My husband is helping his parents — with my money

Miri

Toddlers and a two-bedroom basement apartment are a tough mix on the best of days. Throw in a pot of spaghetti, and it’s a short path to big chaos.

A small apartment feels messy fast, and what keeps me going is that I know we won’t be here forever. I’ve been putting money away for a while. Even as a teen I was careful, and now that Dovid has finished law school and landed a good job, we’ll be out a bit faster. Soon, we’ll be able to buy a house.

It’s while I’m washing Shua’s hands that my phone rings. It’s Dovid. Sometimes, he’ll check in when he’s at work, but rarely during the evening Zero Hour. “Hi. It’s a spaghetti zoo here. How’s work?”

“I was just put on a new deal,” he says. “It’s going to be a great experience for me. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

Nomi is crawling back to the table, and I haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I rush after her, scoop her up, and take her to the other side of the room where we keep the toys. She gets busy, and I return to the table and pick up strands of spaghetti.

“It’s Dassie,” Dovid says. She’s his youngest sister, a senior in high school. She’s a fun, all-around girl; she was just accepted to that new seminary in Israel that everyone wants to go to. I wonder what’s going on. “My parents asked if we could pay the deposit for seminary. Six thousand dollars. They don’t have the cash right now.”

“What?” It’s the only word I can find. Normally, I’m not at a loss for words, but this pronouncement from my husband has temporarily robbed me of a coherent response. My in-laws live well. They drive new cars, wear nice clothes, and have a second home in Monsey. They’re making sheva brachos for a granddaughter at an upscale steakhouse at the end of the week!

How could they not have enough money for a deposit?

Dovid is talking again. “It was really hard for my mother to ask.”

Of course it was, I think. It’s a really strange ask.

“Did something happen?” I ask. “Is there something I should know?”

I hear rustling, as if Dovid has shifted the angle of the phone. “Nothing we can discuss now,” he says. “We’ll talk more later when I get home. But meanwhile, if we don’t give my parents this money, Dassie could lose her place in seminary. Can we do this for them?”

I had stopped picking spaghetti off the floor when Dovid told me the reason for his call. Now I’m sitting near the table, surrounded by mess. Across the room, Shua and Nomi have begun the wild kind of playing that usually ends in tears. I know we don’t have a lot of time before I’ll need to hang up.

“It’s the middle of the night in Israel,” I tell him. “Can’t we talk about this when you get home?”

“No,” he says. “Their business office is local. It needs to be in by tonight.”

It’s six thousand dollars he’s asking for. It’s a lot for us, but not such a huge amount in the scheme of things.

“Okay,” I tell him. “But ask your parents how soon they think they’ll be able to give it back to us.”