The words Yom Tov were sparking an idea. “In fact, I think I have the most amazing idea. Wait till you hear it”

Sarah: We’re treating you to a gift. Why do you insist on being a martyr?

Ruti: If you wanted to give us a present, why couldn’t you give us something we’d appreciate?

Sarah

When my phone rings early Friday morning, I know it’s Dovi and Ruti calling. They’re still in Eretz Yisrael, six years and counting, but we usually manage to speak before Shabbos, despite the time difference. Usually Dovi says a quick hello, then each of the kids come on the line, and Ruti takes the phone to finish up.

“That was adorable, kein ayin hara,” I told my daughter-in-law one week, after two-year-old Leeba sang us some song in convoluted Hebrew that I couldn’t hope to understand, but applauded heartily anyway. “All of them. They must be getting so big. It’s how long since we saw you last?”

“We came for Succos, it was just before Miri’s chasunah,” Ruti said.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Baruch Hashem for simchahs, right?” I laughed.

Dovi and Ruti were long past the newlywed fly-back-for-Yom-Tov stage. With four little ones, it wasn’t exactly cheap, either.

“Tell me about it.” Ruti sounded distracted. “Just a minute — Chaim, no! Mommy made you your own sandwich. Leave Nechama alone, please.” There was a clatter, and a wail. “Sorry, Ma. I’m going to have to go in a minute, before they demolish the kitchen… no, Chaim, the kugel isn’t ready yet. Soon it will come out of the oven, then it has to cool down, and then I can give you a piece.”

“We’ll talk another time,” I told Ruti hurriedly. “I know you’re busy, it’s Friday afternoon.”

I hung up the phone in my quiet, spotless kitchen and thought about how hard my son and daughter-in-law worked to make it there in Eretz Yisrael. My other kids had gone for a year, maximum two, then come back and settled nearby. I can’t say I enjoy having Dovi’s branch of the family so far away — it’s hard not to have the grandchildren close by, to miss so many milestones, but my husband Shalom and I are definitely proud of them.

“I wish we could help Dovi out more,” I told Shalom over breakfast. “They have four kids, a tiny apartment. He’s learning full-time, she’s working crazy hours, it can’t be easy…”

Shalom sipped his coffee, looked at me sideways, and tipped in another generous couple of spoons of sugar. Ugh, so he’d noticed I was trying to cut down on our sugar intake. Oh, well.

“Look, we did help them out for a few years, and now we can’t do it,” he said reasonably.

He was right. We were typical middle-class, we weren’t exactly struggling for money, but there wasn’t really enough to send regular support to Dovi’s family. We’d made three more shidduchim since Dovi got married, each one with hefty obligations of its own, and we couldn’t afford to take on another monthly commitment.

“Want us to send them something as a one-off?” Shalom asked. “Maybe for Yom Tov? I’m sure that would help.”

It probably would help. It would probably also get swallowed up within a week. Besides…

“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “They might feel we’re pitying them, or that we think they can’t manage on their own… we need to think of a way to do it. Maybe we can treat them to something special, make it clear that it’s a gift because we’re proud of them.” The words Yom Tov were sparking an idea. “In fact, I think I have the most amazing idea. Wait till you hear it.”