Help! Our New Neighbors Are From Another Country. They Have a Custom That Has Completely Thrown Me for a Loop.

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Dear Prudence,

We have friendly new neighbors from a Gulf country who moved next door to us in London. When they moved in, I introduced myself to their 20-something son—the only one in the house who speaks English—and he told me he was going to bring us a meal. I politely told him that this sounded lovely, but we couldn’t accept food from them because we can only eat food cooked in a kosher kitchen, but he didn’t seem to understand (or really listen—he was too excited).

Lo and behold, a couple of days later, he turns up on our doorstep with a huge and delicious-looking platter of fish and seafood that we definitely couldn’t eat. I reiterated how lovely it was, but that we can’t eat food that is not kosher, and after arguing with me a bit, he told me he couldn’t possibly bring it home because his mother would be very upset. I realized this was probably true and so, to keep the peace with our lovely new neighbors, I accepted the platter, gave the food to a colleague at work, sent the next-door neighbors a plate of home-baked cookies, and assumed that was the end of it. Not at all!

Two days later, they sent over a platter of incredible-looking (and very expensive-looking) lamb—again, I gave the food away and didn’t reciprocate, thinking that would put an end to the food exchange. Nope. A couple of days after that, they sent over another plate of the most non-kosher looking seafood I’ve ever seen … and now I’m extremely worried that the wave of food we can’t really accept (and which frankly is quite stressful to have in my kosher house) is going to keep on coming and I have no idea how to stop it. I feel strongly that I can’t reiterate that we are kosher or do more to explain that, because they will realize that we haven’t eaten any of the food, and I really don’t want to offend them. I’m worried that there are cultural sensitivities I may inadvertently breach. How do I end this while keeping good neighborly relations?

—Already Overfed in London

Dear London,

Despite the fact that you and the 20-year-old could communicate in the same language, there has somehow been a huge misunderstanding. I can imagine how it happened. He wouldn’t be the first person in the world to fail to absorb information because he was too excited about what he wanted to say (been there!). His and his family’s enthusiasm for sharing food with you is really sweet. But it’s time to push through the awkwardness and clear things up. Write a letter explaining (actually, overexplaining) the issue.

You’ll want to start with introducing yourself (“Hi, I’m Already Overfed from the blue house on the corner”), and then tell them how wonderful it was to meet the family, how happy you are that they are your neighbors, and how kind they were to bring the food. Then go on to say that you’re very sad that you were unable to eat it because you are kosher. Even go as far as to explain a little bit about what kosher means. Tell them you shared the food with others, who really enjoyed it, but that you can’t accept any more, emphasizing that it looked delicious and was very generous. Now go back to welcoming them and extending yourself in some way that makes it clear your rejection of the gift is not a rejection of a neighborly relationship.

Here’s where things get tricky. You don’t want to offer any other consumables because this might make them feel unsettled when they’re unable to return the favor. Your language barrier makes it tough to extend an invitation to socialize together, but it won’t be impossible if the son can translate. Maybe you could suggest a walk to a nearby coffee or tea shop where you could chat and get to know each other, or ask if they’d like to go to the farmer’s market with you next week, so you could let them know where to get the best veggies to serve with seafood and lamb. Or something else that doesn’t feel like “hosting” and isn’t part of a standard cultural script involving generosity and reciprocity. For example, if you have a dog, ask if the younger kids in the family would like to come play with it.

This might also be a situation that calls for directly naming the thing that is making all of this feel so sensitive by saying something like, “I know we’re from different places, so I’ve been worried about saying the wrong thing or unintentionally being rude. Please forgive me if I have. I would love to learn more about your culture, and I would be happy to answer any questions you might have about mine and be your tour guide as you get used to life in London. I feel lucky to have such a kind family living next door, and I know we’ll find ways to be good neighbors to each other despite my strict diet.” Then find someone to translate it and drop it in their mailbox.

Dear Prudence,

My brother and I were always close. He was a generous, compassionate, intense guy who chose a career working with vulnerable populations. He worked really hard, going above and beyond at work and in his neighborhood. He loved his clients, but systemic issues regularly broke his heart. Over the past few years, he slid into drinking heavily to deal with work stress. Last year, I told him he couldn’t see my kids until he got sober.

After the inauguration, he hit new lows, and I told him my husband and I couldn’t be in his life either until he started making an effort toward sobriety. I didn’t care if he got into an annoying church or became one of those people who talk nonstop about diets, if it helped him stop drinking. His drinking had already burned bridges with our other two siblings. I know that his employer knew he had a drinking problem, but even when he became a risk to clients, they did nothing. I believed that he would recognize that the excuses weren’t working and he would talk to his doctor, go to AA, or take up CrossFit for stress. He’d always been so stubborn and strongly disciplined—a marathon runner, a guy who set himself crazy challenges just to see if he could meet them. I believed we would fight, he would get better, and we would make up. I know alcoholism doesn’t go away, but I hoped he’d get into recovery for the long haul.

Instead, he died driving drunk a few months later. It was stupid and selfish, and I’m so sad and guilty. My parents want to pretend the drinking didn’t happen, my siblings don’t want to talk about him at all, and my husband is just angry at him. But I’m haunted by all the what-ifs about our last conversation, and all the ways he could have survived if things were different. I’m grieving but not in a way I can talk about with anyone else who knows him, and I don’t know what to do.

—Sad Sister

Dear Sad Sister,

This is so incredibly hard. The first thing I’ll say is that you deserve to be in therapy to help you through this experience. Notice I didn’t say need, I said deserve. It’s terrible that you don’t have anyone to talk to about your grief and regret, and you should pay someone to fill that role. They’ll do more than listen. They will help you tell yourself a different story about your relationship with your brother. I imagine it might include the idea that when you pulled back from him, you really did do it out of love, and he had to have known that. Maybe you could even come around to believe that you were more invested in your brother’s well-being than many other people in his life.

It could be cathartic—and maybe even clarifying—to write a long letter with all your feelings about him, how much you admired him, what your intentions were when you set the boundaries you did with him, and what, if anything, you wish you could change.

Finally, what about finding some way to honor the kind of work your brother did through a fundraiser for a cause he supported or a scholarship in his memory? This might help to remind you that he was more than a person with a drinking problem, that your relationship was more than the last few years of his life, and that his story includes so much more than the way he died.

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Readers often have great suggestions for our letter writers, occasionally disagree with a point Prudie makes, or simply want to provide some additional advice. Each week, Prudie will be replying to some of these comments and suggestions from readers, which will be featured on the site on Fridays for Slate Plus members. Write to us!

Dear Prudence,

I am a 24-year-old woman who is involved in a throuple (I’m living with two men, and all of us are loving it). My parents have met “Anthony,” but don’t know about “John.” I really don’t enjoy having to hide such a big part of my life from them, but if I had to guess how they would react to my romantic arrangement, the answer would be “not well.” Can you offer any advice on how to explain this to them, or would it be better if I left things status quo?

—Three’s Not a Crowd for Me

Dear Three,

Before you do anything, do some thinking—and maybe even writing—about what you hope will happen if you tell your parents about John, how much you’ll share, how you’ll respond to their questions and concerns, and how you’ll cope if their reaction is even worse than you imagined.

Take note of how you feel about each part of this. Does it feel empowering or like a relief to be honest? Do you feel confident in how you’ll explain your arrangement? And most importantly, if your parents respond horribly, or even cut you off, do you feel you have enough support from your two partners and your other loved ones to get through that? If the exercise sends you into a panic and makes you feel like you might vomit, maybe wait a while to share this with them. If you can imagine a worst-case scenario in which you’re still OK and feel really relieved that you don’t have to hide a big part of your life, go for it.

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My husband is an incredible man, and has a huge heart. However, he has on several occasions picked up hitchhikers on the side of the road and given them rides to wherever they need to go. He thinks it it no big deal, and that it is, in fact, his duty to help people in need…