FEBRUARY 5, ‘25 // Shloimy is an only son, with three younger sisters who lived near my in-laws. He had always been very close to his parents, who generously helped support our modest lifestyle. Despite their support, they had never made peace with his decision to live so far away. They constantly reminded him that they weren’t getting younger, and who would be there to take care of them? Shloimy felt guilty whenever the conversation turned to this topic, and would deftly steer it in a different direction. When our eldest was fifteen, we came to the States again, this time to attend a family simcha. I noticed, with a pang, that my in-laws had aged considerably since our last visit a year earlier. My mother-in-law, who had always been so full of energy, had fallen down the stairs in the winter and broken her hip. She underwent a complicated surgery, which was more painful than expected, and was shuffling around with the help of a walker. My father-in-law, who was semi-retired, was doing a bit better, but more tired and sluggish than usual. At least my parents were doing well, I reassured myself, but I soon realized that those assumptions were incorrect. My father was doing okay, but my mother had been complaining of blurred vision and dizziness for a while. I tried to encourage her to see a specialist, yet she kept giving me one excuse after another. Eventually, upon the urging of my siblings, she went to see a doctor. To our dismay, she was diagnosed with a serious cataract, which threatened her eyesight and needed immediate surgery. The surgery, which took place before our visit, was successful, but it left my mother with watery, itchy eyes and a constant headache. How I wished I could be there to help her during this vulnerable time! Our visit home was fraught with emotion, as we realized that both sets of parents needed us, yet we were unable to be there for them. Several months passed. It was 3:15 a.m. in Eretz Yisroel, and just after 8 p.m. in New York. The phone rang, several times, startling me out of a deep sleep. I reached for it, groggy and annoyed, sure it was a robo call. Instead, it was Shloimy’s youngest sister, Suri. She informed us that my father-in-law had collapsed and was rushed to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with 90% blockage in a major artery. Shloimy immediately jumped out of bed and booked a ticket to New York. He was on a plane five hours later, just taking his tallis and tefillin and a change of clothes. He stayed with his father for ten days, not moving from his bedside, until he was released post-surgery. A few weeks later my father-in-law had a relapse, and once more, Shloimy went to take care of him. These lengthy visits were taking their toll, as I was having a hard time managing the children alone. Yet there was no other option. Shloimy was an only son, and his father needed him. That summer our family traveled to the States for our annual two-week visit, which would be divided TOWARD THE END OF OUR TRIP, IT WAS TIME TO DO SOME SERIOUS INTROSPECTION. THOUGH WE WERE THRILLED WITH OUR LIVES IN ERETZ YISROEL, IT WAS CLEAR THAT HASHEM WANTED SOMETHING ELSE FROM US 198
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