I have a friend whom
everyone likes. Know the type? She claims it’s because they like listening to
her South African accent, but I know better. My friend Wendy has this wonderful
way about her that draws everyone to her like a magnet. She is also known for
the incredible amount of chesed that
she does for her community. I remember when Wendy used to hold sheva brachos in her house for upwards
of 60 to 70 people even if she barely knew the baal simcha. She did more than that. Wendy organized the events and
helped cook the food too. Who does that? Wendy’s kindness to others was truly
amazing but she always acted like it was nothing.
Because
Wendy and I were close friends, she often invited me to her sheva brachos. I remember sitting at
those tables and listening to the women talking about everything having to do
with child rearing. On one occasion I managed to get a word in on one of their
conversations and gave my opinion. A woman across the table looked at me and
chuckled, then told me to wait until my children were older, and then I would
know differently. I remember deciding then and there that I would wait – couldn’t
wait – until I would be able to share my opinions to a table full of women too.
Years
passed, and one day, my opinions meant something to others. I was no longer
this young mother without experience. It felt good to have finally arrived at
the “adult table.” I must admit, though, that most of the time I preferred to
share my thoughts with close friends. I really wasn’t someone who enjoyed
airing them to a large crowd of women. But through the years, as my confidence
increased, I became more comfortable stating my opinions outside of my inner
circle of friends. Looking back, I can say that perhaps this was my rite of
passage into middle age, a milestone.
I
see there have been many milestones in this journey called middle age. Years
ago, I felt as if the childrearing stage would go on forever. Who ever thought
of what lay beyond it? But now that I’m here, I feel the wonderment and
buoyancy of a child. I have the freedom to make choices outside the confines of
my former black-and-white box without the fear of changing who I fundamentally
am. It has been an exhilarating ride, a new way to view things. Instead of
seeing things from the same side of the box, I’ve moved my line of vision to
another side. I can now live within the principles I’ve decided for myself
without compromise but without the need to judge those around me and without the
worry that I was not raising my children properly. I do not have young children
who are tethered to my home anymore. I have already planted seeds for them to
grow and prosper. I will always be a mother to my children, but my job
description has changed.
I
speak to my children as the adults that they are and respect them as people. I
impart wisdom learned from my parents and culled from my own experiences. I try
desperately not to lecture them, and I make space to hear what they have to
say. It’s not always easy but is oftentimes lovely.
And
another thing, I am enjoying the longevity of the friendships I’ve made with
women. I’ve known one of my closest friends, Rivka, for more than 30 years. How
wonderful it is to be friends with someone who went through different stages
together with me, even when a lot of the time we shared was on the phone. It’s
sometimes hard to believe that Rivka and I diapered our children together and
shared play dates and recipes all those years ago. Now we marvel at how our
lives are taking shape. We say time and again how parallel our experiences are.
Most of all, Rivka and I are delighted and thankful to be right here at this
time in our lives.
And
of course, we laugh. Laughter has always been the best medicine, but the life
of a young mother is so very different. It’s almost funny to say that, in those
days, there just wasn’t as much time to laugh as there is now. Or maybe we’re
more relaxed and take ourselves less seriously than we did then. Now, that’s
certainly a good thing.
How
amazing it is to realize that here, in this place called middle age, we now
have the weight of substance. Yet, at the very same time, there continues to be
endless new possibilities for us to explore which have a lighter feel to them. Indeed,
we feel light, like a balloon whose string has slipped from a child’s wrist and
is sailing merrily up toward the sky, soaring ever higher to reach its
destination.
Zahava Hochberg enjoys spending time with
her children and grandchildren. She can be reached at zrspeech@gmail.com.
