It’s a bright November day, and the radio keeps me company as I drive around doing errands. I listen to the excited conversations about preparing for the holiday: how to bake the turkey, when to take it out of the oven, what side dishes to make, when to make them, how many people are coming, and more. Recipes and menus are discussed; questions are asked and answered. Worried cooks are reassured that their turkey will be just perfect. And all this is for just one meal, once a year!

How different it is for religious Jewish families, who prepare a Thanksgiving-like feast every week! Two-, three-, and four-course meals are set out for our families. And then there are the guests. The concept of inviting acquaintances and even strangers for a Shabbos meal is unique to our community. It is not uncommon to meet a stranger at a party, a shiur, or the supermarket and invite them to your house for a Shabbos meal and/or to sleep over.

Your house is too small for your growing family but you like your neighborhood. It is close to your shul, your children’s school and your friends. Should you move or improve? Either scenario involves a lot of planning and decision making — from drawing up plans with an architect, choosing a contractor, and getting permits if you are remodeling; to choosing a neighborhood, and finding a real estate agent if you are moving. There are many decisions that need to be made, and with them comes the potential for many difficulties.

One of the main ways to avoid aggravation is to hire people that you trust. There are so many tradespeople to choose from. How can a consumer know who is responsible, honest, and capable?

My last article was about communication between parents and schools. Communication is good, of course, but what is it, really? We usually think of communication as one person articulating to another exactly what he thinks and how he feels. We assume that people who communicate well are truthful, saying what they mean and meaning what they say. The Torah says, “Midvar sheker tirchak – Stay far away from falsehood.” What could be clearer than that as a directive for truth in communication?

But is telling the bald truth always the best way to “communicate” – that is, to express ourselves so that the other person will accept our words without becoming either devastated or enraged? How important is it to speak the truth, and when should honesty be put aside for other important values? We have all heard the famous Rashi, in which he explains that G-d Himself altered the truth to avoid hurt feelings. It happened when Avraham and Sarah heard that they were going to have a child. Sarah was 90 years old, and Avraham was 100. She laughed and said, “After I have withered shall I again have delicate skin? And my husband is old.” But when Hashem spoke to Avraham, he changed Sarah’s words to “…I have aged.” (Stone Chumash). Hashem changed what Sarah said, says Rashi, so that Avraham wouldn’t be insulted about being called old – at age 100!

“Twenty years after my son graduated from elementary school, I still feel pain when I see some of his teachers and rebbeim,” says Mrs. T. “Although my son is now productively employed and happily married, I still cannot forget the feelings of pain I had many years ago when he was a troublemaker in school…those horrible phone calls that filled me with dread every time there was a new infraction to report.  I often felt that the teachers had already labeled him as impossible.”“I have been accused of many things by the parents of my students,” says Mrs. R. a middle school teacher. “Parents have insinuated that their child’s misbehavior is probably my fault because their child has always been fine until he entered my class. They have suggested that I am too old to be teaching and that younger teachers are more equipped to deal with today’s children. It compounds the difficulty of a teacher’s job when we do not have the support of the parents.”

When you are in the thick of life – raising small children, going to a job, and trying to fit a week’s worth of tasks into each day – you feel like the whirlwind will never end. But as a person whose children are mostly out of the house, I am beginning to realize that it is inevitable for all of us, if we are fortunate enough, to enter a new phase of life that is very different from that previous “era.” It is called retirement.

Retirement, say the experts, is more than simply the cessation of a career or a job. Rather, it is a distinct stage with its own joys and problems. Many things change. Working people have a routine and purpose to their daily activities. Whether plumber, scientist, teacher or social worker, they wake up in the morning and know what they will be doing that day. When they retire, they no longer have the structure of a job. They may also miss the socialization with the people at work, the satisfaction of a job well done, and the regular paycheck.

One of the most precious dreams of girlhood is to be a mother and bring up a family together with a devoted husband. A girl may imagine welcoming her husband and son home after shul on Friday nights and staying at home on Shabbos mornings with her cute babies, while her husband and sons leave for shul together. But life does not always turn out as expected, and some women, although mothers, end up raising their children alone, either because of divorce or death. There are many problems and issues that have to be dealt with in this scenario, but one that is unique to religious families is the lack of a father to take the boys to shul for davening and learning.

An expectation in our society is that fathers and sons go to shul together and sit beside each other. A young boy going to shul alone and sitting by himself will feel awkward and different. And seeing all the other boys sitting with their fathers just accentuates his loss. This may be the case even when the father lives with his family but does not have the ability or desire to learn or daven with his son.