The Herskos arrived in a flurry of bags and chatter.

“Hiiiiindy!” Pessie’s mother-in law stretched out her arms and hugged her granddaughter. “Oh my, look at that color! You look gorgeous!” She rummaged in her bags. “Now look what I bought you.”

She pulled out two books. Hindy took them curiously. “I figured it could get boring at the beach,” Mrs. Hersko said. “I hope you haven’t read these yet?”

“No, not yet. Thank you!” Hindy plopped down on a sofa in the lobby to peruse the jacket text.

“It’s so, so special of you to do this,” Pessie told her in-laws as they settled down on lobby armchairs. “To fly over here for two weeks, to commit to this… Really, wow.”

“Are you kidding?” her mother-in-law said. “Two weeks at the beach, what could be more fun?”

Fun?

Her mother-in-law’s enthusiasm was dizzying. These two weeks had been anything but fun. It had been one long, strenuous ordeal and she was only too glad to return home.

Is something wrong with me?

“I’m so happy for you that you got to spend two relaxing weeks here,” Mrs. Hersko went on. “What a treat. You totally deserved this break.”

“A treat?” Pessie echoed.

She slumped in her seat and shook her head. “It was not a treat. It was so…” She drew in a long breath. “Hard,” she said at last.

Mrs. Hersko was silent for a moment. Then she leaned over and looked at Pessie compassionately.

“I get it,” she said softly. “It was hard for you, because you did this all on your own. You must have felt so lonely. Right?”

Something flickered in Pessie’s chest. Lonely.

It was — it was true. She’d been isolated for two weeks, away from her family… She’d been lonely.

“I guess,” Pessie said quietly.

She stood up from the sofa.

“Hindy, I’m going to show Zeidy and Babi around a bit, and we’ll leave in a few minutes, all right?”

As they entered the conference hall, Mr. Hersko slowed his step.

“Wow, this place is really something.”

“Yes, baruch Hashem,” Pessie said. “The accommodations were great. Here, let me get you something to drink.”

They sat down with cups of ice water.

“I can’t get over the two of you,” her mother-in-law said. “You in this fancy hotel, Yochi in Zambia in another hotel.” She giggled. “What a life. You guys are on a roll.”

Pessie chewed down on an ice cube and made a vague mumbling sound.

“It’s unbelievable,” her mother-in-law went on. “I’m so happy for him. I always told the shver that accounting isn’t for Yochi. I mean, a Hersko at a desk job, it’s like forcing a tiger to live in a bird cage.”

An elephant, you mean.

Mr. Hersko rattled his cup. “He sent us video clips of those game reserves. Hashem yishmereinu. I don’t know how these people aren’t scared. They’re like inches away from the wild animals.”

“Not a bad job,” Mrs. Hersko remarked. “Really not bad. Good for you, Pessie, you’ll get to go on the most exotic vacations for free.”

The crushed ice melted on Pessie’s tongue. She swallowed hard. Her in-laws continued chattering, about how important it was for a person to enjoy his work, to be passionate about what he was doing, what amazing potential there was in the touring industry, how lucky their children were.

Are you for real? Pessie tried to participate in the conversation, making vague comments, but her mind wandered.

When she and Yochi had been newly married, they’d spent most Shabbosim with their parents. Pessie still remembered her first Shabbos with the Herskos, how the couple had arrived Friday afternoon with their neat little suitcase, garment bag, and sheitel and shtreimel boxes — to a scene of total chaos.

In the home where she’d grown up, the Shabbos tablecloth was spread out on the dining room table Thursday night. All the cooking was done, the house gleamed, and Fridays were basically spent maintaining the cleanliness, showering, and getting ready for Shabbos.

The Herskos’ house that Friday afternoon looked a tornado had swept past — and nobody had even noticed. The dining room table was covered in mail and unfolded laundry. Yochi’s sister Suri was working on a flower arrangement somewhere amid the mess. Yochi’s mother was in the kitchen, happily puttering over her pots, the table and counters littered with a million things. Yochi’s little brother Moishy whizzed down the hallway on his trike, still in weekday clothes. And on top of everything, music blasted and Mrs. Hersko warmly offered her couple fresh, hot potato kugel.

Dysfunctional, Pessie had thought in horror.

By the time Shabbos arrived, the house was clean. Relatively, anyway. Everyone was showered and dressed, the food was on the blech, and Mr. Hersko was combing through his wet peyos and krazeling them.

Over time, Pessie had come to recognize that functional was relative, and the Hersko clan didn’t suffer from the last-minute frenzied Shabbos prep. It felt natural to them, just like orderliness was natural at the Hartsteins. And after growing used to it, she found Yochi’s family refreshing. A chilled attitude toward everything, a gang of creative free spirits. They could decide to go on a road trip Sunday morning during bein hazmanim and be sitting in the car three hours later.

In the chair next to her, her mother-in-law was still going strong. “So I told him, come on, Yochi, you can’t arrange protektziya for your parents and take us along for Succos? And Suri, of course, she’ll be married for a few weeks, don’t you want to treat your little sister? I would even offer to peel potatoes, I’m sure they could use some help in the kitchen.”

Mr. Hersko laughed. “You think they serve potato kugel on those tours, Goldy? How nebby.”

Pessie put down her cup.

When the free-spiritedness had diffused into daily living, compromising on practicality and sensibility (No, we’re not hosting a barbecue for the entire family a day after Tishah b’Av, Yochi, are you forgetting that I have ten days’ worth of laundry to tackle that day?), it became less refreshing and more frustrating.

Pessie glanced at her in-laws now, sitting comfortably in the hotel chairs, enjoying their drinks. There was a certain youth in their eyes, an excitement for life. They lived every moment to the fullest, that’s how they were.

And that’s exactly how Yochi is.

How could she blame Yochi for his adventurous streak? He grew up this way. He hadn’t grown up with an accountant father who never arrived a minute late anywhere.

And married to a woman who did grow up with an accountant father… How stifling.

“Hey, look at that!” Mrs. Hersko held up her phone and swiped at the screen. “We should have spoken about Mashiach.”

She tapped on her phone. “I’ve been begging Yochi to send me pictures the whole time. Look, he’s back in New York and finally woke up. Oh, wooow… Look at these.”

Pictures, right. Yochi had constantly been sending her pictures throughout his trip, but Pessie hadn’t found a computer to check her email, nor the energy or interest to try to access one.

Mrs. Hersko scrolled through the photos, saying “Wow” and “Oh, my goodness, look at that, oh, myyy.” She passed the phone to Pessie.

Pessie peered at the pictures. There were many shots in the kitchen — Yochi had told her that he spent a chunk of the day in there. There were pictures with a guy waving a mic — oh, so this was Davidi, okay — random group shots with guests, black photos with bursts of fireworks, a picture of an elephant eating a mango.

Pessie sniffed. “Who would guess these are pictures of a guy at work.”

“What do you mean?” her mother-in-law asked.

“He was having the time of his life out there.”

Mrs. Hersko looked up from her phone and narrowed her eyes. “Maybe. But he worked very hard. Hard work, but enjoyable, isn’t that ideal?”

Pessie remained quiet.

Her mother-in-law swiped at her screen again. A photo of Yochi, Binick, and probably another tour staff person, V-shaped fingers raised behind each other’s heads. Pessie leaned in closer. Before her mother-in-law swiped to the next picture, something caught her eyes.

Was that Yochi? What was he wearing?

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 761)