I

called my mother-in-law late that night, to wish her good Shabbos. It always worked better than waiting until Friday afternoon.

It was Shiffy who picked up the phone. “Tirtza! Hope you’re getting the red carpet ready.”

“Sure am!” I told her. “We’re really excited for you to come.”

“Me too. I hope I’ll get to see you often… you don’t live so close to the seminary.”

I shrugged off her concern. “It’s just a bus ride. And you’ll come Thursdays, right? I’m so excited to have a sister-in-law in seminary, it’s literally the only way I can get a chesed girl this year.”

“Thursdays?” Shiffy paused. “Oh, wait, but I— I really didn’t think about that. Aunt Ruchelle asked Mommy if I could go to Aviva on Thursday afternoons and I agreed. She lives down the block from my seminary, and I’ll see you lots of other times, for Shabbosos and stuff.”

Wait. What?

“Don’t worry, I’ll for sure come by a lot,” Shiffy promised, mistaking my shocked silence.

But that wasn’t what I was worried about.

OF

course she would come by.

To use the phone, the washing machine, to hang out, to eat real homemade food, to cry when she was homesick and read the magazines on Shabbos afternoon and just to have some space away from the overwhelmingness of dorm life….

But… but…

This had been my only chance for weekly help, and I’d really been counting on her. It was my sister-in-law, she’d be doing chesed anyway, shouldn’t family come first?

Yes, Aviva was family, too, my husband’s first cousin to be precise. But this was a brother and sister-in-law. And I was so exhausted, juggling two little kids and the gan I ran in my house, which, by the way, was open on Fridays, and doing it all with no help. And Aviva — okay, she had four children, and she worked outside the house in some accounting office, but that also meant she was eligible for any chesed girl, not only a cousin.

I couldn’t believe my mother-in-law and Shiffy hadn’t realized it was obvious to me that she’d be my Thursday helper. I couldn’t believe Aviva hadn’t realized that. Why did she even ask her mother to ask Mommy for Shiffy’s help?

But there was nothing I could do about it now. Except stew in the resentment that Aviva had waltzed in and taken the help that I so badly needed.

S

hiffy arrived in a blur of suitcases and bags and friends and is-my-cell-phone-working and omigosh hiiiiiiiii!

She showed up in my apartment a few hours after she arrived, along with a couple of friends who had no family nearby.

“Ooh, I love your apartment, it’s like a dollhouse. LOL,” Shiffy giggled.

A dollhouse? We had a decent two-bedroom apartment, with a spacious main room and a nice-sized balcony. Shiffy was so American.

“The kids are heaven,” she rhapsodized from her place on my couch. “I can’t believe how big Yoni is! Soo cute. And Diiiina! Come to Aunty Shiffy, cutie pie!”

My three-year-old gave a shy smile and clutched onto my skirt.

“Don’t worry, she’ll warm up soon,” I told Shiffy.

“Of course she will! Want me to take you to the park, Dina? Another day?”

“That would be nice,” I said, noncommittal. I’d believe it when I saw it.

“I’ll call you,” Shiffy promised.

S

he did call.

About Shabbos meals. About doing her laundry by us. She called for shopping advice and to ask if we could do a transfer for her to get money changed into shekel.

She never quite got to taking the kids to the park, though.

Every Thursday afternoon when I’d head to the park I’d feel annoyed all over again. Sometimes there were literally no other mothers there at all — just older sisters, babysitters, or seminary girls. Why was I the only young mother in the neighborhood who didn’t have help?

And then, one Thursday when I was feeling particularly run-down, I saw Shiffy. Shiffy?

“Omigosh, Tirtza, hiiiiiii!” she called. She said something to another girl, who turned to look. “Sooo cute to see you here! My friend Rikki does chesed right near you so I decided to bring Aviva’s kids and we’re watching them together….” She gestured at my cousin’s children, who were running around happily.

“That’s nice,” I said. There was a sour taste on my tongue. Maybe I should just go home? “Well, it’s good to see you,” I mumbled.

I knew it wasn’t really Shiffy’s fault that her aunt had asked her to watch Aviva’s kids. But it was too hard for me sit and watch it.  Did I have to sit there with a bunch of seminary girls watching other people’s kids, when it should have been me having this help?

“Oh, wait, Tirtza?” Shiffy said. I turned back — was she going to offer to watch my kids as well? Or something? “They were just telling us in seminary that we need to find meals for Yom Tov. Can I come to you? Maybe with a couple of friends?”

I stared at her. Was she really so clueless? Apparently, yes.

Still, I was tempted to ask her why Aviva couldn’t host her for the three-day Yom Tov. After all, Aviva had a chesed girl to help her out, didn’t she?

I

hated begging, but after I collapsed onto the couch one Wednesday evening, surrounded by a mess that I had zero energy to clean up, with the sinks full of dishes and no Shabbos food on the horizon, I decided to give Aviva a call.

“Tirtza! So nice to hear from you,” Aviva said warmly. I could hear noise in the background — were her kids still up?

“Sorry about the noise, I’m meeting some friends, girls’ night out, you know.”

I forced a smile into my voice. “That’s so nice, good for you.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing like going out with friends. Anyway, I can’t talk long, but did you need something quick…?”

I felt my breathing get faster. Yes, I needed help! Aviva was obviously not doing too badly if she was able to get out at night with friends, while I… I was drowning.

“I wanted to ask you something,” I said quickly, the resentment making my words come hard and fast. “It’s about Shiffy. She comes to you Thursday afternoons, right? I just wanted to know — I really need the help, and none of the seminaries will send me someone who isn’t a sister because I don’t have three kids. Yet.”

“Oh.” Aviva suddenly sounded more distant. “I mean — I feel bad — I didn’t know you needed someone… and now it’s all arranged….”

“But maybe you could find someone else. The seminaries would totally agree, you have four kids, and you work….”

Aviva sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Tirtza. If I would’ve known before… I don’t know, but now — everyone has their placements, it’s really hard to find a girl who’s still available. And Shiffy knows my kids now, and I know her, she’s amazing with them. I don’t really know that I’ll get good help if I start looking now. And… and I really need the help.”

Right.

She’s sitting in a restaurant with her friends. She has cleaning help and a car and a job out of the house. For goodness’ sake, she could probably afford to pay for Thursday night help.

I looked at the sad piles of laundry, the mess on the floor, the to-do list that I hadn’t yet touched, and the ten mothers who would be dropping their toddlers off the next morning at 8:45 and expecting to find a sparkling apartment. We all needed the help. But I wasn’t eligible for anyone but Shiffy, and Aviva wasn’t willing to do a thing about it.

If I could tell Aviva one thing, it would be: You could get any seminary girl — why are you taking away my one opportunity to have help this year?

Aviva

I was almost finished the Landman file when my phone buzzed, again.

Aryeh. I looked at my watch; bein hasedorim was almost over. I hoped this wasn’t about the babysitter canceling. There was no way I could leave work early again.

“Hi, what’s up?” I pitched my voice low; the flimsy boards separating my cubicle from the other women’s gave the illusion of privacy, but not more.

“Aviva?” There was a lot of noise in the background, kids clamoring for attention.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just the washing machine — I think it’s jammed or something, and the kids need pajamas….”

Oh, gosh, not a broken appliance, I thought frantically, that was the very last thing I needed right now. And pajamas, did I forget to throw in a load yesterday?

“What do you mean, jammed?” I asked, trying to calm my swelling panic. “Did one of the kids press pause or something?”

“No, no, the cycle finished, but the door won’t open.”

“Oh!” Relief rushed over me. “I child locked the door this morning because Miri’s started changing the settings while the washing machine is on. You need to hold down two buttons together for three seconds — you see which ones?”

One minute later, the door was open, the pajamas were in the dryer, and I turned back to my computer.

My job is officially from nine till four, but this was tax season, when nothing was normal. I just hoped I’d be home by six today; my babysitter was not flexible about staying any longer.

Somehow, I made it home by six and dove into bath time and bedtime. I’d just finished Shema with the second kid when Aryeh called on his way home from second seder.

“I’m passing the grocery, need anything for Shabbos?”

Shabbos? Wait, Shabbos! It was Thursday night. How was it Thursday night already?

“I guess I do, I said dully. “Hang on, let me write a list.”

What did we need for Shabbos? Everything. And I was just. So. Tired.

How was this supposed to work? I worked full time. We didn’t have much family around. My husband took care of the kids bein hasedorim, did the grocery shopping, washed the kids’ pajamas, for heaven’s sake.

And I needed more help.

I know, I know, everyone seems to have it all together, work and take care of the kids and make Shabbos and host guests, too. But I wasn’t managing it.

“Do you need more cleaning help?” Aryeh offered when I vented to him later that night. It was a generous offer, considering that we already had help once a week, and cleaning ladies were so expensive.

But I didn’t think having the floors washed more often would make such a difference. I need help with peeling and chopping and washing the dishes and picking up the toys.

“I need a seminary girl, that’s what I need.”

Aryeh nodded. He’d heard this from me before. “Didn’t you try getting one for next year?”

“I did. It was impossible. I just don’t have any pull in the seminaries.”

I grimaced,  remembering all the phone calls I’d made trying to reach the right person in each seminary, only to be politely turned down.

“We’ll call you if we have someone for you.”

Yeah, right.

I needed a girl who knew me, who could tell the seminary that she had a family to go to. It was the only way it could work.

Lucky me, I’m an only girl, no sisters coming to seminary or anything.

I wondered if my mother would know anyone, a neighbor or family friend or something, who could come to me next year for chesed.

I asked my mother when I spoke to her next, not holding out much hope, but she actually had a great idea. “Next year? Sure I know someone,” my mother said immediately. “Shiffy. She’s going to Bnos Chana Leah.”

“Bnos Chana Leah? It’s literally down the street from me!” My heart lifted. I knew my Aunt Hadassah’s daughter was thinking of coming to seminary in Eretz Yisrael, but I hadn’t realized she was already in 12th grade. This could be the perfect solution. “Do you think….”

“I’ll ask Hadassah,” my mother said briskly. “I’m sure Shiffy would be happy to help you.”

“But she has a brother here, no?”

“Meir? Yeah. But I’ll ask! Maybe she’ll be happy to go see them a different time. They don’t have a bunch of little kids like you, and you work so many hours….”

Tell me about it.

I thought of my cousin Meir’s wife, Tirtza. She’s the kind of person who makes me feel so inferior. She’s this amazing-mommy-homemaker type with a gan in her home. Her two little kids always look neat and adorable, matching outfits and all. I’d be willing to bet that she never ran out of clean laundry.

She probably cooked Shabbos on Wednesday nights.

“S

hiffy agreed!” my mother told me a week later, a note of triumph in her voice. I knew this was her way of trying to help me out, long-distance. And it really was a help.

“Really? Wow. That’s amazing. It’s going to really help me make Shabbos next year.”

“You need it! You work so hard.”

I thought about my coworker Sari. She had a chesed girl come every Thursday, who literally cooked the entire Shabbos. She had it down to a science, alternating weeks for kugels, cakes, desserts, and soup so the freezer was always stocked. She had her chesed girl chop all her vegetables and prep sauces, and Fridays were a breeze for her.

Maybe she could give me her list, and Shiffy could help me out in the same way?

Maybe I’d finally get to actually clean up before Shabbos instead of scrambling into candlelighting with the sink full of dirty dishes thanks to the Friday cooking marathon?

I breathed a little easier. I just had to pull through until September, and then I’d have help!

O

kay, obviously, it wasn’t like magic, but it was pretty good.

Shiffy didn’t show up the first week of seminary, and the second was cut short because of some special Elul shiur, but once we got into the swing of things… wow.

It was just so great to have another pair of hands. And not just any. Shiffy was cute and cheerful and capable. She was great with the kids and great in the kitchen. I tried Sari’s make-Shabbos-in-three-hours system but then I realized it would be more helpful to have Shiffy take the kids out — they loved her — and use the time to get started on the cooking and get things in order. That way, Fridays would be so much smoother, too.

When the kids were in bed, Shiffy would stay to schmooze. Sometimes she’d help me cook and sometimes I worked and she just kept me company as we talked about seminary, or life in Israel, or whatever. Somehow I had more energy to get things done when she was around.

I felt bad I couldn’t really extend her any invitations… she told me often that finding Shabbos and Yom Tov meals were a big pressure, especially with three sets of three-day Yamim Tovim coming up so early in the year.

I wanted to be able to invite her over, with friends — but I just couldn’t. As much as the bit of extra help was helping me get things together, my Shabbos cooking was super basic — think just a cholent for the day meal; it was all my kids ate anyway — and even if Shiffy would be okay with it, I wouldn’t feel comfortable hosting her friends without planning and prepping and having more to offer them.

One day at work, I spent my coffee break figuring out a basic Rosh Hashanah menu. I could swing one meal for Shiffy and her friends, I decided, and then I’d have the leftovers for other meals.

But when I called Shiffy to invite her, she regretfully declined. “I’m going to Meir and Tirtza for the whole Yom Tov, I’m gonna share a room with the kids,” she told me.

Oh.

“I guess we’ll have to leave it for Succos,” I said, vaguely discomfited. How did Tirtza have things so together that she could host for the entire Yom Tov? Okay, it was a sister-in-law, no friends, maybe she would just keep things basic, but knowing Tirtza, her ideas of basic when it came to cooking weren’t quite as basic as mine.

Then I tuned in to hear Shiffy continuing. “Actually, I might be going to my aunt in RBS for first days of Succos. And my friend has cousins with a stunning apartment near the Old City and they might host us for last days. I’ll let you know, though.”

S

hiffy never got back to me, and honestly, Tishrei was so hectic, I was kind of grateful that she worked things out without me. And then finally Succos was over, bringing the hopes of routine again. I was relieved, not because I don’t love Yom Tov, but because Yom Tov with little kids and no family is… a lot.

That first Thursday after Isru Chag, Shiffy showed up, full of enthusiasm and energy. When she offered to take the kids to a park in another neighborhood, I eagerly agreed, hoping they might stay out longer.

“My friend is there, we can meet and give all the kids supper together, maybe? I’ll pick up pizza if you want.”

“You would? That would be amazing.” I gave her money, their Rav Kavs, and some drinks and snacks. “See you later!”

It was amazing. The kids were out for more than two hours; I got to clean up, finish the laundry, and make a real head start with the cooking.

It almost felt too good to be true… and then Tirtza called.

I was waiting for my friends in Waffle Bar when I saw her number on the screen. This was our yearly meetup, we liked to joke, because even though we always talked about getting together more often, with everyone’s busy lives and schedules, it barely happened.

I was the first at the table, so I answered, and we exchanged small talk until she got to the point. “It’s about Shiffy,” she said. “She comes to you Thursdays, right? I just wanted to know — I really need the help, and none of the seminaries will send me someone who isn’t a sister because I don’t have three kids. Yet. Would you consider finding someone else?”

Oh, she was expecting, nice.

But… my heart rate quickened. Surely she wasn’t asking me to give up my Thursday afternoon help? Now, when everything was finally falling into place?

“I feel bad, I didn’t know you needed someone,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic. “But I’m not sure what I can do. I arranged this last year. Shiffy’s been coming for a few weeks, she knows the kids, they love her….”

“But maybe you could find someone else. The seminaries would totally agree, you have four kids, and you work….”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two of my friends enter and waved to them from the corner. “I don’t know what to say, Tirtza,” I said, talking fast. “If I would’ve known before, maybe we could’ve arranged something different. But now — everyone has their placements, and it’s really hard to find a girl who’s still looking for a chesed job. I don’t really know that I’ll get good help if I start looking now. And… and I really need the help.”

“I know. I also need the help.” Tirtza sounded a little accusatory. But what had I done wrong?

“Look, I can try,” I said quickly. My friends were already sitting down, perusing menus, and I wanted to end the call. “I just don’t think it will pan out. We’ll talk, okay?”

IN

my heart, I knew I was just pushing her off. My answer wouldn’t change in a week.

The thought of calling all the seminaries again… trying to prove my eligibility and suitability as a family… all the subtle rejections I had faced when I tried the very same thing last year… I didn’t want to do it again.

I didn’t have connections, I didn’t have pull, I didn’t have any other relatives besides Shiffy.

I made a half-hearted attempt to ask Shiffy if she had any friends who still needed chesed placements. “For someone I know,” I said. She said she didn’t think so.

It didn’t sound like she knew what Tirtza had asked me.

I didn’t even know if she wanted to go there.

We had a great time together, and she always stayed a little extra, just to hang out.

I didn’t call Tirtza back.

This arrangement was working for Shiffy; it was working incredibly well for me. It had changed things for my family, transforming the hectic, challenging, pre-Shabbos rush into something so much easier.

How could Tirtza expect me to give my help away?

If I could tell Tirtza one thing, it would be: I had no idea I was taking your help away — but I need it desperately, and it’s not so simple to find someone else.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1037)