// 845.371.2222 between both sets of parents. Traveling with such a large family was no picnic, but we were eager to see how our parents were doing. After an exhausting trip, we headed straight to Lakewood. My parents were thrilled to see us, and very emotional at their long-distance nachas. We spent a beautiful Shabbos together, and my sisters said they’d never seen my mother looking so vibrant. When our visit was over they let us go to our in-laws with great reluctance. When we arrived at my in-law’s Flatbush home, I was stunned and shaken. My father-in-law was stooped and frail, his face tinged with a gray pallor. His hands shook as he greeted us, and he was overcome with emotion as he hugged the children. My mother-in-law was still in pain from her hip surgery, and had not been able to cook on her own. Her daughters brought the food and served the meals, which, we learned, they had been doing for months. That Shabbos afternoon, my father-in-law woke up from his nap and shuffled into the dining room to learn with Yossi, our eldest son. I observed the moving scene, and was mesmerized to see the change in my fatherin-law. He sat up straighter, his voice clear and strong, his face glowing as he realized how well his grandson was doing. When they were done he kissed Yossi on the forehead and sighed. “Oy, how I would love to learn with you every week!” he kept repeating. Toward the end of our trip, it was time to do some serious introspection. Though we were thrilled with our lives in Eretz Yisroel, and my husband was learning well, it was clear that Hashem wanted something else from us. How could we live with ourselves, knowing that both sets of parents were struggling, pining for their children, and desperate for their nachas close by? By insisting on remaining overseas, were we, perhaps, losing more than we were gaining? It was a complicated question, with no clear answer. After much discussion, we scheduled a meeting with Shloimy’s Rosh Yeshiva, whom he still had a kesher. To no one’s surprise, the Rosh Yeshiva assured us that our gut feeling was correct. As he told Shloimy, “Although you are shteiging and raising your children in the most beautiful environment, it is time for you to move back home, and give your children the greatest lesson in kibud av v’aeim.” We sat down with my in-laws and told them of our decision. Though we had round-trip tickets, and were scheduled to fly back home the following week, we would not be returning home as a family. Instead, I would return for a week, on my own, to pack up and empty our apartment, put our valuables in storage or try to sell them. In the meantime, Shloimy would settle our children in local schools and find us a place to live. When we informed my in-laws of our decision, they were stunned and speechless with shock. Then my father-in-law, a stoic man who rarely cried, broke down. “You are such good children,” he sobbed. “I don’t deserve such special children. You are literally giving us a new life.” “You have no idea how many nights we can’t sleep, wondering what’s going to be, and who will take care of us,” my mother-in-law added with a tremor. “It’s too much of a burden for our daughters, who are doing this on their own. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and am terrified of falling, or worse, and having no one nearby. Having you here, in the neighborhood is a miracle I could only dream of.” When we drove to my parents to tell them the news, they, too, were overcome with emotion, blessing us again and again. “Even if you will be living in Brooklyn, at least you will be a short drive away,” my mother said. “This means the world to us.” As usual, my father had the last word. “Shloimy, I always knew you were a ben Torah,” he said. “But now, after all these years, I realize your true worth, because Torah with midos tovos shall always endure.” 199
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