Every year before my family digs into the orange-glazed sweet potatoes my mom prepares for Thanksgiving, my dad requires us to say what we’re thankful for. He loves this tradition. Sometimes he even videotapes our dining table discussion.
Usually my relatives and I say some variation of “friends and family.” I’d like to be more creative, but why? Friends and family are life’s greatest treasures.
This year I won’t be subjected to my dad’s circle time because, for the first time, I won’t be with my family — if by family, you mean mom, dad and siblings.
It’s made me wonder: Can I still define family by the humans with whom I share an address and a bathroom?
If so, can I create shalom bayit with my roommates?
Shalom bayit (literally, peace at home) is the Jewish concept of household harmony and healthy relations between life partners.
Is the concept still relevant if you’re not living with relatives? Do Jews have a responsibility to create harmony in four-bedroom apartments they share with people they meet on Craigslist?
“Shalom bayit plays a much bigger role with a married couple because the emotional investment is so much more,” said Rabbi Josh Strulowitz of Congregation Adath Israel in San Francisco.
So does that mean I don’t need to try and get along?
“You’re not responsible for your roommates’ happiness,” he told me, “but you do have a responsibility to treat them nicely, to compromise and create a good living environment.”
I found three roommates (two boys, one girl) when I moved to San Francisco. For two years prior, I had lived alone, which I loved but couldn’t afford to do here if I also wanted to occasionally eat food. Little did I know these years of solo habitation had made me, um, anal-retentive and harbor standards that were too high.
Anyway, my roommates were at first a total delight. I felt so lucky — we make each other laugh! We all like good music and play it at a reasonable volume! We are united in our hatred for our landlord! We like each other as friends!
The honeymoon ended when the clutter began. Other people’s clutter. Mine too. And then the boys’ dishes piled up. Then we were out of paper towels, again. Then the floor was dirty, and it wasn’t my turn to sweep. Or it was. Or I was the only one taking a turn.
At first, the nuisance felt small and manageable. Then one grievance became two and then 17. The frustration piled up like our overflowing recycling bin. And there were interpersonal problems too, which for months we allowed to fester. Tension grew like mold in a neglected coffee mug.
We started to resent each other.
If this happened to my actual family, and perhaps many Jewish families, we would yell or criticize or talk about it kindly over dinner. Anything to get it out in the open.
But my roommates are not my siblings. Are we a family? If so, what kind? What kind do we want to be?
“If you don’t like your roommates, you can always move out and find other roommates. It’s different when you’re married,” Strulowitz said.
I didn’t want to find other roommates, nor did I want to move. None of us did. So after months of doing that fake-talking thing where you pretend you’re interested in what the other person has to say, we eagerly/nervously sat down in our family room and hashed out our issues like articulate, considerate siblings.
Two months after the intervention, we’re getting along and communicating better than ever. The division of labor is still not egalitarian, as I would prefer, but we’re working on developing a better system. (I remain hopeful despite several failed attempts.)
Because we all have a responsibility to keep our home clean and more important, peaceful.
Stacey Palevsky lives in San Francisco and is the charter member of Peace (In Her Apartment) Now.