Nine writers recount their search for chometz — and what they found
The moves spanned countries, states, cities, and residence types. I became a reluctant moving expert with a keen eye for quality, grade-A cardboard boxes.
It was hard to plant roots in a location when you knew you had one foot out the door. The constant globe-trotting was made possible through the “traveling light” the early years of marriage allow: We were in the type of limbo caused by the pursuit of various educational degrees while squeezing in stints in kollel in Eretz Yisrael.
I began to feel the emotional burn of so many wonderful budding friendships started-then-stunted by my endless moves. These “single-serving friendships” couldn’t fill me up. My usually effervescent personality wilted a bit, and loneliness, coupled with a craving for stability, set in.
On the heels of our sixth move, my husband ended up in a rabbinic position at a shul that wasn’t within walking distance of the condo we then called home. The solution? We converted two dusty classrooms on the top floor of the shul into our makeshift “Shabbos apartment” (without a private bathroom, kitchen, or air conditioning) and slept there every Shabbos for the nearly three years we led the kehillah.
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