She didn’t need Chaim to get a job; she already had a job she wanted for him

Shaindy Brucker sat still, focused on the same page in the magazine for five minutes straight, her mind wandering. She and Chaim had never been convention-goers. Once, a kashrus organization Chaim worked for did a Shabbos at a hotel in the Catskills and she had been really excited to go, but Chaim was apologetic. “Shaindy, I work with these people every day of the week, the last place I want to be on vacation is in a hotel with all of them.”

And just like that, Shaindy’s dream of an enjoyable Shabbos — waiters serving and clearing the table, speakers and choirs and a lobby filled with people to schmooze with — disappeared.

But now there were no more excuses. There were no children at home, there was a bit of money in the bank, and she liked the idea of creating new friendships, now that she had a new neighborhood. Kensington was in the past, and Chaim’s string of half-jobs and almost-jobs and short-lived positions was behind them. This new persona — a home in Alameda Gardens, he’s a big talmid chacham and she’s a teacher — would do well at a convention.

But she had another intention, of course. Her sister-in-law, a big fancy therapist specializing in shanah rishonah couples, did all the conventions and always maintained that it was where the real Klal Yisrael action was, where people made connections and found jobs.

She didn’t need Chaim to get a job; she already had a job she wanted for him. But she did think exposure on that stage would build up his image in the neighborhood. She would tell people that they didn’t want to go away for Shabbos, that Chaim felt an achrayus, and she would make sure that her neighbor Mr. Reuven “we just came from Queens we don’t know anyone in Lakewood we just want a quiet life” Stagler, who was suddenly president of the whole neighborhood, somehow found out about it.

The rav he was in charge of finding lived right next door to him, and Shaindy would make sure he got the message.