This morning, A. woke up to another day of a frantic holiday routine, where parents of young children like her cram as much work as possible into the weekdays between the eve of the holiday, when she cooks, cleans, and takes care of the kids, and the holiday itself, when she is responsible for keeping them entertained until bedtime. Every such day is like a precious jewel that must be guarded with utmost care.

Yet this morning she discovered, by surprise and incidentally, that her children are going on vacation this coming weekend, before Yom Kippur, which will end only after Sukkot at the beginning of October. That means she is facing 16 days in which she will have to juggle work and children, following wage agreements signed by the teachers' unions that yielded them a bridge. A word that has turned into a kind of existential threat to parents, this time between Yom Kippur and Sukkot.

Whichever way you look at it, this is nearly two and a half weeks, a quarter of the summer vacation, landing on Israeli families two weeks after the end of summer vacation.

A.'s complaint is not new. It is worn to the point of a yawn. And that is precisely the problem. Every year, on the exact same dates, the same story repeats itself. Summer vacation is too long, holiday breaks are too long, children have far more days off than parents, and there is no connection between the education system's vacation schedule and the reality in which working people live. The problem has been known for years, yet nothing changes.

We have not even managed to pay the August credit card bill. The day camps, the pool, the movies, eating out, the attractions, the family vacation for whoever managed to afford one, and all the small expenses that ultimately add up to terrifying amounts. Parents have not yet managed to keep their heads above water, return a bit of money to the bank account, and return to a normal work routine, and here the children are home again.

And now the improvisations must begin. Grandma on Sunday, a babysitter on Monday, working from home on Tuesday, a vacation day on Wednesday, sending the child to a friend on Thursday and returning the favor next week. Anyone who has available grandparents is relatively set. Anyone who does not will have to pay. And a lot.

The problem is not Yom Kippur or Sukkot, because holidays are holidays. The problem is the bridges and the days that attached themselves over the years, and the unimaginable gap between the number of vacation days children get and the number of vacation days their parents get.

And this did not drop on us from the sky. Someone decided on this vacation schedule. Someone signed the wage agreements that added the bridges. Someone sat in a room with a calculator and a calendar and decided that this works out great, without checking how exactly a family with two working parents and young children is supposed to survive 16 such days, immediately after summer vacation.

Every time an agreement is signed with the teachers' unions, the focus is on wages, conditions, working hours, and vacation days. And that is legitimate. Only at the other end are millions of parents who also have a job, a boss, a business, a mortgage, and a bank account, and no one gives them a bridge.

For years, promises have been made to align the education system's vacation schedule with that of the economy. Ministers have changed, plans were presented, proposals came and went, and the gap remains. Summer vacation alone lasts more than two months, joined by Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Hanukkah, Purim, Passover, and the rest of the days when the education system is on break and the economy operates as usual.

When you add all these days together, you get more than three months a year in which parents need to find a solution for their children, while they are supposed to continue working and earning a living. Their employer does not have a summer vacation, does not have a bridge between Yom Kippur and Sukkot, and does not have endless patience for an employee who announces once again that they are not coming in, arriving late, or leaving early.

And no one is suggesting taking away teachers' vacations. If those are the working conditions agreed upon with them, they must be respected. But the state is the entity that needs to solve the crazy contradiction between the education system and the working world, rather than dumping it repeatedly on parents.

It is possible to shorten summer vacation, shift days from it to the holiday breaks, operate subsidized programs on bridge days, or find another solution. What cannot be done is to continue acting as though 16 days without a framework is a minor issue that every family will somehow manage on its own.

We are in the midst of an election campaign. The parties are scattering promises about security, the economy, the cost of living, education, and healthcare. Perhaps this time one of them will include in its platform this gray, unsexy, and very daily matter: A real alignment of children's vacations with parents' days off.

And whoever takes this upon themselves will need to summon the courage and overcome the automatic paralysis and terror that seize decision-makers when they encounter the accusing gaze of Yaffa Ben-David or Ran Erez. Teachers' unions are entitled to fight for teachers' conditions, but the vacation schedule does not belong to them. The state is supposed to remember that facing them are millions of parents who have been paying out of pocket and with their vacation days for years for its inability to solve the problem.

Not another committee, not another "we will examine the matter," and not another plan that disappears into a drawer. We simply need to change what we have already grown accustomed to thinking cannot be changed.

The vacation schedule is not a religious commandment, nor is it a strict vow, even though it is treated like a formidable force of nature stronger than man. If we managed to move the dates for switching to winter and summer time, we can also move a few vacation days, shorten in one place and add in another. Someone just needs to be willing to move it.