“Is There Anything?”

The summer holidays have not even started yet, but in our house, I can already feel them coming.

Not because of trips or exciting plans.

Because of food.

When the children are in school, there is at least a routine. Breakfast, packed lunches, supper, Shabbos. It is still tight, but there is some structure.

Once the holidays begin, everything changes.

They are home more. They are hungry more. They ask for drinks because it is hot. They ask for snacks. They ask what there is for lunch, then supper, then something later because they are still hungry.

And I find myself saying the same thing again and again:

“I’m just seeing.”

It sounds normal.

But what I really mean is: I am checking how much bread is left. I am wondering if tuna can become supper. I am deciding whether the chicken will stretch until Shabbos. I am thinking that salami would make proper sandwiches, but tuna is cheaper. I am looking at the yogurts and drinks and wondering what we can manage this week.

I am trying to make the food last without the children noticing that I am worried.

Last week, one of my children opened the fridge after school and asked, very quietly:

“Is there anything?”

Not, “What can I have?”

Just, “Is there anything?”

That sentence stayed with me.

Because a child should not have to ask like that.

We are not a family that wastes money. We do not live with extras. My husband works hard, and I do what I can. We budget carefully. But rent, bills, school costs, food, and everything else have just become too much.

And now the summer holidays are coming.

More meals.

More snacks.

More drinks.

More pressure.

I had heard about L’chaim Foodbank before, but I kept telling myself we would manage. I thought, “Other people need it more.” I thought, “We just have to get through this week.”

But every week had become “this week.”

Sending the message was hard. I did not write anything dramatic. I just said that food was becoming difficult, and that the summer holidays were frightening me.

The response was kind.

Not pitying. Not judging. Just kind.

They asked what they needed to ask, but with such warmth and kovod that I did not feel like a case number. I felt like a mother who was trying her best and needed a hand.

And then the food came.

Bread. Challah. Chicken. Tuna. Salami. Yogurts. Drinks. Snacks for the children. Food for supper. Food for Shabbos.

Simple things.

But when you have been counting every slice of bread, simple things are not simple at all.

That evening, I made sandwiches without calculating. I put yogurts in the fridge without hiding them for “later.” I knew there would be challah for Shabbos. I knew there was chicken. I knew the children could come in hot and tired and have a drink without me thinking about the cost of every cup.

For the first time in a while, the kitchen felt normal.

My son came in, looked around, and said:

“Oh, we have good stuff.”

He meant the snacks.

But I heard something else.

I heard relief.

Children feel the pressure in a home, even when nobody explains it to them. They notice when the fridge is empty. They notice when we say no too quickly. They notice when Shabbos feels tight.

And they notice when things feel calmer again.

That is what L’chaim Foodbank gave us.

Not luxury.

Not extras.

Just the ability to breathe.

To make supper.

To prepare for Shabbos.

To face the summer holidays without that heavy feeling in my chest.

To say yes to small, normal things that children should not have to feel guilty asking for.

To the donors and partners who support L’chaim, please know what your kindness really does.

You are not only filling boxes.

You are filling fridges.

You are calming homes.

You are helping mothers say yes to simple things.

You are helping children come in from the heat and find food, drinks, and snacks waiting for them.

You are helping Shabbos feel like Shabbos.

Because of you, some families will not face the summer pressure alone.

Because of you, a child will open the fridge and find something there.

Because of you, a mother will be able to answer without panic.

Because of you, a home that felt tense and worried will feel a little calmer, a little fuller, and a little more hopeful.

That is the difference you make — in real kitchens, in real homes, for real families who may never be able to thank you themselves.

So from them, and from all of us at L’chaim Foodbank: thank you.

Thank you for giving food with dignity.

Thank you for giving help with warmth.

Thank you for standing beside families at the very moment they need to know they are not alone.