When I was speaking to a neighbor on the phone, I mentioned
that I would be missing my Monday morning classes the next
day because of my daughter's party in kindergarten.
"Oh, that's too bad. I hate having to attend those things,"
was her strong response.
Startled, I wasn't sure to what she was referring.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Oh, those boring gan parties I just sit there
thinking what a stupid waste of time! I have so many other
things I need to do," she confessed.
"Really? I LOVE gan parties!"
As the conversation ended and I put the phone back in place,
I marveled how people can relate to the world in so many
different ways. I wondered what my friend did while waiting
on a long line at the bank or post office. I always try to be
mentally prepared for the possibility of a long delay. So I
notice how many languages are being spoken. Or I wonder from
where each person came and what each one's life is like. One
can practice relaxation techniques. Or one can even say
Tehillim -- the most appropriate use of extra minutes.
And then my mind begins to replay all the gan parties
I have frequented in the recent past. It may be inconvenient
for working mothers to be present. It may require endless
effort for a tired Ima to find a babysitter to watch her
toddler at that inopportune time. It may even be annoyingly
disappointing. After taking all the trouble to get there,
shlepping out, your child declines to smile for any
photograph. And though you begged her to finish breakfast,
she skipped out, too excited to eat and now she is pouting
noisily, whining that she's too hungry. Frustrating feelings
of inadequacy flood us, instead of fun, watching our shy
child sulk, as s/he refuses to participate. Though at home,
for weeks she was practicing with gusto, now she's afraid to
open her mouth or she has forgotten all her lines, and barely
follows along. It is hard not to be embarrassed, and feel as
if we ourselves are on stage.
But despite all these eventualities, I still find each affair
a deeply emotional event. The music is the catalyst that
creates a certain mood within me. The lyrics, no matter how
simple, always strike me as profound, especially as they
emanate from the mouths of babes so young.
It is not only that "just a moment ago the one who was an
infant in my arms" has now reached a new developmental
milestone in her tender life, grown enough to graduate from a
class of four-years-olds to five, and is now old enough to be
capable of performing a short skit in honor of an upcoming
holiday. It is much more than that which makes me blurry-
eyed.
I can't help but think how I myself am alive today, living in
Eretz Yisroel. And we, the Jewish People, are still here,
celebrating another happy occasion. Against all odds, we are
still around, making parties where we can watch our children
dance and sing so joyously. If I weren't witnessing it
myself, it would seem unbelievable.
Thirty-seven little girls, representing an ingathering of
Jews from at least fifteen different countries that I
counted, are assembled here in this gaily decorated
classroom. I am surrounded by all their Jewish mothers,
squished together in this crowded space, sitting on small
chairs, watching the performance. As I gaze at our sparkling
daughters, I am struck by the many shades of color I see.
Shining faces framed by dark curly locks, or blonde
ponytails, fair and bow-bedecked. Bright, twinkling eyes of
brown, blue and green. Their exuberance is catching. The
music combines with my thoughts, which I offer up like
prayers, "Hashem! Please save us! Spare us..." from all those
who would crush delicate flowers such as these.
There must be hundreds of Jewish children's songs about
Hashem, Torah and mitzvos. Each year I hear new ones.
I feel such satisfaction to see not only my own child, but
all of her classmates, living and breathing their Jewishness
so naturally and wholesomely, allowed the freedom to express
their pure souls. Each one is a miracle of bright light,
defying all historical odds. The children themselves, unaware
of their own holiness, of the incredible significance of
their very existence, are living proof that Hashem will never
abandon us. My heart swells and my tears are freely flowing
before the dance even begins.
I notice the mother beside me is red-eyed as well and is
already reaching for her tissue supply. She sees my sideways
glance in her direction, smiles broadly, and offers me a
tissue too.
