At this time we were living in a major city with a large Jewish community. My husband was employed as a supervisor in a factory and I was a stay-at-home mother to nine children including two married sons. My oldest son Tzvi lived nearby and my recently married second son lived a bit further away in the suburbs. My husband’s job was rather boring and the children found it demeaning but it paid our bills. His boss paid him well because he counted on him to supervise the non-Jews who worked there. The children were all learning in typical “black hat” schools. In short we were a normal chassidishe family. At least at that point.

One Thursday Moshe came home and told me that Gene one of his coworkers was going to give him a lift to the nearby university. “I’ll take my guitar and play there a bit; maybe I can get one of the Jewish students to come to us for Shabbos.” On his way out he grabbed a colored shirt that he usually wore when mowing the lawn. “I don’t want to get grass stains on my white shirt and they won’t distrust me as much in this ” he explained. While I had doubts about his dress I figured that it wasn’t worth an argument. Let him try and mekarev someone.

But this incident was just the beginning.

To read the rest of this story please buy this issue of Mishpacha or sign up for a weekly subscription.