“There’s a deep, vital security in knowing that, no matter how improbable a visit is, home is still there”

Chumi was 18 and preparing for her seminary year when her parents decided to move to a different city. They sold the only house she’d ever lived in and “that’s pretty much it,” she said. There was a long pause before she continued. “But I guess that’s not ‘pretty much it’ because when I talk about it now, even 20 years later, I start crying.”

Home is where the heart is — and when the heart has lived somewhere for so many years, it can be hard to move. What’s it like to have to pack a life into boxes, load them onto a moving truck, and hand over the keys to the place that witnessed you grow up?

Home Sweet Home

Childhood can bring on the image of many different things — hours of fun in the playroom, chasing your siblings around the yard, studying for finals on the carpet in your bedroom, Shabbos and Yom Tov meals in the dining room. For those fortunate enough to grow up at one address, there’s a constant backdrop to all those memories. The walls, floors, and roof of our house — however creaking and worn — make up the trusty scenery of those happy, golden years. When it’s time for the background to fade away, it can be a big deal.

Chumi said that it took her years to realize the loss. “I had my own things going on, what with leaving to seminary, so it didn’t register at the time. Also, the fact that we were selling to move to a better neighborhood definitely made it easier. It probably took years to hit me that leaving that home is a bit — or a lot — sad.”

Once Chumi was married and settled with her own family, the longing came on full force. “I’ll have weird dreams that I’m still there and then I wake up miserable all over again.”

Shifra, who was also 18 when her family moved out of her childhood home, also visits her home in her dreams. “It’s the only place I’d ever lived for an extended time,” she says, explaining why the house was the anchor in all her nighttime dreams, even years after her parents had sold the property and it was demolished.

The house Shifra dreams about was a massive place with a pool, a garden, and a backhouse. While she was in seminary, her father started a new job. It wasn’t a far drive during off-hours, but it could be upward of an hour each way during rush hour. When the private hospital next door mentioned that they were interested in extending their property, Shifra’s parents took the opportunity to sell their house and move closer to his job.

Shifra was in Israel when it all happened, so she packed out for the year from one home and came back to a different one.

“It was a traumatic experience,” she shares. She was upset about the move and mad at her father for agreeing to sell. “People associate their childhood with the home they grew up in. All my memories were there!”