Possibly the best piece of advice I ever received was from an outreach rabbi, when we were quite newly married. He told me, “We all eat dinner together every night at six o’clock. It’s kept our family together.”

Thirty years and seven children later, those of us living at home still try to have supper together every day. And it has held our family together through well over 20 years of working as a community rabbi and rebbetzin, and the porous work-life boundary that comes with these roles. I was very touched to discover a few years ago, when my husband and I were on holiday with our younger children, that the kids at home all ate supper together, even though half the family was missing.

Holidays, of course, are a great opportunity for family togetherness, even though last Shabbat, our family was in six different locations. With only one child still in school, our summer holiday is no longer a full-family enterprise, and in the summer months it’s often our family WhatsApp group that keeps us in touch, rather than supper time. As our kids have grown up, the enjoyment of spending time on holiday in the Alps with increasingly middle-aged parents has diminished and this year only two children joined us for some of the time.

With the others all over the place, it’s a great source of nachat to speak to as many as possible on Erev Shabbat, hear what their plans are and often swap photos of Shabbat tables ranging from two or three place-settings, to dozens, from those leading summer camps.

While I used to feel a bit sorry for our friends who said, “Only one child is coming on holiday with us this year,” I have grown to accept this, and I always appreciate spending time with the children in different ‘perms and combs’. Now that they are mostly adults, the offer of doing errands with me, giving an opportunity for one-on-one time, is rarely appealing and the incentive needs to be greater, or the occasion happens by chance and is greatly appreciated. Holidaying with the children in shifts provides a relaxed way of spending this sort of quality time together.

As an only child, I’m often intrigued by the shifting family dynamics of siblings with a 14-year age range. Our kids have always shared bedrooms and when they were younger there were always discussions about who would have the privilege of their own room on holiday. Inevitably, after the novelty of the first night, by the next day, they would have invited a sibling “for a sleepover”, which often extended for several days.

We have been visiting the same valley in the Alps for so many years that the local places have become engrained in family legend. Rather than knowing the names of outings or locations, they have become “the place where we got lost and a man appeared, gave us directions and disappeared immediately afterwards, like Elijah the prophet,” or “the place where your brother put his hand in a cowpat”.

It is a popular destination for other Orthodox families too, to the extent that one year when I went into the baker to begin a conversation about the possibility of eating the bread, the lady at the counter looked at me and said, “People like you eat bread like this,” pointing to one of the loaves.

Dressed in informal holiday clothes, it’s often tempting to try to leave one’s regular identity at home. On one memorable occasion, climbing down a mountain, my husband was accosted by name. When he tried to ignore the greeting, he was told in no uncertain terms, “We know who you are – your daughter, standing next to you, is in the same class as my daughter, standing next to me!”

Last week, on the chairlifts, at least half the other people were Orthodox families, enjoying a very wholesome outing. Unsure of people’s nationality, it is difficult to know how to greet them – it’s always entertaining when two English families both shout “Bonjour!” at each other while dangling 20 metres above the ground.

Of course, on Shabbat, this is less of a problem. When my husband and I went out for a stroll next to the local river on Shabbat morning and encountered a large Chasidic family enjoying a walk in the opposite direction, the greetings were automatic. Despite the unusual surroundings, we all wished each other a good Shabbos and continued on our way, home to our respective cholents.

Vicki Belovski is a NW London-based writer and educator.