"Your sister is not your cleaning lady!" A shocking story about stepping up ahead of Pesach

Hello, this is Mina (36) from central Israel.

My mother, may she live long, grew up in a home where the boys were never expected to lift a finger—preserving their honor was always the priority. I remember coming home from a grueling school day and helping her with household chores while my yeshiva-student brothers sat on the couch with a newspaper, not moving a muscle.

My sister Dassi and I worked hard at home. My parents live in a large house, and when my brothers came for Shabbat with their kids, we’d toil beforehand making beds and during Shabbat cleaning up after them—picking up toys and messes they left behind.

I don’t mind helping or carrying the load when needed, especially for my parents’ home, which I feel obligated to support. But it got to a point where my married brothers’ Shabbat visits became a nightmare. Three brothers, each with at least five kids—every Shabbat, someone showed up, and every Shabbat, we sisters were in overdrive.

My father is one of the hardest workers in our home. Yes, it sounds bizarre, but my mother constantly asks him for help, and he never complains. “No point in talking—it’s Mom, and I need to get along with her,” he’d always say.

Dad lifts and hauls, while my brothers sit and chat with him as he works. They’re so used to not helping that I can’t really blame them—with a mother who shields them from any effort, what could I expect?

When one of my brothers did pitch in during his bachelor days, Mom would feel awkward and almost apologize to him. Usually, it was Bentzi who offered help—he was sensitive to our plight, especially during Passover cleaning.

But what really got to us every Shabbat were our sisters-in-law. They’d sit so comfortably while we set tables, cleared dishes, and cleaned. And Mom? She’d sit there doling out instructions generously.

One sister-in-law, Bentzi’s wife Orit, was truly kind. She couldn’t watch us collapse and always stepped up to organize, tidy, and assist however she could. The other two? When they came for Shabbat, they’d sit, and we’d serve. They’d ask for things from the couch while we slaved away.

It infuriated us, but we hesitated to ask for help—after all, they were married to Mom’s precious sons. Better not stir trouble.

This made us hope only Bentzi would visit—anyone else was a nightmare. It created distance; our bond with those sisters-in-law stayed purely functional. With Orit, though, we had a strong connection—we admired her character and always wanted her around.

Then something happened that I couldn’t ignore.

It was Shabbat HaGadol, the Shabbat before Passover. Mom rented a hall near our home where the extended family ate together, with sleeping arrangements at my parents’ house—careful to keep out chametz.

On the way home after each meal, I made sure my pre-Passover efforts weren’t in vain, checking the kids for chametz. But on Motzei Shabbat, after everyone left and we stayed to clean, I was stunned.

In Aviah and Menachem’s room, we found chametz snacks.

I couldn’t stay silent. “Enough already, I’m sick of this behavior!” I shouted. My father, startled—he’s not used to me raising my voice—ran over, asking, “What’s wrong, Mina? Who are you yelling at?”

I burst into tears.

All the pent-up frustration poured out. Dad approached, saw what I saw, and said nothing—just put his hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

That moment exposed Aviah and Menachem’s disregard. Dad, who always tried to keep peace with Mom, couldn’t stay indifferent to this. He realized Mom had unintentionally fostered a free-for-all by protecting her darling boys, influencing their wives too.

The next evening, Dad brought home the matzot for the holiday, storing them respectfully in my room’s upper cabinet. He asked me to join him.

Mom was on the couch, and we sat with her. Dad looked furious and did something I’d never want my husband to do in front of our daughter—he confronted Mom about it right there.

“We need to talk.”

“About what? What happened?”

“Yes, something terrible is happening under our noses.”

“What’s going on?”“I won’t let our daughters be cleaning ladies in this house.”

“Excuse me? They’re not cleaning ladies—they’re daughters helping their mother out of love.”

“The problem is guests treating our daughters like cleaning ladies.”

“I can’t believe this!”

“I saw it, and I can tell you what I saw. We can’t raise a generation of parasites here.”

“What are you talking about, Shimon?”

“Last night, I saw Menachem and Aviah’s room—chametz scattered everywhere. I saw disrespect. I saw our daughters, who work so hard, treated like maids. What’s this supposed to be?”

“But Shimon, you need to understand—these are our kids, coming to their home, not strangers.”

“True, Ahuva, but these are our daughters too. If chametz got into Menachem and Aviah’s room, that’s a crime. And leaving it like that? It’s disrespect and audacity. Our daughters worked hard for this, and it won’t be ignored.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“You’ll see.”

Mom panicked—she’d never seen Dad like this. He didn’t waste a moment and called Menachem.

The call was short and sharp. Mom gestured frantically for Dad to “ease off,” worried Menachem would take offense. I caught Dad saying, “… To me, this is disrespect, and it won’t happen again. Tell your wife too—it’s very important to me. Have a good week.”

I went to my room and heard Dad explain to Mom that her daughters had been hurt for too long by sisters-in-law who barely lifted a finger. “Instead of worrying about your son’s feelings over his bad behavior, it’s more important our hardworking daughters don’t suffer anymore. It’s over, Ahuva—no more,” he said firmly.

I’d never heard Dad speak like that. It gave me strength—I felt he cared about me. That meant everything, and I knew it mattered to him too. I was no longer invisible; my father had just made sure of that.

Since then, Dad’s transformed how Shabbat visits work. He printed a sheet from his computer with clear, respectful requests and taped it inside the room’s door:

“My Dear Family,

We’re thrilled you’re here and thank you for coming. Here are a few important points:

A. Pillows and blankets are under the beds.

B. In the closet room, bottom left cabinet, are linens to your taste. Please remove bedding and place it in the bathroom laundry basket when leaving.

C. Before leaving the room, ensure nothing’s forgotten or out of place.

D. Please make sure the kids’ toys are collected and returned to the playroom.

E. Thank you for your help during Shabbat.

With warm regards, Dad.”

Clearer than that, it couldn’t get.

At first, my brothers tried joking about it over Shabbat dinner, expecting Dad to play along with his usual humor. But Dad, anticipating this, stayed serious, citing the Steipler’s words (noted later).

Since then, hosting my brothers has become an experience. Their help on Shabbat means we’re not collapsing every time they visit, and it shows they get what we’ve been through. They needed Dad’s note to see it.

The bond with those once-aloof sisters-in-law grew stronger—more real. We discovered new sides to them, even if it took time.

I took away some big life lessons:

1. Kids raised to take without giving need to be asked to help as teens—and that’s harder. Someone who doesn’t step up for loved ones reveals something about themselves. But kids raised right develop care and kindness at home, extending it to all Israel.

2. Often, a caring, helpful husband (like Bentzi) gets a wife like that—though there are exceptions. Teach kids young to pitch in, and they’ll seek and raise similar partners.

3. From those used to taking without giving, you have to ask for help. If that’s hard, don’t expect anything—they’re just not there.

4. All my kids help at home, no exceptions, each according to their ability. I won’t raise them like Mom did (I told her so)—my boys sweep and wash dishes when needed, with love and pride because I nurture that.

5. My kids appreciate what they get, with a work ethic and responsibility. They make their beds every morning, even if it’s not my way.

6. I notice and value what my kids do for me at home—I encourage it, even the obvious stuff. That keeps them selfless, always thinking of others.

7. As promised, I’ll end with the Steipler, Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky zt”l, on yeshiva students not returning books: “It’s certainly a trait of cruelty and wickedness to burden others with what he took out of place…” If he wrote this about Torah learners, how much