Abba… Does That Mean We’re Not Having Chicken for Yom Tov?

I thought the children were playing in the other room.

My wife was sitting at the kitchen table with a pen, a piece of paper and the beginnings of our Yom Tov shopping list.

Chicken.

Fish.

Fruit.

Vegetables.

Honey.

Something special for the children.

I was sitting opposite her with my phone open to our bank account.

We weren't planning anything extravagant.

We were trying to work out how to make Yom Tov.

And the numbers simply weren't working.

So we started crossing things off.

Not necessities.

Just the things we told ourselves we could manage without.

Then I looked at the list again.

“Take off the chicken,” I said.

My wife didn't answer straight away.

Then she quietly crossed it out.

“We'll manage,” I said.

And we would have.

You learn to manage.

You make less.

You stretch things.

You tell the children you're trying something different this year.

You make sure everyone else has enough and quietly take less yourself.

I thought that was the end of the conversation.

Then, from behind me:

“Abba…”

I turned around.

My daughter was standing in the doorway.

She had heard everything.

And then came the question I had been hoping none of the children would ever have to ask.

“Does that mean we're not having chicken for Yom Tov?”

I wish I could tell you I had the perfect answer.

I didn't.

For a second, I pretended I hadn't heard her.

Not because I didn't want to answer.

Because I couldn't.

How do you explain to a child that there isn't anything wrong?

That Tatty and Mummy are fine.

That she doesn't need to worry.

And at the same time explain why the foods she associates with Yom Tov are disappearing from the shopping list?

She was looking at me waiting for an answer.

So I smiled.

“Don't worry. We'll have a beautiful Yom Tov.”

She smiled back and ran off.

My wife looked at me.

Neither of us said anything.

That is one of the difficult things about struggling financially that people don't always see.

The children start noticing.

They notice when you look at a price before putting something into the trolley.

They notice when you say, “Not this time.”

They notice when the fridge looks different.

And as parents, you become experts at hiding it.

Because there are some worries children shouldn't have to carry.

Especially before Yom Tov.

Sometime afterwards, the phone rang.

It was L’Chaim.

There would be food for Yom Tov.

Chicken.

Fish.

Fresh produce.

Groceries.

Things for the children.

I thanked them and put down the phone.

Then I walked into the kitchen.

My wife was there.

I picked up the shopping list.

“Put the chicken back.”

She looked at me.

I didn't need to explain.

When Yom Tov eventually arrived, something happened that nobody sitting around our table knew about.

Nothing.

And that was the beautiful part.

The children didn't know about the shopping list.

They didn't know about the bank balance.

They didn't know about the phone call.

And they certainly didn't know about the people who had donated so that L’Chaim could help us.

They saw what children should see.

A Yom Tov table.

Chicken.

Fish.

Fresh fruit.

Something sweet.

The simanim.

Their family sitting together.

And when my daughter reached across the table for another piece of chicken, I looked at my wife.

She looked back at me.

We both remembered the question.

“Abba… does that mean we're not having chicken for Yom Tov?”

And now there was an answer sitting right there on her plate.

I don't know the names of the people who helped pay for that food.

They don't know mine.

They will probably never meet my daughter.

But I wish they could have seen her sitting at our table.

Because then they would understand what their donation really gave us.

Yes, they gave us chicken.

Yes, they gave us food.

But they also gave my daughter something she didn't even know she needed:

The privilege of not having to worry.

Rosh Hashanah is approaching again.

Across our community, shopping lists are beginning to be written.

Menus are being planned.

Freezers will start filling.

And somewhere, perhaps only a few streets away, another father is sitting opposite his wife.

Looking at the numbers.

Looking at the list.

Deciding what has to come off.

And hoping the children aren't listening.

If you have supported L’Chaim, I want you to know:

You have sat at tables like ours without ever being there.

You have fed children whose names you don't know.

You have relieved worries you never saw.

You have allowed parents to protect their children from burdens that were never meant to be theirs.

And when those children sit down to Yom Tov without knowing any of this happened behind the scenes —

that is your impact.

From one father who knows what that feels like:

Thank you.

You may never sit at our Yom Tov table.But because of you, there was something on it.