I don’t advertise it to my children, but food stamps are pretty much the only reason we have full stomachs at night. And obviously, I wasn’t going to rob Walmart. So what are we going to do?

No one goes into the chinuch field for the money, and it turns out that the administrator who encouraged me to apply for government benefits to supplement my meager salary wasn’t planning to cover the shortfall when the government decided to shut down. At least she seemed slightly embarrassed when she told me that I’m not the only one who approached her this week. I should feel angry, but instead it’s a comfort — at least I’m not the only one. This isn’t my failing.

Conversations are starting to pop up in the teachers’ room, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious who is still receiving support from their parents. “I don’t understand why people are worried at all,” a teacher declared. “Klal Yisrael are rachmanim bnei rachmanim, and I’m sure all the stores will give SNAP customers their groceries on credit until they have money to repay them. Besides, there are so many organizations set up to help people who are needy! Like Tomchei Shabbos!”

“Exactly!” A young morah sporting a gleaming eternity band agreed. “They just have to call Tomchei Shabbos, and they’ll have more than enough food, for as long as they need!”

I shot my co-teacher a wry look. The people with the strongest faith in a chesed organization are those who never needed their services. Now don’t get me wrong — the people who run these tzedakah organizations are malachim. No one can deny that. But their packages are limited to the funds they have to pay for them. While they’re a lifesaver, a family can’t be sustained on a box a week — and that’s assuming your kids are willing to eat what they’re served without complaint. Most organizations are past their financial capacity, and some are starting to turn families away due to lack of funding. This has been going on since the economy turned. What will happen if SNAP stops?

I’ve always worked on my emunah, and now I take the opportunity to double down on my efforts: Hashem has no budget, I remind myself. And when the dread hits too hard, I retreat into denial.

Denial only lasts so long, however. I find myself reminding my kids to limit the amount of supper they scoop up, but try to say it lightly so no one gets concerned. I eat the remnants on their plates, and try to stretch the leftovers for another supper. When one son complains about another night of noodles, I find myself suggesting that he take an extra helping of his school lunch, and bring it home to have for supper! He takes that as a joke, and I pretend it was one. The thing is, schools throw away so much uneaten food — why can’t it be set aside for families like mine? I find myself wondering if I can sell my kids a Shabbos meal consisting of peanut butter sandwiches.

I feel helpless. All I can do is complete my Tehillim again, and call the bitachon hotline. Again. At the time I am writing this, there’s only $50 left on my card, and I need to shop for Shabbos tomorrow. I have no idea if we will have money for food on Sunday. My only comfort is the knowledge that every time I felt defeated, every time I felt helpless, every time I surrendered… that is when Hashem swooped in with a yeshuah. I can only daven that He’ll see fit to do so again.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 967)