Different beds, different foods, different customs. I navigated strange waters with my family as the compass
I was our first time staying home; every year since we’d been married, we stayed in an apartment close to the yeshivah where my husband learns and is on staff.
But last year, I chickened out. When the going gets tough, the weak get running.
Moving out, packing for everyone, bringing linens, going to different people for the seudos (or alternatively, eating in an apartment that’s not ours so every course is cause for concern—with me on constant alert for splatters: Stay away from that peach couch!). Our decisions always seemed to be between bad versus worse. It all felt like too much for me to handle.
My husband has been in the same yeshivah for close to a decade. Currently a shoel u’meishiv, he felt that not only was it important for his own ruchniyus, but it was also good for the boys to have him present during the tefillos. And in theory, I agreed. It would be amazing for him, for our family, to be in the yeshivah, surrounded by people who are focused on avodas hayom, inspired by the rosh yeshivah’s tefillos. It’s my husband’s comfort zone.
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