Would a rift between our daughters rip our own friendship to shreds?

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ou know how in high school, your friendships are all-encompassing? Where there’s nothing but the group of you and a mountain of schoolwork to conquer together, and you throw yourself into things heart and soul, creating bonds you know will stand the test of time?

I’m past that. I’m at the husband-family-work stage. So while I still have friends — colleagues and neighbors — those friendships of yore just aren't possible. When you’re my age, friendship becomes chatting at a kiddush or sitting on a neighbor’s porch one Shabbos afternoon. Acquaintances, really, and I am satisfied with that until I meet Miri Schreiber.

It happens when my Blima turns five. My two older boys are boys in every sense of the word — they make friends easily, wander the neighborhood in search of someone to wrestle or play ball with — so I didn’t realize how girls crave friendship from the moment they get their first taste of it, that same intense friendship that I remember from childhood. And Blima’s friends, unexpectedly, gift me with friends, too, mothers with whom I get a playdate during Blima’s, mothers whom I look forward to seeing.

I remember Miri’s first call, just after Blima started first grade. I didn’t think twice about saying yes to grabbing coffee with the mother of Chani Schreiber, who is so close with Blima that they are nearly glued together. And so we drift into a twice-weekly coffee during the precious half hour between when the bus leaves the corner and the workday starts.

And we click in all the ways that Blima and Chani do. We’re different: I am a runner and Miri is a swimmer; I love music and Miri hates noise; I can’t make it through the day without three cups of coffee and Miri doesn’t even like caffeine, though she seems to find something to drink every week. But none of that matters, because we can talk for hours in the evenings, can find each other at every school event, and are comfortable with each other like sisters.

Somehow, I have discovered a best friend in adulthood, and we are as delighted by it as Blima and Chani are. Miri has a boy smack between my sons, and a little boy just my Moishy’s age, and we go on little family trips together on Chol Hamoed when our husbands are working, share Shabbos meals on weeks when one of us is struggling, and introduce each other to friends. I am fulfilled in a part of myself that I hadn’t realized had been lacking.