I dropped into bed, totally depleted, and probably even slept a few minutes. There were lots of voices next door; maybe Yocheved had guests over. Then the music began.

“Modeh ani lifanecha…”

It was a cruel awakening.

I rolled over and tried to smother the sound with my pillow. No use.

“Torah, Torah, Torah…”

Finally, I pulled on a hoodie and knocked on Yocheved’s door to ask whoever was there to lower the volume.

Yocheved herself answered the door, which was strange because I thought she worked in a gan. Then I peeked inside and realized that the gan, apparently, was here.

I must’ve looked upset, because she asked me if everything was okay. No, totally not okay, I wanted to say. But instead I just asked her to keep the music off. Maybe I’d sleep through the voices.

She kept it off after that, but honestly, the singing was almost as bad. Maybe worse.

“It’s insane,” I blurted out to Shua as soon as he came home. “She’s running a gan next door. I can’t sleep like this. I’ll have to give up night shifts or something…. I’m exhausted.”

“Want me to speak to Aryeh?” he offered. “Maybe they could relocate the gan?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, maybe we should wait and see, I’ll get used to it.”

The truth was that I felt a little sorry for Yocheved. Her apartment was pretty shabby, and it was obvious that they were struggling for money. It was sweet that she opened a gan of her own, and really, I wanted it to go well for her. But. Not at the expense of my sleep.

After a couple of weeks of broken sleep by day and venting to Shua at night, he’d had enough. “I’m going to talk to them. They should know that you’re the korban here. They should keep the noise down, I don’t know, use another room.”

I was too tired to argue that I was fine. “Okay, but why should you go? I’ll talk to her myself.”

This time, I waited until later in the afternoon.

“How’s the gan going?” I asked.

She looked wary. “Great, baruch Hashem.”

I was happy for her. “That’s good. Listen, Yocheved. I need to ask you a favor.” I tried to keep my tone casual, not pressurizing.

“Sure,” she said, still looking uneasy.

My eyes flickered over her apartment, the couch with a rip in the side, the wallpaper peeling a little. I couldn’t really ask it of her. But I had to.

“Could you move your gan?” I asked. And then, in a rush to explain, I suggested, “Maybe you could use your living room even, not the mirpesset… I need to sleep after my night shifts.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

“It’s not easy, to work night hours,” I said.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about the noise. I’ll… I’ll try work on it,” she promised vaguely, avoiding my eyes.

For a day or two, it was a little quieter. Maybe. Or maybe I was just imagining it. But then it was right back to square one.

I did two nights in a row during the week before Rosh Hashanah. The first day, when “Dip the Apple in the Honey” bore a hole through my exhausted brain, I just got up and cooked for Yom Tov. May as well, since I wasn’t going to sleep. But the second day I crashed.

I called Shua at work, crying as I spoke. “I can’t handle this anymore. I’m so tired that my legs are barely holding me up anymore.”

He came home about an hour later. “Listen, Naomi, I know you don’t want me to, but we have to tell them. It has to stop. You’re barely functioning.”

This time, I didn’t stop him. But I couldn’t help but follow him there a minute or two later, just in time to hear Yocheved’s husband say something patronizing about everyone having to do what they need to do to make things work.

My brain was pounding from exhaustion and coffee, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Make things work?” I echoed. “Is that what it’s about? Where does menschlichkeit come in? What about the fact that I told you and asked you and suggested ways to make it work? I can’t believe you didn’t do a thing about it,” I said, turning to Yocheved. She shrugged and didn’t answer.

Shua started talking about Rosh Hashanah and mechilah and changing for the future. But I don’t think Yocheved was even listening. She kept looking back at her mirpesset and her gan, the one that was destroying my sleep and my sanity. I wanted to be moichel, but at that point I didn’t have it in me.

If I could tell Yocheved one thing, it would be: We both want the same thing — to succeed as mothers and breadwinners — so why can’t you show some consideration so I can have a chance at functioning?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 731)