Just About Managing — Until We Weren’t

We were never a family with extras.But we were a family who managed.

My husband and I both worked full time. Every pound was carefully accounted for, every shop planned, every bill paid with quiet determination. We lived hand to mouth, yes — but thank G-d, we made it through each month. Just about.

Our children never felt it. That was important to us. They wore hand-me-downs, but they were clean and warm. Most of our meals were homemade, stretched as far as they could go. There were moments we had to say no — no to an extracurricular activity, no to an outing — but we explained gently, and we carried on. There were bumps in the road, but with a lot of prayer, grit, and faith, we navigated them.

And then one morning, everything fell apart.

It was the height of the morning rush. Shoes on, bags packed, everyone halfway out the door. The phone rang.

“Shmuli* has been in an accident. You need to come right away.” Time stopped.

I told my husband to go immediately. He rang work to say he couldn’t come in — his boss wasn’t happy about the last-minute call, but that was the least of our worries. I ran to work myself, my heart racing, waiting desperately for updates.

They came slowly. In drips. And with each hour that passed, the reality settled in: this wasn’t something that would resolve itself quickly. This was serious. This was going to change everything.

Suddenly, there were decisions — urgent, frightening decisions. Hospital stays. Care plans. Other children who still needed school runs, meals, reassurance. In the haze of shock and fear, I felt like we were unravelling.

For the first two weeks, work tried to accommodate us. But it quickly became clear: this wasn’t sustainable. One of us would have to give up work completely.

The first month, we didn’t plan — we survived. We reacted. We got through each day without thinking about the next. But then the second month came, and the bills started piling up. With no savings and now no income, panic set in. The house needed food.

We went to the shop. Our cards didn’t work. We had no cash. We were stuck.

People gave us advice — sign up for benefits, apply for support — and we did. But those things take time. We needed help now.

That’s when L’Chaim Foodbank stepped in. Without judgement. Without hesitation. They carried us through the hardest three months of our lives. Because of them, there was food on our table when there would have been none. Because of them, I could focus on my child instead of wondering how to feed my family. They were the bridge between crisis and stability — between fear and hope.

Today, thank you Hashem, our son is on the road to recovery.

We will never forget what it felt like to stand at the checkout with nothing. And we will never forget the kindness that lifted us when we could no longer stand on our own.

We are forever grateful.