The Story Behind Our Big Move

(Originally written for the Embrace Magazine, Issue 14)

“Want to go away for Shabbos this week?” 

After ten years of marriage, I’m no longer surprised by my husband’s spontaneous—and to my mind, often wild—ideas. 

“Where to?” I ask. 

“There’s this place upstate that needs new shluchim. They want us to come this week to check it out.” 

I smile to myself. We’ve done this before. It’s a familiar script for our family already, although the last time it happened was a few years back. An offer comes up, we travel there for an interesting Shabbos, only to arrive back home and recognize how impractical, inappropriate, or otherwise unappealing the offer is for us. 

Some Background

Neither of us had grown up on shlichus, and so there was no immediately obvious position for us to accept. And while an exotic island in the Indian Ocean sounded like a great adventure, it wasn’t a place we could realistically see ourselves living.

So my husband studied in kollel for a number of years, and I was happy to work to support us for as long as it was possible. Time passed and our family grew, and the thought of moving out on shlichus had slowly faded away. We bought a small house in East Flatbush and made new friends in the growing community. We got involved with the shul, and made a point to invite Shabbos guests. By this time we were married already a decade; it seemed clear that Hashem had other plans for us. Our shlichus, it seemed, was local. 

To be perfectly honest, I was kind of relieved. Sure, we had been brought up inspired and motivated to live our lives as the Rebbe’s shluchim, and my husband and I had agreed to pursue it when we got married. But deep down, I didn’t really think it would happen. While I had many relatives on shlichus all over the world, I myself had not been brought up on shlichus and I was comfortable where I was. I couldn’t see myself away from my family and all that was familiar, left to figure everything out alone. 

So I was somewhat surprised that my husband was still entertaining the idea of moving out. And yet, it seemed so far-fetched that I saw no harm in humoring him. What was the chance that there was any place that would actually be practical for us to move there at this stage in our lives? 

The Offer

We went. The place was beautiful. We were immediately won over by the fresh air, trees and mountain setting. There was a house and a massive shul already owned by the community—old, and in need of repair, but still an impressive building. The community was an eclectic mix of Jews from all stripes, and we knew that uniting them would be a challenge, but we were hopeful. As we spoke it over, the details started falling into place. There were options for income. Nothing tremendous, but enough that we wouldn’t be starting from scratch. Kosher grocery stores less than half an hour away, and a Walmart Supercenter just down the road.

I couldn’t believe we were seriously considering it. It really was a wild idea. And yet, it was also compelling.

Both my husband and I had always struggled with the noise and bustle of the city. We longed for the fresh and peaceful surroundings of country life that we got a small taste of once or twice a year. How many times had we asked each other what we were doing in this concrete jungle anyway? 

And there was something else. 

We had bought our house five years back. It was tiny, but it fit our small family, and it was what we could afford. Since then, we were blessed with a few more children and filled up the three little bedrooms with bunk beds and cribs. But now, with our newest arrival just a few weeks old, there simply wasn’t space for another bed. We knew we had a few more months to make some serious renovations to somehow add another bedroom, or move to another house entirely. 

And that’s when the offer came. It was too appealing to ignore. And so we agreed to continue traveling for Shabbos as we worked out the logistics of a possible move. 

Considering the Move

We knew it would be a big lifestyle change. We would be moving from living among thousands just like us to a place with virtually none. No longer would we have access to all of the programs, services and conveniences of modern frum life. In fact, (besides for kosher food, which for the most part, we could get 20 mins away) we’d have nothing Jewish at all except what we’d create ourselves. 

Of course, to a Lubavitcher none of this is unheard of. But we were no longer a young couple, wet behind the ears and as of yet unaware of the challenges of raising a family. We had almost a decade behind us of raising our kids within the comfortable framework of our schools, friends, family and the community shul and neighbors around us.

Anyone we mentioned it to seemed to think the entire idea was simply bizarre. Sure, many go out on shlichus with a baby, maybe two – but no one goes out with seven. Somehow, it’s assumed that if the kids don’t know better then surely it isn’t such a big deal. But to uproot a family like that from all that’s familiar to start in a new community? Why?

We thought about it as we continued to travel for Shabbos and got to know the community better. 

The fact that it was unusual didn’t bother me; I’ve never been a major conformist. But I tried to analyze the situation and determine honestly whether this wild idea was, in fact, a good move for us to make for our family. 

What about Chinuch?

One of the biggest factors to consider was, of course, chinuch. 

Our children were now in good schools, the girls in Bais Rivkah and boys in one of the flagship Crown Heights Lubavitcher schools. And they were generally happy there, even if (naturally) not without issues. 

Should we move, instead of relying on a school for chinuch, the chinuch would be on us. Whether we found a school for our kids, or chose to homeschool, we certainly wouldn’t have the complete chassidishe package we were used to at home. 

At first that seemed like a major disadvantage, even a hardship. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to like the idea. 

The word “chinuch” today has come to mean “school.” As the place where children tend to spend the majority of their day, it has a tremendous effect on their lives. But chinuch is so much more than covering certain subjects, hearing people talk and celebrating events in a particular way – all very important elements of our schools today.

What chinuch truly is, is about molding a child—particularly their middos—into a good person, a servant of Hashem, and a chassid. And it is accomplished primarily by example and through the child’s personal experience, along with gentle guidance in helping each child make the most of their individual personality.

I thought about this idea. I started to think about what I wanted my children to be as they grew up. And I realized that life on shlichus, devoted to helping other Jews in the most literal sense, was probably the best form of chinuch there was. Yes, my child would be different from their peers, if they had classmates at all—but it would be a difference they knew and took pride in. Perhaps they would struggle with a lack of frum neighbors, being far from family, and having to travel a distance to 770 and the Ohel. But it would be a struggle for a life of meaning, with a purpose, and an excellent preparation for a lifetime of sacrifice for the sake of Yiddishkeit. 

I realized that as long as I was sending my children to a chassidishe school, I was not being proactive about their chinuch. I was relying on the school to provide “standards” for my child and to determine at each point in time what was appropriate for them to learn, daven, and do—even at home, even on Shabbos and Yom Tov. We were just following along. Most of the time we were happy with this arrangement, and when things weren’t exactly as we liked them, we grumbled to ourselves, but why even complain? A few small issues seem like a small price to pay when a “proper chinuch” is being provided. 

It was only now, with a real thought of taking our children out of this safe and predictable system, that I realized how mistaken this attitude was. 

I realized that, no matter where I send my child to learn to read and write, no matter where and with whom they are spending the majority of their day, at the end of the day, I am the primary educator of my child. Nobody knows a child more than an involved parent, who can actively guide and encourage him as he grows up according to his unique abilities and character. Nobody more than a parent can give a child a sense of right and wrong, a feeling of pride in who they are, and a model of how a good person behaves. 

Chinuch never belonged to the school; it was only given to them when parents weren’t able to provide it themselves. And as parents got busier and busier and more and more uninvolved with their children, the schools stepped in more to fill in the gaps. Admirably so; but it was still second-best. The mandate of educating a child—beginning with the pasuk of veshinantam levanecha which we recite twice daily in the shema—is on the parent.

Shifting in Place

With this new awareness and as yet unsure if we were moving or not, I was already feeling a shift in my attitude. We began to implement some changes. For one, we began to bentsch together as a family every Shabbos and Yom Tov—the entire bentsching, word for word. I wanted my children to have warm and happy associations with bentsching, and to know that it’s not only done when in school or at camp. I paid more attention to what they were doing or watching in their spare time. And most importantly of all, I started listening to them more, taking time to answer their questions seriously, rather than distractedly offering the most basic thing that came to mind.

Easy isn’t always good. Sending a child through a “system” seems easy; they have everything in place to “produce” a good chassidishe child. But if we are honest, we know it doesn’t work that way. People aren’t “produced” by a system; they are influenced by the thousands of factors in their lives, and ultimately choose their own way. We may hope the “system” inspires them enough to choose Torah and Chassidus, but we can hardly expect it to. 

It took a few months until we finally felt ready to make the move. Who am I kidding? We are never ready for such a huge unknown. But we decided to take the plunge and go for it. It was time for a change in our lives, and Hashem had sent us this offer. Everything lined up, and while it was new and different, we were confident that as long as we stayed focused and put our best foot forward, Hashem would continue to guide our path.

We have been living here for almost a year and a half, and we have never looked back. We are consciously running our home as a place of chinuch, knowing that we are our children’s role models and it is our job to direct their education as best as we can, even if there are others doing the actual teaching. We are aware that the way to teach priorities is by the way that we live. That by graciously giving up our time and conveniences to help a fellow Jew in need we are showing that joy comes from giving, and that our passion lies in our connection to the Rebbe.

It is an amazing zechus to serve as shluchim of the Rebbe. We are grateful that—despite ten years and many children beyond the norm—we were given the opportunity to make this change and join the Rebbe’s army. And we are thankful for the lessons learned from the way it came to be.