Before we knew it, we were the Felds with the Chair Gemach
Life’s dilemmas. I nudge the phone by scooting the bowl along the counter, and squint at the screen. Sari Berman. Poor Sari. Sharing a two-family home with my juvenile delinquents is probably not easy, but she never complains. Until she does.
Hi Ahuva, happy sourdough Tuesday.
Gotta love neighbors who share a wall with you and can smell when you’re baking. And of course, when you’re burning things.
I wait for the next message.
Can you just remind people not to knock on my door for the gemach? Should I put up a sign?
The chair gemach started by accident. We rented out our apartment for Pesach two years ago when we’d gone to Detroit, and the cute young couple we sublet to, the ones with only one baby, so everything was going to be sparkling clean and no one would color on the couch, had decided to play big host on campus and invited around ten bochurim every meal. The scuff marks on my floors were quite the welcome sight after ten hours in the car. But aside from the fact that they’d treated our apartment like a hotel conference room, they had also purchased ten plastic chairs and then proceeded to charge us for them.
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