Let’s just say that the Baruchov girls were my introduction to the world of American-Israelis
The first time I went to do chesed in seminary was the Thursday after Yom Kippur. I had heard really nice things about the family I was assigned to. Their grandmother was from Queens. She booked me before the year even started.
I didn’t realize how many people wanted chesed girls. I couldn’t even appreciate at the time what it meant for a couple to be living so far away from home without parents nearby to just drop in on for a random supper or for some babysitting in a crunch. There were so many young families with little children who could use a break, or at least an extra pair of hands, for a couple of hours a week.
My chesed family had five children ages seven and under — do the math. They were mostly girls: Ruchama, Shira, Devorah, two-year-old Frumi, and baby Moishy, the prince. They were a really leibedig bunch. Not to mention blunt. “How many pairs of earrings do you have?” they wanted to know. “Make sure to wear a different pair next time. And why do you wear a headband if that’s only for younger girls?”
I had yet to learn about Israeli-bred confidence and forwardness. But let’s just say that the Baruchov girls were my introduction to the world of American-Israelis.
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