One day, there are new little faces riding bikes up and down the block

S

easonal transitions bring different stresses and different rewards. I’m all for transitioning from heavy winter sweaters, coats, and boots to the warmer temperatures and longer days of the spring. And then to summer: hotter days, lighter schedules, more city parking, and perhaps a change of scenery.

But life abounds with bigger transitions than a change in weather. We go from school to seminary or beis medrash. If all goes according to plan and the One Above sends our bashert, we transition to the years of building home and family. Those parenting years feel as though they’ll continue forever, until the coming of Mashiach.

If we’re fortunate, as we build our families we live among neighbors who become friends, attending the same shuls, schools, or shopping venues. There are shared milestones as families grow and new babies are born. There’s bonding on street corners while waiting for bus pickups and drop-offs, or shared carpool for early-morning minyan.

Husbands and fathers meander up the block together after the Friday night Kabbalas Shabbos, while post-Minchah on Shabbos afternoon, knots of the block’s male population discuss the rav’s shiur or the daily daf. Even if enrolled in different yeshivos or schools, your teens may bond with a backyard basketball game. It’s a present that seems eternal.

But there’s a transition — to young marrieds, who with siyata d’Shmaya bring their families for Yom Tov or bein hazmanim, and we see the children returning with their children to Bubby’s and Zeidie’s house. Porches are filled with old friends and their toddler grandchildren; the little ones playing on the porches show a definite resemblance.

The next transition comes slowly.

It begins with “pioneers,” who, with no lack of nostalgia, downsize and follow married children to Lakewood or another growing area. Perhaps it’s the fulfillment of a lifetime dream to make aliyah, or less spiritually, a wish to escape winter cold, snow, and ice.

It may feel like an avalanche of change. The young families who came “home” for Yom Tov now have teens who want to spend the holiday elsewhere. The enchantment of Bubby’s treats or new board game is trumped by the appeal of their friends, in their neighborhood. And isn’t it easier for bubbies and zeidies to come to their house?

One day, there are new little faces riding bikes up and down the block. There are different moms waiting, chatting at the corner. Yes, there’s a gaggle of black-hatted men on Shabbos, little boys or teens in black and white, but perhaps you don’t know their names. The houses that were once home to your contemporaries — with whom you shared the angst of child rearing, the latest “hock” of the neighborhood simchah or, chas v’shalom, tragedy — now bear a new set of faces. Friendly and warm, but perhaps your own children’s ages.

Transitions come in different forms. If our home is no longer the gathering point, if our daily routine no longer includes racing to a job outside the home, we must recalibrate. In the new chapters we’re blessed with, we must see that changing our role doesn’t lessen who we are, but rather creates a path to new vistas. Perhaps it’s time to pursue that lifelong passion for shiurim, or join the volunteer organizations that we couldn’t prioritize when our families needed us. Maybe it’s an opportunity to develop skills that lay dormant while child-rearing was the focus.

ON the very first Shabbos that all my children were going to be away, I called my older sister. Panic in my voice, I announced that it was only my husband and me home for Shabbos. Without missing a beat, she replied, “And the problem with that would be…?”

No problem at all, I soon discovered. Conversations without the echo of children’s voices or demands permitted a new (or perhaps long-neglected) type of adult conversation that wasn’t necessarily “child-oriented.”

We can give transitions a negative spin, seeing them as a diminishment of our roles. Or we can see them as new vistas to explore and new opportunities to grow. Yes, we can always grow as new chapters begin!

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 949)