My contribution to our class news on Mondays was, “My father went to Pennsylvania,” and on Fridays, “My father came home from Pennsylvania”

Trigger: The smell of raw chicken

Location: Mifflintown, Pennsylvania

MY parents landed in America forty years ago, my father fresh out of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin in Bnei Brak. As a kollel yungerman, he’d studied hilchos shechitah, and he accepted a job offer at Empire Kosher Poultry in Mifflintown, Pennsylvania. His intention was to work at the job for one year to gain experience before returning to Eretz Yisrael.

While he was proficient in halachah, my father didn’t know a word of English. At the customs desk in the airport, when he was asked his name, he answered, “New York.”

But the language barrier didn’t deter either of my parents. They rented an apartment a short drive from Mifflintown, in Harrisburg, which then boasted a tiny Jewish settlement of 25 families, mainly Empire staff.

It was colony-style living, with community members hosting each other for Shabbos seudos and filling in the gap of family networks. Life was sweet and simple. If my parents found the isolation from family and limited kosher amenities challenging, they took comfort in the knowledge that this was temporary, for only one year, and they’d return home soon.

One year, however, turned into two. Into three. Into a lifetime.

When it became clear that my father would hold onto his job more permanently, my parents moved to Brooklyn and enrolled their children in school.

A four-hour drive separates Brooklyn from Mifflintown. This means that shochtim stay the week in Mifflintown and return home only for Shabbos.

While my mother a”h quickly came to love the pulsing Jewish environment and abundance of kosher shopping options in Brooklyn, my father’s absence throughout the week was a difficult adjustment. It thrust her into the reality of shouldering the hands-on responsibilities of raising a family almost entirely on her own. From children’s tantrums to clogged toilets, everything was now on her.

It was a tremendous challenge, but my mother adapted, and I never considered our lifestyle strange. If anything, it was a point of pride; my contribution to our class news on Mondays was, “My father went to Pennsylvania,” and on Fridays, “My father came home from Pennsylvania.”