(Reprinted from Di Yiddishe Heim, Winter 5743)

It was a Thursday afternoon and the pre-Erev-Shabbos jitters were beginning. There were still 17 items on my list of things that must be done when my husband announced that today he has time to take me to buy shoes for my daughter. I was a bit upset, because I had hoped that her shoes would last till summer and here it was only March, and already they were too small and torn. I also knew that doing an extra errand on a Thursday afternoon would set me behind and ruin my Erev Shabbos minute-by-minute schedule. But there was no choice. We all packed into the Mitzvah Tank, leaving our three-month old twins with a baby-sitter, and drove from Kfar Chabad Bais to Kfar Chabad to the shoe store.

In Israel it is customary and safe to pick up hitch-hikers, and since the bus schedules are so sporadic, we picked up three girls on our way out of Kfar Chabad Bais. One of them immediately aroused my curiosity since she seemed so different. Kfar Chabad Bais houses only 30 families -- all young couples, either newlyweds or with small children. The rest of the residents are the [many hundreds of] Bais Rivkah students ranging in age from 7th grade to seminary. This girl seemed obviously American and, with blue corduroy jeans, she was obviously neither a resident nor a student. I was wondering what had brought her to our area, since Kfar Chabad Bais is such a remote community and few "tourists" come our way.

In the few moments the ride took, she told me she had come to enroll in Bais Rivkah since she was interested in Judaism, but had been turned away since there was no beginners' program in English nor any program for anyone her age. (She was in her 30's, although she seemed to me no older than 18-19.) The principal had referred her to Machon Alta in Tsfas (a Women's School for beginners under Lubavitch auspices, where all aspects of Judaism are taught in English), but she knew nothing about it and really didn't know what to do. Her words conveyed to me a picture I knew well -- the "lost Jew." To my further queries she responded that she was now heading for Jerusalem but no, there was no one in particular waiting for her there.

At that point an inner voice was telling me, "Invite her." Let me explain my hesitation. During the latter part of my pregnancy with the twins I had been ordered by the doctor to remain in bed. After the birth, with 2 tiny twins to care for, plus 3 other children, aged 2, almost 4, and 5, I had seen very little of the "outside world." I had some household help, but there was plenty left for me to do from early morning until almost midnight. The weather was very cold. I had no twin carriage, so I had not taken them outdoors -- and anyway, who had time? Their feedings took from 1 1/2 to 2 hours in the very beginning (every 3 hours), and "free" time was an unknown concept for me so far. The pressure to tend to everything and everyone, to provide decent meals on time, clean clothing, a reasonably clean and tidy house and to maintain my sanity, was very strong. Boruch Hashem my husband is helpful and takes an active share in caring for the children, because we both realize my well being was crucial for the rest of the family.

As I thought about it, I realized that this was actually the first time I was "out" since the twins' birth and this woman was the first "outsider" whose path had crossed mine in about five months. I felt it was really Hashgachah Protis (Divine Providence), and I decided to invite her to come back to our house to spend the night. Inwardly I felt that on the one hand this was a silly thing to do, but on the other, the right thing. Thursday nights were very hectic for me, with cooking, bathing the children, laundry, etc. etc., but still I felt it might be good for her to spend time with a Torah-observant family, no matter how busy. To my invitation she responded affirmatively, agreeing that it would be good to speak to "someone."

Well, by 8 p.m., the older children were bathed and in bed and we started talking while she helped me feed the infants.

Linda's story seemed so typical, I felt I could tell it to her. She was 33 and had graduated from college more than ten years before. At that time her boy friend wanted to marry her, but she felt she didn't want to tie herself down. She wanted to travel, to dance, to do art, to "enjoy life." So I asked her if she had, in fact, accomplished her goal.

"I did," said Linda, "but it was all so empty. I've spent 10 years traveling, painting, dancing and I really have gotten nothing out of it. My boy friend married years ago. In fact, all of my college friends are married and there are really no normal men my age around any more. I want so much to get married and have a family. That's all I want. It's so hard to be alone. I've been living in various apartments in Manhattan for the last ten years and it's awful to be alone. I feel that my life is so empty. I am so depressed because it seems there is no one around to marry, and I'm afraid if I don't marry soon, I'll be too old to have children. I spent two weekends in Crown Heights this past winter, and the people there seemed so stable and I think I'd like to get into it. Now."

We spoke until close to midnight. Her refrain, "It's so hard," kept ringing in my ears as I lay in bed. How many times had I had the same thought these past five months, as I tried to run my household from my bed and then fought to cope and keep sane with the twins and the endless work? At 3.30 a.m. I woke up to the twins' crying. While I was feeding them, I heard Linda's footsteps in another part of the house. In the morning, I commented to her that I had heard her awake in the middle of the night and asked if the bed was comfortable.

"It's not the bed. It's just that I have a lot of difficulty sleeping. I'm so tense and anxious."

Friday morning I spoke to a friend in Tsfas, and we made arrangements for Linda to spend Shabbos there to help her decide whether she wanted to go to Machon Alta. I gave her explicit instructions, food for the way, 2 skirts, stockings and my prayer that she find the right way soon.

My Friday was as busy as every Erev Shabbos, probably a little more so because the time I had spent with Linda had to be made up, but my mood was high. Not once did I kvetch or get nervous about finishing everything in time for candle lighting. Something Linda had said the evening before kept running through my mind in a steady refrain, like a broken record.

"I'm so jealous of you; you have everything I want. My dream is to have a caring husband, a family, a home and a Shabbos to prepare for. I have such an empty life and yours is so full."

Well, my friends, how could I complain about the unending work when it was all a result of Hashem's blessings? How could I be upset when, thanks to Him, I had the health and strength to do that work? Could I be uptight when all my work had a holy purpose -- I am busy raising a generation which will greet Mashiach!

You may be wondering what happened to Linda? Unfortunately, there is no happy-ever-after ending. She never did get to Tsfas, and I lost track of her. But, as I told my husband, even though I don't know whether I did anything substantial for her, she surely did a lot for me. She gave me an alternative perspective from which to view my "bad" days, those times when I think I'm about to platz with frayed nerves and an overtired body. I made a promise, bli neder, never to say, "My life is so hard," but instead to say, "My life is so busy, BORUCH HASHEM!"