Y

ou can take the girl out of high school, but you can’t take high school out of the girl. I may be married with kids and holding down a responsible job in an office where my co-workers value my work, but there’s a part of me that will always be absolutely convinced that I have no friends and I am flubbing every social situation.

I live in a big, bustling community where everyone is always busy. A common complaint is that people don’t know their neighbors, and it’s easy to feel lonely and anonymous (I’m one of the complainers).

But we can fix this… right?

The Challenge

Why not host a Friday night oneg so the neighbors can get to know one another and promote community feeling? Well, mostly because going to an oneg would be hard enough for an insecure person like me, but actually hosting one is way above my pay grade. I’m not sure I’ve ever hosted a party — even for my bas mitzvah, I just went out to eat with family. I’m shy, and the thought of making myself vulnerable by inviting people into my home fills me with dread. What if no one comes? What if they all come and we sit around awkwardly trying to find something to say?

So why am I doing this to myself?

I believe in the cause. I think I, and probably many others, really would enjoy socializing a bit more without kids tugging on our skirts.

And beyond the simple objective, I want to prove to myself that I can do this. That now I’m grown-up, capable, and confident, and that my sense of self isn’t so bound up with what other people think of me… except that maybe it is.

Getting Ready

I had two critical areas to prepare: the logistical and the emotional. To get myself ready, I badger my husband and sisters nonstop for their encouragement and support. (“This is a good idea, right? No one will laugh at me?”)

They are unanimous in their opinion that no one will make fun of me or hate me forever for trying to be friendly, but my inner teenager needs a lot of convincing, which they patiently supply.

I also enlist one neighbor I know well who promises to come and be my moral support. When I realize she plans to be away for the Shabbos I want, the oneg is quickly rescheduled. No way am I doing this without having at least one person in my corner!

To mask my discomfort, I nonchalantly mention the plan to a couple of neighbors during the week leading up to the big day. Their negative reactions throw me for a loop; apparently, I am that very rare creature who isn’t asleep practically before her kids conk out on Friday nights. While they seem inclined to humor me by showing up, nobody is enthusiastic, so of course I panic. Back to the phone with my sister… “Gitty, is it offensive or inconsiderate to invite someone to your house for a Friday night oneg?” No, she insists, but I’m worried.

The logistics, by contrast, are a snap. Thursday afternoon, a quick trip to the grocery yields a bounty of chips, melon, soda, and paper goods, and on Erev Shabbos my boys race to do their chores so they can earn the privilege of delivering the invitations. (A loud argument ensues over whether they’ll hang the invitations on the doors and run away as fast as they can, or whether they’ll ring doorbells and talk to people. Clearly, one of my kids has his father’s genes.)

How It Went Down

After the lukewarm reception I’ve received, my enthusiasm, such as it is, has been considerably dampened. But to my pleasant surprise, the first person shows up almost exactly on time… and then another, and another, until we have about 50 percent attendance from the women in our building.

And conversation flows! After a little more good-natured kvetching about how I forced them out of their horizontal Friday-night positions on the couch, there’s small talk and laughter and horror stories about bedtime and comparisons of our respective apartment layouts. And aside from opening the door, I can sit back and let the event take its course.

Looking Back

“Was it a success?” my husband wants to know, as soon as the coast is clear for him to reemerge. I have to think about that for a minute before answering. Everyone had fun, and over the next few days I actually get feedback that we should do this more often. (This despite the fact that you need to be awake to attend an oneg.) Is that successful?

In the sense of introducing neighbors to each other, no, it wasn’t. No one who didn’t already know everyone came — it was basically the people who already talk to each other. Numbers-wise? Not too bad, but not amazing either; half of the building was there.

But for me? I did something I had never imagined I could, and I survived. More than that — no one even noticed anything out of the ordinary, nor would they have guessed how hard it was for me. I squashed a small piece of insecurity that’s been plaguing me forever.

“I don’t know if the party was successful,” I tell him, “but I was.”

My dare role model:

My husband, who can mess up, put it behind him, and keep going full steam ahead without beating himself up.

I dare say:

They say about a certain adam gadol that he started out average, but what set him apart from his friends was that he kept growing, a little bit every year. Greatness is about sustained growth.

My next dare:

I want to initiate a phone chavrusa with a particular lecturer who inspires me, but it’s going to be a while before I work up the nerve.

Easy-peasy:

I don’t bat an eyelash at single-handedly hosting a party for 80 — assuming they’re all male and my husband is in charge of the socializing.

Names and identifying details have been changed.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 584)