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 amazing amounts of chesed 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 baalei 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 I would know
differently. I remember deciding then and there that I would wait – couldn’t
wait – until I too would be able to share my opinions with a table full of
women.
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 sharing my
thoughts among close friends. I really didn’t enjoy airing them to a large
crowd of women. But through the years, as my confidence increased, I became
more comfortable stating my opinions outside 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. In the
preceding years, I felt as if the child rearing 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 would not be 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 from what has been culled from my own
experiences. I try desperately not to lecture them and to 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 have been friends with someone who went through different
stages together with me, even when a lot of the time they were shared 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 have
the weight of substance. And yet, at the very same time, there continues to be
endless new possibilities for us to explore that have a lighter feel to them –
like a balloon whose string has slipped from a child’s wrist and is sailing
merrily toward the sky, soaring ever higher to reach its destination.
Zahava
Hochberg is a weekly columnist for the Monsey Mevaser newspaper, for which she has created two columns. She
is also regularly featured in the Where What When. Zahava can be reached
at zrspeech@gmail.com.
