When Family Takes You for Granted: A Lesson in True Chesed

When I got engaged, I understood that my life would be different from those of my brothers and sisters. I would not be able to buy an apartment in the big city, close to my parents and most of my family.

Right after the wedding, we bought a nice apartment in a more distant town, thinking we could rent it out and use the income to rent a small one and a half room apartment in the city. That arrangement lasted for two years.

After our oldest son was born, however, it became even more difficult. We realized we could not continue living that way. The cramped, airless apartment was taking a toll on our emotional well being, and we decided to move into the apartment we owned.

Thank G-d, we had bought a home in a vacation town surrounded by mountain air and breathtaking views. That made the transition easier for me. Nature spoke to me.

And so I found myself living in a small town, surrounded by good, kind people, while adjusting to a completely different way of life. The little grocery store closed at seven in the evening, and buying clothes meant traveling to the big city. All the basic things I had once taken for granted, the things I could simply pick up from the store downstairs, now required advance planning.

Being organized became essential.

Over time, I got used to it. Maybe I even began to enjoy it.

But despite all the advantages, I slowly began noticing something that hurt far more than the inconveniences of small town life.

The Family Gatherings I Never Heard About

Family events kept happening, and I was not there.

I attended most of the events I was invited to, despite the difficulty involved in getting there. But then I discovered there were also “spontaneous” gatherings, as well meaning family members called them, to which I was not invited at all.

No one even told me about them.

They simply assumed I would not come to a nephew’s second birthday, a brother’s housewarming, or an informal gathering at the neighborhood park because everyone happened to run into one another.

Even the cousins’ trips to the beach never reached my daughter’s ears until much later, and sometimes only because of an unfortunate slip of the tongue. The cousins would be talking about something that had happened, and my daughter would have no idea what they meant.

I do not know what everyone was thinking, but it hurt me.

I will not pretend otherwise. It hurt me deeply.

I am a family oriented person, and family holds an important place among my values. Yet every summer and holiday break, my home suddenly became a popular destination. Not necessarily because anyone had been thinking about me throughout the year, but because it was convenient when they wanted to vacation in my city.

They could eat meals at my home. They could stay in my apartment when I traveled away for Shabbat. Sometimes they would hint that they wanted to come for a vacation, with everything included.

I never refused.

I had vacation time too, of course. I also wanted to take my children to the beach, travel somewhere else, or even rent out my apartment and earn some extra income. Instead, I found myself apologizing to a brother for not giving him the apartment for free, or avoiding a sister in law who had previously left my home in terrible condition without making much effort to prevent the damage.

Eventually, it became painfully clear to me that I had somehow been removed from the family picture.

I spoke to my brothers and sisters and to my parents. I asked them to include me. Let me decide whether I want to come or not, I told them. Call me once in a while. Do not let me always be the one making the phone calls and showing interest.

It lasted perhaps two weeks.

Then everything returned to the way it had been.

I truly felt unnecessary.

A Friend Who Understood

Over time, I discovered a forum for women “without close family,” a kind of support group where women helped one another and, above all, offered a shoulder to lean on.

Every woman there had her own struggle. Their circumstances were different, but the feelings were often remarkably similar.

That was where I met Deborah.

Deborah was an American-born woman from a wealthy family who had chosen to live in Israel out of conviction and faith. Money was not something she lacked. Family closeness, however, was another matter.

Her husband was a successful businessman whose primary business interests were overseas. He traveled frequently, sometimes every two weeks, and his trips could last for extended periods. This made life more difficult for Deborah, even though she had chosen, out of faith, to make her home in the Holy Land.

I liked Deborah immediately. Soon, we found ourselves talking late into the night and having long, heartfelt conversations.

Our friendship grew until we became like family. In fact, perhaps because our circumstances were so different, our bond only became stronger. We were sisters in every sense.

Our children became friends and went on outings together. We spent time together, and I shared my dilemmas with her, including everything happening with my extended family.

She knew the whole story, and she felt my pain with me.

A few weeks before summer vacation, I knew the phone calls would soon begin.

Family members who had barely remembered me throughout the year would suddenly remember that I lived in a vacation town.

This time, I had no strength left.

I did not have the energy to say yes, make the effort, and once again hope that perhaps afterward they would finally include me. I could already imagine discovering more nieces and nephews I barely knew, more family jokes I did not understand, more spontaneous gatherings I had somehow missed.

For the first time in my life, I decided I was going to say no.

If I am unnecessary to you, I thought, then please do not take advantage of me.

I told Deborah everything. The words came out harshly, carrying years of hurt and disappointment.

She listened.

Then she told me that she understood more than I realized.

Chesed Without Expecting Anything Back

Deborah was the only member of her family living in Israel. Her brothers and sisters took her generosity for granted too. Whenever one of their children came to Israel, they would simply send them to Deborah, assuming she would arrange activities, take them on trips, and introduce them to the country.

No one really asked whether it was convenient.

Nieces and nephews studying in Israel at a yeshiva or seminary treated her home as their place for Shabbat and holidays, or even as somewhere to do their laundry.

Deborah did it all willingly and lovingly. She was a remarkable woman of chesed who quietly oversaw major initiatives devoted to helping others.

Yet she knew what it felt like when kindness was not reciprocated.

Her husband would sometimes travel to the city where one of her siblings lived and need somewhere to sleep. Despite their large homes, no one invited him to stay.

Of course, he could afford a hotel. That was not the point.

If there was family nearby, why would no one offer?

When Deborah raised the issue with her sisters, they did not understand why it bothered her. They minimized her feelings and made her feel petty for caring.

It hurt.

Sometimes she, too, wondered whether she should stop investing in such one sided relationships.

But she made a different decision.

She chose to continue with innocence and faith in Hashem. She called it chesed rooted in unconditional love.

And something remarkable happened.

Deborah felt that precisely because of this challenge, chesed became more deeply rooted within her. Most importantly, she saw its influence on her children.

She watched their relationships become warmer and more loving. She saw them helping one another. Chesed had become part of who they were.

For Deborah, that was an extraordinary reward. She felt Hashem strengthening her through what mattered most to her.

After all, what parent does not want to see their children living with love, friendship, and generosity toward one another?

She suggested that perhaps I could try looking at my situation in the same way.

I understood what she meant.

I decided to look at everything from a different perspective.

Instead of seeing every request from my family as another example of how they were taking advantage of me, perhaps I could see it as an opportunity for genuine chesed. I could give without expecting anything in return, simply out of love.

Suddenly, it was not nearly as difficult.

I smiled more. I made room for others.

And somehow, my family seemed to notice that something had changed.

They began to feel uncomfortable taking my generosity for granted. They offered more help. They made sure to call afterward and thank me. Then they began calling again to share things with me.

Maybe they no longer felt threatened. I do not know.

But I do know that I felt better, and that feeling radiated outward.

It did not suddenly place me back at the center of the family. I still was not included in everything.

But I was no longer constantly looking at what I was missing.

I gave without demanding anything in return, and somehow I received something else instead: calm, meaning, and a closeness to Hashem that is difficult to put into words.

The Chesed That Came Back to Me

Some time later, Deborah called me.

Her husband’s business had advanced significantly, and a new deal required him to spend much more time overseas and live nearby. They consulted a rabbi, who instructed them to move back overseas, at least for the first few years, until the business was established enough for her husband to return to his previous travel schedule.

Despite how difficult it was, Deborah accepted that this was what Hashem wanted from her now.

Because finances were not an issue, they decided to keep their apartment in Israel.

But Deborah did not want the home to sit empty.

Knowing her, I should have realized that she would find a way to turn even this into an act of chesed.

She offered the apartment to me.

I could move my family into her large, comfortable home in the city, rent out my own apartment, and earn some extra income. She told me she trusted me more than anyone else to care for her home.

I was stunned.

First, because Deborah was leaving. She had become a sister to me, and the thought of losing her physical presence in my life was painful.

But I was also overwhelmed by her offer.

It was beyond anything I had imagined.

I could return to the big city, live in a spacious and comfortable home, be closer to my family, and earn money by renting out my apartment.

It was a dream I had never even allowed myself to dream.

And it arrived precisely when my relationship with my family had begun moving toward a healthier and more secure place.

I spoke to my husband, and together we decided to accept Deborah’s offer.

I felt as though I had received a smile from Hashem.

I had tried to give chesed without calculating what I would receive in return. And then, from a direction I never could have anticipated, an extraordinary act of chesed came back to me.

I felt a powerful connection to the One who bestows kindness even upon those who are undeserving, and who has bestowed every good thing upon me.