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T H E J O Y S O F

T H E A M E R I C A N J E W I S H C O M M I T T E E

CONTENTSForeword Yehuda Rosenman

Two Careers and Children Too Jonathan Groner 2

Four is a Lot More Than Two Plus Two Lindy Buch 6

More is Better Avis Dimond Miller 10

A Father's Perspective David Singer 12

Between Jewish Parent and Child Blu Greenberg 15

Copyright © 1985 by The American Jewish CommitteeAll rights reservedLibrary of Congress catalog card number 85-72053ISBN 0-87495-075-9Printed in the United States of America

FOREWORD

THE WILLIAM PETSCHEK NA-

TIONAL JEWISH FAMILY CENTER

has produced this pamphletfor single and married young

men and women who are now, or soonwill be, making decisions about howmany children to have.

In these pages we present five auto-biographical essays in which the authorsshare their experiences, thoughts, feel-ings, anxieties and ambivalences aboutparenting. Quite deliberately, the writersinclude both men and women, and rep-resent different age groups and varyingreligious and social outlooks, life situa-tions and experiences.

The William Petschek National Jew-ish Family Center is committed to theidea that every young man and womanshould get married and have children.Our belief in the importance of marriageand children is based on a convictionthat ultimate happiness and fulfillmentderive from selfless and transcendinglove, a love not based on ulterior mo-tives. Such love, we are convinced, ispossible only within a happy familyframework.

Most people react with awe to thework of the artist, the composer, thesculptor. Even more exalting and inspir-ing is the creative act of having childrenand raising them to be mature and re-sponsible adults. Creating new life is anextension and continuation of oneself, apositive affirmation of the perfectibilityof the world, and of our belief in theintrinsic goodness and potential ofhuman beings. It is through our childrenthat we experience the cosmic mystery oflife, and ourselves become truly human.

We hope that most couples will havemore than one child; however, we recog-nize that how many more depends onthe particular couple's values, attitudesand life situation. The aim of this publi-cation is to encourage young people toview marriage and parenting not only asa responsibility but as an ongoing chal-lenge and satisfaction.

Yehuda Rosenman, DirectorWilliam PetschekNational Jewish Family Center

THE JOYS OF PARENTING 1

TWO CAREERSAND CHILDREN TOO

By Jonathan Groner

2 THE JOYS OF PARENTING

w HAT SEEMS LIKE A

long time ago, beforeour children wereborn, a friend who al-

ready had two children told us thatour life would never be the same oncewe had any of our own. We thoughtwe understood him—even then weknew about diapers, late-night feed-ings, and the "terrible twos"—but ofcourse we did not. The reason our lifehas changed now that we have Sammy(five years old) and Danny (two) isn'tso much the physical caring or—for-tunately—any financial worries, oreven the emotional uncertainties ofhaving to chart a path for two new andvery dependent human beings. Thebiggest problem is simply lack oftime. As working parents, we havefound that our life is stretched tightlyjust to keep things going on a day-to-day basis, and that when a crisis comesalong, we feel as if one of the four ofus is inevitably going to snap. Whenwe take into account our work, thehousehold chores, school and day carefor the kids, paying the bills, enter-tainment, and preserving at least sometime for each other, Arlene and I oftenfeel that our life, though certainly notdull, can be frustrating.

Thus far, ours is not an unusualstory. Many of our friends have thesame career commitments and thesame hassles; in fact, many are two-lawyer couples like us, a combinationthat is quite common in the area wherewe live, near Washington, D.C. Butour story is also different in a veryfundamental way. In addition to thecontemporary dual-career path, .wehave also undertaken the joys and bur-dens of living a traditional Jewish life.We have decided that we want totransmit to our children the Jewishfeelings and values that we grew upwith ourselves. We want to makethem proud and educated Jews. Notleast important, as adults we want tofind the same kind of fulfillment thatthe Jewish dimension of our lives gaveus when we were younger.

Some of our nonobservant friends

Jonathan Groner is an attorney at the Fed-eral Trade Commission in Washington,D.C. He is a graduate of Columbia LawSchool.

are, I think, astonished that we areeven trying to do this at all, and evenmore astonished that we are managingto survive. They see our Jewish com-mitment as just another obligationthat divides our limited time still fur-ther and makes the other parts of ourlife more difficult. After all, when doyou find the time to get the car washedor to buy school clothes for the kidsif you can't do it on Saturday? In asense they are right; it can be difficultto explain that carpet installers or de-liverypersons should not come onShabbat or on Jewish holidays. Butthis is a problem we can always workaround, especially since suburbanshopping malls have Sunday and eve-ning hours that are a blessing to mostof us Orthodox strivers.

There are, however, much deeperproblems inherent in our chosen life-style that are not easily apparent tothose on the outside. Our life is pulledthis way and that by the forces of mo-dernity and by Jewishness, sometimesin ways unforeseen by the thinkers ofthe Enlightenment who first perceivedand analyzed the conflict between tra-dition and modernity. After consid-erable time and thought, Arlene andI have begun to understand what theseproblems are and why they arise.

I mentioned earlier that we are at-tempting to live a traditional Jewishlife. The word "traditional" itself con-tains a clue to our dilemma; it waschosen a bit self-consciously, for lackof a better term. "Orthodox" conveystoo much of a sectarian notion. Al-though for reasons I discuss later, cer-tain types of Orthodox communitiesare the most likely places for us to findwhat we are looking for, we are notnecessarily committed to Orthodoxyin a theological sense. Some of ourfriends use "religious" as a categori-zation, but I find that a bit arrogant:religion denotes what is in one's heart,one's personal relation to God, andwho knows what anyone else's "reli-gion" is? So we call ourselves "tradi-tional," though that term onlyhighlights the real problem. "Tradi-tional" seems to imply somethingmore than observing Shabbat and hol-idays or keeping a kosher home. Wehave found that there is a "traditional"lifestyle, in a general sense, that is

In addition to thecontemporary

dual-career path,we have alsoundertaken thejoys and burdens ofliving a traditionalJewish life.


frequently associated with our level ofcommitment and observance. And wehave found that our primary commit-ment to the continuity of Jewish tra-dition has occasionally brought us tooclose for comfort to that aspect of tra-ditional life that we do not embrace,and too far from our parallel commit-ment to the idea of self-fulfillment aseducated professionals.

The most difficult conflict—and Iam primarily discussing practical con-flicts rather than theological ones—isthat, for a number of reasons, "tra-ditional" Judaism is a home-centeredreligion, and our busy life lacks thisclear focus of home and hearth. Theold ideal was the Jewish mother, rais-ing her children, teaching them Torahby example (and informal education isTorah), cooking and preparing forShabbat and holidays. Our childrenwill not grow up with many of thesenostalgic memories, but we still be-lieve that, with the appropriate ad-justments, we can transmit thetradition just as well. After all, Jewishlaw says nothing about whetherwomen (or men) should work full-time, part-time, or not at all; theselifestyle issues are examples of the au-tonomy granted by Halakah (Jewishsystem of law). And it's not as thoughour children will never see how a tra-ditional Jewish life is lived. We cleanhouse for Passover, we build a Sukkah,we invite guests for Shabbat meals, asJewish families have always done. Butwe are a bit different, and the questionour difference poses to us and to theAmerican Jewish community is an im-portant one: whether a home-centeredsystem of practice can adapt itself tonon-home-centered values.

Although our children may not havesuffered, they have missed out on somequintessential Jewish experiences.Since baking challah ourselves hasbeen out of the question because wedo not have the time, and the kosherbakeries in town do not always havehours that accommodate working par-ents, there have been periods of severalmonths when we relied on supermar-ket rolls for our Shabbat loaves. Butit started to get somewhat embarrass-ing when we discovered that Sammy,our four-year-old, had forgotten whatchallah looked like and started to call

all rolls by that name. Sheepishly, westarted to make greater efforts to buya bakery challah each week, until wediscovered that an enterprising firm inNew York sells frozen challah dough,already braided; just defrost and bake.Obviously, people like us do representa market for some company.

Not all difficulties are solved as eas-ily as the challah problem. Our full-time housekeeper, who was so valuableto us in other ways, was not Jewish,and although she readily learned wherethe meat and dairy dishes belonged,she could not provide the Jewish ele-ment Arlene or I would have provided.Sammy began testing her by singingthe Jewish holiday songs he heard innursery school; then, when he discov-ered she did not know Hebrew, hebegan laboriously teaching her the al-phabet he so recently had learned."Myrtle doesn't know chet," we heardhim say about twice a day. Fortunatelyboth Myrtle and Sammy found the sit-uation amusing, and so did we.

As might be expected, we and manyother families like us have asked Jew-ish schools to fulfill part of the tra-ditional role of the stay-at-homeJewish mother. The rapid growth ofpreschools and day-care centers inAmerica has been paralleled by thegrowth of Jewish nursery schools, tothe point where nearly every congre-gation in the Washington area offersthree years of nursery, for ages twothrough four. While these schools arenot perfect, they do provide a set ofJewish experiences, ranging from in-tense to casual, in conjunction withthe typical nursery program. In thisway, community resources havehelped us maintain our lifestyle bygiving our children some of the ex-periences they might have missedotherwise. I remember our great dis-appointment when Sammy told us hissummer-camp program did not havea weekly Shabbat party every Fridayafternoon, as his nursery school did.

Our efforts to provide a sound Jew-ish home environment have also beenaided in other ways. Arlene recentlywas able to reduce her work hourswhile retaining the same level of re-sponsibilities. This allows her to spendmore time with the children duringthe day. We also try to give our chil-

dren a good deal of our energy on eve-nings and weekends. Many of our pre-bedtime sessions with Sammy haveformed part of his informal Jewish ed-ucation: not just the recitation of theShema, but the ritualistic invocationof the traditional angels who are askedto guard the bed against the terrorsonly a five-year-old can imagine. Manyof the children's books we read to himare Jewish books, by authors rangingfrom Reform to ultra-Orthodox (wetry to select the best from all sources).We have also gotten a lot of assistancefrom my parents, who live in the area;as any parent will testify, grandparentscan be an unparalleled resource.

Our neighborhood synagogue com-munity, which is Orthodox, has beenhelpful. I mentioned earlier that ourcommitment to tradition precedes ourcommitment to any formal institutionthat embodies that tradition. We be-long to an Orthodox congregation notso much for ideological reasons butbecause we believe that, in the realworld, Orthodox synagogues functionbetter as communities than Conser-vative or Reform ones. Despite whatConservative Judaism declares in the-ory, that movement generally has notbeen able to attract significant con-centrations of people who constitutetrue communities. For about twoyears, after we broke off our connec-tion with an Orthodox congregationthat was just too traditional—in allsenses—to fully accept us, we did tryto identify primarily with a Conser-vative synagogue. Although the ex-perience was not totally unrewarding(Sammy still looks back fondly on thatnursery school), we soon found thatwe needed a more intense Jewish ex-perience. Since we are not at homevery much during the week, much ofour socializing and our building of aJewish environment must take placeon Shabbat, so that it has been espe-cially important for us to live in anarea where that is possible. I mightobserve that many members of Ortho-dox synagogues are Orthodox by de-fault. Their commitment to traditioncomes first, and they find that Ortho-doxy is the best way to express it.

Arlene and I have thus tried to fulfillourselves personally—both of uswould be unhappier individuals and


less effective parents if we did not haveour careers—while continuing ourfairly high level of commitment toJewish tradition. At least as I writethis, we make our lifestyle choice workon a day-to-day basis. Sammy is verycomfortable in his Jewish environ-ment; he reminds us to say the man-datory blessings before meals, andkisses the mezuzah and the Torah.Danny is developing into a cheerful,independent, healthy child. Bystretching our own resources and tak-ing advantage of what the communityoffers, we have succeeded in doing alittle of everything. Although we arefrequently exhausted, we are also rea-sonably pleased with our choice.

Of course, the conflict between tra-ditional and modern values extendsbeyond day-to-day decisions into therealm of serious choices. Having twochildren was a relatively easy decisionfor us, but the idea of having a thirdis something Arlene and I are still dis-cussing, even if only in a half-joking,far-off way. If our time is stretchednow, with two careers and two chil-dren, what will another child mean tous and to the children we already have?Yet Jewish values, both of normativelaw and of tradition, ask us to haveanother child. Most of the youngprofessional couples we know who arenot religiously observant have decidedto stop at two. I am not sure such adecision is satisfying to us, logical asit may seem when viewed strictly froma career perspective. Perhaps, likemany childbearing choices, this onewill not be a totally rational one; as Irecall the circumstances of how ourchildren were conceived, they were notall that carefully considered.

Our chosen lifestyle also poses ques-tions that look beyond us to com-munity affairs and Jewish socialpolicy. Although two-career familiesare still far from the norm in reli-giously observant circles, their num-ber is increasing with the risingpercentage of women who hold grad-uate or professional degrees. In lesstraditional circles, it is not surprisingthat Jewish families are in the forefrontof social change in urban and suburbanAmerica, and that they are amongthose who choose to pursue both careerand family values. The trend is likely

to continue, if only for economic rea-sons. Real-estate experts have notedthat with high mortgage rates and in-flation in housing prices, most of usbaby-boomers will need two incomesto afford homes as nice as the ones wegrew up in. So it appears that familieslike ours are an ever-growing realitywith which the Jewish community,even the Orthodox community, mustcontend. What effects will it have?

Like my own family, the commu-nity as a whole may end up sacrificingquantity for quality. Although theworking-mother phenomenon may,along with other factors, have reducedaverage family size among Jews, itmay also have led us to give more ofourselves to our children. We care forour children and make sacrifices forthem in other ways than our parentsdid for us. As the children grow up,they may benefit from more focusedattention and from more diverse ex-perience than children reared by tra-ditional Jewish mothers, whoseattention, after all, had to be sharedwith the potato kugel and the ironingboard as well as with the play group.We are the generation that has beenso widely satirized by the media forseeking only the best and the mostexpensive material goods for our chil-dren. But in my experience, the ex-pensive toys and the accessories are alsoaccompanied by real concern and af-fection. The new generation may ben-efit in this way, and with it the Jewishcommunity as a whole.

The community may also benefit ina more subtle way from the emergenceof modern lifestyles among its most"traditional" members. As observantJews like us are joining the two-careertrend, perhaps our daily life patterns,however taxing they may appear to us,will become attractive to others aswell. Traditional Judaism may ac-tually gain adherents if it begins to beperceived as compatible with the life-styles of dual-career couples. The rich-ness and joy of life, as they transcenddaily struggles and time shortages,may appeal to couples who havemoney, success, careers and childrenbut lack emotional or spiritual fulfill-ment. Like my own family, the com-munity is venturing upon anuncharted course. •

oth of us>would be

unhappier individ-uals and less effec-tive parents if wedid not have ourcareers.


FOUR isA LOT MORE THAN

TWO PLUS TWOBy Lindy Buch


OUR DECISION TO HAVE

children was made thenight Ray asked me if Ithought we ought to get

married. I was 22 at the time, taughtnursery school and was working on anM.A. in early childhood and specialeducation. Ray, 24, was a mentalhealth worker in a day-treatment cen-ter for disturbed school-aged kids; hewas planning to enter social workschool. We had been seeing each otherregularly for some time.

Earlier that evening, we had goneto Ray's cousin's wedding, where wewere teased about being "next," andthe excitement and the dancing andthe family made us feel warm andclose. I told Ray I didn't know if weought to get married, but that we cer-tainly ought to discuss it. Everything,then as now, has been the topic ofdiscussion for us. Our courtship con-sisted mostly of walking and talking,sitting and talking, doing somethingtogether and talking. After we weremarried and had more time together,we went on talking. We mostlygrowled first thing in the morning,but we talked all the rest of the time,except when we were at work orasleep. We wanted to know each otherfully and completely. The trust andlove that enabled us to make all ourimportant decisions come from thosetalks and that sharing.

The decision to marry was based onour mutual desire to commit ourselvesto each other and to create a stablefamily. When I told Ray that I didnot intend to "just be somebody'smother," but to pursue my career and

Esther (Lindy) Buck serves as adjunct as-sistant professor at Mercy College of Detroitand is a Ph.D. candidate at Wayne StateUniversity.

my academic work, he replied that he"wouldn't have" someone who stayedhome all the time; he wanted a partnerwho was vital and active, and who par-ticipated in all of life.

For the first three years of our mar-riage we lived in the university com-munity in Ann Arbor, while ourfamilies and our Jewish ties were inDetroit. Both of us had been raised asConservative Jews. Ray's family wasmore observant than mine, but of thetwo of us I was probably the moretraditional. We kept kosher and ate aShabbat meal every Friday night. Wetraveled to Detroit for family holidaygatherings and to buy kosher meat.

I told my advisorI was going tostay home andtake care of thiskid for a while.

Our Jewish identity was wrapped upwith our family-building. I pridedmyself on learning to bake challah andon never having store-bought ones.All of this was nest-building behaviorin a Jewish mode.

I was taking care of other people'schildren, bringing Ray to school withme whenever I could, in order to"share" him with them and them withhim. After a while, I began to wantsome of our own.

By the time Ray graduated, severalof our close friends were having babies.We now had enough money to buy ahouse in Detroit. After three years ofmarriage we were ready.

Nothing happened for a while. Weconsulted the doctor and underwenttests, 6 A.M. thermometer readings,surgery and fertility drugs. Thethought that we might not be able tohave children was frightening. Thewhole concept of our marriage wasbased on family: we had spent a greatdeal of our time and energy to makethe two of us into a family. Moreover,

Ray's feelings were extremely negativeabout adoption. I felt concerned thathe might leave me and feared I wouldbe left utterly alone and devastated.Ray, too, had apprehensions. Work-ing through this crisis jointly andsharing our fears, anxieties and hopesbrought us even closer together. Wehad always characterized ourselves as"a team," when we were canoeing rap-ids and going on week-long wildernessadventures, taking Girl Scout troopscamping, cooking fancy dinners forour friends, even saving every pennyfor our house. Now we became evenmore a team. I felt confident that Raywould love me no matter what andthat we could handle anything. Weacquired a puppy, on which we prac-ticed our parenting skills.

My work at that time required agood deal of traveling to train admin-istrators of child-care centers for a uni-versity project. It was fascinating,demanding and rewarding work, butthe Federal funding was about to endand the project with it. The next ca-reer step for me would be to return toschool to finish my Ph.D. My formeradvisor called me into her office oneday and said, "Don't look for a jobnext year. Here is a fellowship thatwill pay your tuition and most of whatyou're making now. It's time for youto finish your education." I told her Iwould discuss the matter with Ray andget back to her the next week. Then,lo and behold, the test was positive!After 18 months of "trying," I waspregnant. I told my advisor I wasgoing to stay home and take care ofthis kid for a while.

The pregnancy was rough. It wasn'tjust morning sickness; it was lunchtimeand dinnertime and all-the-time sick-ness. It didn't last three months; itlasted seven months. I couldn't believeit. How could I be sick when I was sohappy and excited? Wasn't I ready tobe a mother? Was I sick because I wasinadequate? Ray did the cooking andthe ironing. He took care of me. Wehad huge arguments; I was frightenedat my dependence. Finally, when I felta little better, we prepared the nurs-ery. I put a lot of meals in the freezerand baked cookies for the company weexpected. We were getting ready tobe parents.


We are delightedthat our chil-

dren enjoy activi-ties we like and aredeveloping valueswe hold dear.

Elana (Lani) took forever to be born.The difficult labor was another trialfor our team. Would I be able to man-age without medication? Would Raybe disappointed if I couldn't? But Raywas wonderful: calm, steady and car-ing, he remembered and did every-thing, and I was able to have a"natural" delivery. I was worn out butexcited. From the moment I held Laniin the delivery room all my doubtsvanished. She was alert and respon-sive, and she has been a joy to livewith these first six years of her life.Being her mother restored my confi-dence rather quickly. This job I—we—could do well.

During the first few weeks Ray feltthat all he could do was to be a "go-fer," procuring necessaries from thedrugstore and taking care of me so thatI could care for Lani. We were ex-hausted; stealing time for our precioustalks was difficult. Making sure thatgrandparents and other family mem-bers gave us space and time to be ourown family and yet weren't left out orneglected or offended took up a gooddeal of emotional energy. Our parents,after all, were assuming a new role,too, since Lani was the first grandchildon both sides.

When Lani was six weeks old, I be-gan a part-time job training preschoolteachers at one of the local colleges forone afternoon a week and for some spo-radic field supervision. My mother ea-gerly offered to baby-sit. Now I feltas if I had the best of all possibleworlds. I was advancing in my career,gaining experience in a job I thoughtwas unattainable without another de-gree, and I had most of my time freeto be home with my baby.

Teaching one, and later two, classesdid not make up for the loss of myformer salary. I learned to shop moreefficiently and Ray took on a smallprivate practice in addition to his full-time agency work.

Lani was a happy, outgoing, brightlittle thing, who seemed to pull uscloser and closer together. As she be-came active, Ray felt that he could bemore involved with her. She was proofthat our team was effective! She talkedand walked early, and by her firstbirthday was no longer interested innursing. I felt a great loss after she

was weaned and Ray agreed that weought to think about our next child.

The doctor suggested we start"trying" six months before we actuallywanted to conceive, because he wouldnot prescribe any of his magic fertilitydrugs without such a trial period. Weworked our own magic, though.Danny was conceived on the first tryand born on his due-date, when Laniwas two years and four days old. Thepregnancy was not as difficult as thefirst had been, except for feeling huge(Danny weighed 9 Vi lbs.) and havingto care for a toddler. The birth oc-curred within 14 minutes of our arrivalat the hospital; Ray hardly had timeto put on his green surgical getup. Weexperienced some disappointment atnot getting to do our "team work"with the labor and delivery.

Two babies were a lot of work. Asboth were allergic to paper diapers andto the fabric softener used by the dia-per service, I was washing eight dozendiapers every other day. Now I couldmanage to teach only one class and Rayadded more private clients to make upfor the loss of income. Danny was nota good sleeper; he was plagued by con-tinuous and painful ear infections forseveral months. When Ray and I couldfinally interpret his "ear hurts" cry,we felt our team was working onceagain. If I had wondered whether Icould ever love anyone as much as Iloved Lani, I realized, miraculously,that I did.

Ray's work situation changed atthat time. We looked forward to theprospect of at least a month's summervacation. With our newly bought van,we planned our first trip of the kindthat has probably become our familytrademark—long meandering camp-ing vacations that take us six monthsto plan, relishing every moment.Sometimes we bring along our bikesand our canoe. Our children, at sixand four now, have been in 23 states,the District of Columbia, as well asmany parts of Ontario, Canada. Weparticularly enjoy the time we spendtogether being close. Driving time istalk time and family time. We aredelighted that our children enjoy ac-tivities we like and are developing val-ues we hold dear. When asked whatshe liked best about our recent trip to


Florida, Lani replied that driving andstopping to see neat things were thebest, visiting some favorite cousinswas great, and Disney World was adistant third.

Our first trip will always stand outbecause the kids were small and wewere not sure how well organized wewould be. When we left, Danny wasjust eight months old. When we re-turned four weeks later, he began toprefer his little sleeping bag to hiscrib. He had learned to stand up and"cruise." He had eight teeth insteadof three. He no longer wanted babyfood and he refused to let anyone feedhim. Within the month he learned towalk and, like Lani, gladly gave upnursing when he was a year old.

Now we had two kids, not babies.The old weaning depression returned.We wanted another child, but ourbank account would not allow it. Thiswas probably the most difficult deci-sion we ever had to reach. Our collegeyears were the days of zero populationgrowth, so that we had not really in-tended to have more than two chil-dren, yet three seemed like a morecomplete family. I am an only childand Ray's sister has no children; wehave no nieces and nephews, and ourchildren have no first cousins. Manypeople we knew, who were not man-aging as well, had three children; wehad great kids and wanted another.But no matter how many pennies wecould pinch, they would not be turnedinto the dollars we needed to educateproperly more than two bright chil-dren. Denying ourselves nights out,or fancy clothes, or the gadgets andgizmos our friends owned had neverbothered us. But having to deny our-selves a third child made me sad andangry. I wanted another baby badly;so did Ray. Yet we saw no logical waywe could manage it.

It was time, I realized, to stop talk-ing and to do something about mycareer. Only a Ph.D. would enable meto do full-time what I had been doingpart-time and allow us even to educatethe two children we already had.

As soon as Danny began nurseryschool, I returned to graduate schoolon a part-time basis, while continuingto teach two classes per semester. Atthis rate, I expect to get my degree by

the time he is in second grade. Nolonger do I take care of other people'schildren, nor are my own home allday. I help future nurses and teachersto work with young children. As theyears pass, I become more and moresatisfied with the career I have chosenand feel less envious of every motherI see with a new baby.

I have been fortunate in that par-enthood has enhanced my professionaldevelopment both because of its con-tent—child development—and be-cause of the opportunity it has givenme to work part-time at a level wecould not have had if our familyneeded two full-time salaries. For Ray,however, the need to compensate forthe loss of my income necessitates longhours of moonlighting. Although the"content" experience of parenting isalso a professional bonus for him in hisfamily counseling work, the pressureto keep us financially afloat has pre-vented him from going back to schoolhimself or from considering new andinteresting jobs whose salaries andbenefits are not comparable to thosehe has now. Perhaps when I resumefull-time work, Ray will be freed fromsome of this pressure and able to takeadvantage of other opportunities.

Over the years, our roles within themarriage have changed and evolved aswell. When we were newly weds, wenot only divided the breadwinningequally but also the household chores,depending on who liked (or hated)what chores the most or least. When-ever we could, we worked together andcarried on our discussions. When I washome more with the children, I tookon more of the domestic tasks, and thedivision of labor in our home generallyreflected the respective traditionalmale-female roles. Now that neitherof us is home very much, we some-times hire helpers to do many of thetasks we used to work on together.

As our children went out in theworld, to mother-toddler class, nurs-ery school, kindergarten and firstgrade, to community recreationclasses, day camp, swimming anddancing lessons, we came to realizethat our deeply felt but very personalreligious practices were inadequate.The children needed a more formalcommunity setting to learn about Jew-

ish identity and to find ways to expressit. We wanted them to know our her-itage, so that they would understandus—and themselves—more fully.

This situation presented us with adilemma. Even though our back-grounds and our rituals were Conser-vative, our philosophies were less tra-ditional even than those of the Reformcongregations in our area. How couldwe present these contradictory viewsto our children in a comprehensiblefashion? They were already askinggood, and hard, questions. The Re-form school was progressive, exciting,rich; but the services did not recall thewarmth of our childhood shuls. Fi-nally, we opted for our heads over ournostalgia and recently joined the Re-form temple. We like the congrega-tion, the rabbi and the school. Elanais enrolled in the first grade. On ErevYom Kippur, we walked to services.We do not believe we have to walk,but we enjoy doing it. It is this respectfor old customs, rituals and habits thatwe are trying to instill in our childrenwhile, at the same time, encouragingthem to think critically.

Our life often feels too busy. Myacademic work and preparation for theclasses I teach keep me occupied forlong hours after the children areasleep. Sometimes it seems they aregrowing up too quickly: I want timeto read one more story with them, playone more game, paint one more messypicture. When Ray and I meet to ex-change child-care responsibilities as Irun off to class and he goes to his pri-vate practice, we communicate aboutthe logistics of the day, but our talkingtime is very brief. The moments westeal for ourselves now have becomealmost as satisfying as the hours anddays we used to have years ago.

Lani and Danny have made our fam-ily more than just their two selvesadded to our household team. Beingwith them, caring with them and forthem, being affected by them physi-cally, emotionally and intellectually,and they by us, make all of us differ-ent. What used to be just the two ofus is now all of us. As Danny oftenreminds us, two plus two equals four,but that four is a lot more than justthe addition of two little ones to thetwo we were when we started out. •


MOREIS BETTER

By Avis Dimond

WHEN I WAS IN COL-lege, I took an infor-mal poll among myfriends. How many

children were there in your family, Iasked them, and how many would youlike to have? Persons who had been anonly child remembered being lonelyand longing for a sibling. Those whowere one of two children (like my hus-band and myself) felt the intensity of

Avis Dimond Miller will graduate fromthe Reconstructionist Rabbinical College inJune 1986. She is a rabbinic intern atAdas Israel Congregation in Philadelphia.

competition and the upper-middle-class pressure to achieve. Individualswho had been raised with two othersiblings recalled the difficult positionof the middle child. Those who grewup in a four-child family wanted fourchildren themselves. To be honestabout my survey, I had already deter-mined that I wanted a large family —four children. Our fourth turned outto be twins. We thus ended up withfive children, all boys.

In those days, the mid-1960s, thequestion whether to have children atall was simply not at issue. I had beenraised to assume that family, by def-

inition, included children. In retro-spect, I am glad that having childrenwas a foregone conclusion. Ours haveproved to be the joy of our lives.

Although having children in thosedays was virtually automatic, havingas many as we did was hardly thenorm. We were repeatedly mistakenfor Catholics, even in the Jewish Com-munity Center swimming pool, whereit was assumed that we were Italian.When it was discovered that we wereJewish, we were taken for Orthodox.But since we were neither Catholicsnor Orthodox Jews, people assumedwe were either crazy or careless.

Perhaps we are a touch of both, butmostly we are delighted with our largefamily. To be sure, there are manymoments I'd choose to forget, like thetime four boys had the flu and the fifthwas throwing a tantrum because hewas the only one who had to go toschool. Or the time on the Autotrainto Florida, when by popular request(of the other passengers) we and ourfive boys under nine years old wereassigned our very own car. Or thebills. Or the laundry—especially sort-ing the countless pairs of socks. Or theshopping and cooking. Supermarketcheckers politely inquire whether I ambuying for an institution. I bake chal-lah in batches of a dozen, and I preparechicken soup in a 20-quart pot.

Yet, unquestionably, we would doit again. I once read that "it takes aheap of livin' to make a house a home."With a large family, there is always a"heap of livin' " going on. Of courseit's noisy, and messy. I have even beenaccused of having so many kids as anexcuse for a messy house (it does makean unassailable excuse). But it's neverboring around here. A child whosquabbles with one brother can alwaysfind another to approach for sympathy.Sibling alliances are fluid, and com-petition, though strong, is diffusedthrough numbers. All of the boys arecompetitive swimmers, constantlycomparing their times in the water.But in a race with others, they crowdthe edge of the pool and root for theirbrother or brothers; during the grad-uated relay, as many as four of themmay be swimming. And for us par-ents, there is always at least one boyready to indulge us with a cuddle.


Sometimes we worried whether wewere shortchanging the boys in paren-tal attention. On balance, we decidedthat the benefits far outweighed thedrawbacks. None of the childrenseems to have suffered from benignneglect. Instead, all of them have de-veloped independence and resource-fulness. All know how to shop, do thelaundry, run a vacuum cleaner and sur-vive on their own cooking.

We parents are rarely called uponto amuse bored offspring. The youngerones learn from their older brothers,everything from social skills to com-puter literacy (including certain thingswe think they don't need to know). Ingood weather, they go outside to-gether to play ball. When the weatherkeeps everyone housebound, they playmarathon games of Dungeons andDragons, and Trivial Pursuit. The fi-nancial constraints of growing up in alarge family have immunized themsomewhat against the surroundingmaterialism. The only "name" theycan expect to see on their jeans is thatof an older brother.

Judaism has been an important mo-tivating factor in our lives. The de-cision to have many children grewpartly from the conviction that weJews are an endangered species. ZPG(zero population growth) notwith-standing, we post-Holocaust Jewshave a lot of children to replace. Grow-ing up in the first generation after theHolocaust, I have always been hauntedby the photographs of large-eyed Jew-ish children staring out at me frombehind barbed wire. According toEmil Fackenheim, the 6l4th mitzvahfor Jews is not to give Hitler a post-humous victory by failing to surviveas Jews.

I do not mean to suggest that re-building the Jewish people was theonly Jewish factor in our decision. Thepositive Jewish reasons, if anything,have had even a stronger influence.Jewish life lived to the fullest meansfamily life, and the bigger the family,the more lively it is. On Shabbat andthe holidays, our table is always full,even without the guests we frequentlyinvite. We can sing zemirot (specialSabbath songs) in four parts. There arelots of hands to decorate the Sukkah,and to polish the silver before Pesach.

At the Seder each boy can ask his fatherthe Four Questions in a different lan-guage. And on Hanukkah even theoldest boys enjoy keeping the traditionof decorating the cookies.

There is a level to our decision thatgoes even deeper than historical con-sciousness of Jewish losses or the cel-ebration of individual holidays. Whenwe chose to have a large family therewas an important element of religiousfaith involved. At my interview forrabbinical school I was asked manyquestions, ranging from what tractatesof the Talmud I had studied to whatI would do if one of my childrencaught a cold. Then the Dean asked,"What do you believe about God?"Before I could compose a coherent an-swer, the President interjected,"What does she believe about God?She has five kids, doesn't she? That'syour answer!" Besides getting me offthe hook, his statement was true.Having a large Jewish family dem-onstrates commitment to the value oflife in general and to Jewish life inparticular.

What has been the impact of ourdecision on our career aspirations?Looking back, I realize that my hus-band and I are very fortunate in theway our life has worked out. At thetime we started our family, the fem-inist movement was just beginning.Although I knew that some day Iwould probably have a career, noprofession particularly attracted me. Icould, and did, work part-time for anumber of years when the boys weresmall, always structuring my workinglife around their schedules. During theearly years, my husband was on thefaculty of a university, which gave himflexible hours conducive to helpingwith the children. I did not feel con-fined to the home because I had nocareer enticing me to work outside.

There was no such thing as a femalerabbi when I graduated from college.But by the time the children were inschool full-time, the rabbinate had be-come an option for women. I had noquestion that this was what I wanted.By this time my husband's career hadbecome established, so that he couldparticipate more actively in child carewhile I returned to school.

If the rabbinate had been an attain-

able choice earlier, this essay mighthave been written differently. But Iam pleased at the sequence of my life.I am glad we had our children whenwe were young enough to enjoy them.Childbearing and, to an even greaterextent, child rearing can be physicallyexhausting. I see my contemporarieswho established careers first now push-ing baby strollers and struggling toput snowsuits on reluctant youngsters,and I wonder whether I would stillhave the stamina. I also have friendswho watch the biological time clockand fret about the possibility of re-duced fertility. Women who havehad their children before they embarkon careers can have their mid-life crisesat leisure. Career options like the rab-binate, nonexistent or totally differentfrom what was available when wegraduated from college, now offerthemselves to us. There are many pat-terns of life, none universally right orwrong. But having children firstclearly turned out to be the best forus. People frequently ask me whetherI think women—and men—can "haveit all." My answer is a qualified yes.I think we can, but not necessarily allat once.

If Utopia is not yet with us, we stillhave many options. Most of us will beblessed with long productive lives.Even if parents assume total care oftheir children during the early years,as we chose to do, the number of yearsdevoted to child rearing are compar-atively short. The time between thebirth of our first child and the entryof our last into full-time schooling wasonly 13 years. In retrospect, theseyears appear sweet and all too fleeting.

Two years ago our oldest went offto college. When he came home forvacation, his younger brothers linedup at the door in excited anticipation.As he came in, they climbed all overhim as if he were their private tree.

I, too, am embarking on a new ven-ture. I approach my career in the rab-binate with the energy and enthusiasmtypical of someone who has deliber-ately waited for what she wants profes-sionally. Both my husband and I areintense in much of what we do. Yet Ifeel certain that none of our accom-plishments will afford us as much sat-isfaction as our family. •


A FATHER'SPERSPECTIVE

By David Singer

ISRAEL BAAL SHEM TOV, THE

founder of Hasidism, was for-ever reminding Jews that noth-ing happens "down here" unless

it is ordained "up there." Perhaps,then, there is some grand scheme atwork in the cosmos—or at least in onesmall corner of it!—which hingesupon my having assumed the role ofhusband and father. I myself, how-ever, am blind to the big picture.

I am, to be sure, an Orthodox Jew,which means that I am cognizant ofthe central value that Jewish traditionattaches to marriage and family life.Moreover, I am a survivalist Jew livingin the post-Holocaust era, who ishauntingly aware of the need to guar-antee Jewish physical and spiritualcontinuity. In all honesty, however, Icannot invoke these factors to explainmy family-life situation as it has comeinto being. I married Judy Chayes 22years ago for the simple reason that Iwas madly in love with her. Judy andI first met (and became informally en-gaged) when she was a high schoolsenior and I was a college freshman.During the four years that we dated,

David Singer is associate director ofInformation and Research Services at theAmerican Jewish Committee and co-editorof the American Jewish Year Book.


we never once spoke in serious termsabout having children, let alone tomap out a precise blueprint for thefuture. It just wasn't an issue for us—we had each other and that was all thatmattered. Even after we married, wedidn't engage in elaborate talk abouthaving kids—we simply had them.Jonathan (now 16), Jeremy (now 14),Alisa (now 11), and Michael (now 9)are most certainly—together with mybeloved Judy—the joy of my life, butI can't tell why I ended up with fourchildren rather than three, or two, orone. (Writing these words, I realizethat none just wasn't in the cards.)

From what I have said, it should beclear that I am not about to win anykind of a prize as a systematic thinkerin the area of marriage and family life.This, of course, places me very muchat odds with the dominant culture oftoday, in which it is the norm to havea fully thought-out position on anyand all familial issues. We live at atime, as the writer Midge Decter hasobserved, when educated people rarelyutter the statement "Gee, I don'tknow. I've never thought about it" indiscussing familial matters. Decterwisely notes: "They [men and women,husbands and wives] have thoughtabout it; their ideas about life demandthat they do so. Not a dish is washed,nor a baby diapered, or a penny allo-cated in unconsciousness."

Given my, so to speak, blind entryinto marriage and family life, it mightbe thought that I would see myself aslacking the proper credentials to talkabout the subject. In fact, however, Ifeel well qualified for the task. Whynot? I've been there; I have 20-plusyears on-the-job training as a husbandand father. If "life experience" (isn'tthat what they call it on today's jobresumes?) counts for something, thenI should be expected to have garneredsome insights in the course of my longapprenticeship. Certainly my experi-ence makes this much clear to me:much of what passes for the currentwisdom about marriage and family liv-ing is nothing but empty rot. Whichis another way of saying that tradi-tional family life, built on a founda-tion of love, marriage, and—the keyelement—children, is very muchworth preserving.

Ours is a culture in which children,and particularly children in a tradi-tional family setting, are viewed as theenemy. This perception, which is com-monplace in virtually all "enlight-ened" sectors of society, especiallyamong the young, has its source in themad pursuit of today's cultural ideal:"self-fulfillment." For those who swimwith the au courant—and it flowsmightily in contemporary society!—self-fulfillment is the be-all and end-all of existence; it is an absolute goodto be attained at any price. The chiefprice, of course, is the sacrificing ofall significant human relationships,since "commitment" of any kindstands as an impediment to the self'stotal involvement with its own needs.Thus we have "cohabitation"—nostrings attached here!—in the place ofmarriage, and childlessness—thankGod for birth control and abortion ondemand!—in the place of children.Children, in particular, are regardedas an evil to be avoided like the plague,since they drain precious resources—resources of time, money, patience,and so on—without offering any im-mediate payoff in return. Whoeverheard of anyone entering the promisedland of self-fulfillment with a bunchof kids in tow?

My own reaction to the war againstchildren being conducted today in thecircles of fashionable opinion is a mix-ture of contempt and pity—contemptfor a society and culture so bereft ofmoral values as to target children forspecial hostility; pity for the poor de-luded devotees of the anti-kid crusadewho are their own worst enemies.There is really no need to lecture thecurrent crop of young adults about themoral impropriety of an ethic built onthe limited grounds of self-fulfillment.Even when measured by its own stan-dards, self-fulfillment fails, and failsmiserably, if it does not make due al-lowance for children. Why? Becausechildren make possible the parentingexperience, which is the single great-est source of pleasure and fulfillmentin life. I state this categorically, basedon my own experience as a family manover the years.

Talk about self-fulfillment! Whatgreater form could it take than thetwo-part process of the self extending

uchofwhatpasses for the

current wisdomabout marriage andfamily living isnothing but emptyrot


Parenting maynot make for

immortality—theself fulfilled untoeternity! — but it iscertainly the nextbest thing.

itself first physically, through thebirth of children, and then morallyand intellectually, through the chil-dren's upbringing and education?Among the sophisticated set todaythere is strong reluctance to allow forthe importance of the raw element ofbiological reproduction. Yet it is justthis element which introduces some-thing wholly wondrous into humanexistence: a flesh-and-blood entity thatis a physical extension of another hu-man being. To become a parent, then,is to experience the primordial thrillof seeing the biological self carriedover into the next generation. Andwhat is true of the physical self applieswith equal force to the moral and in-tellectual self. When children areraised in a family setting, imbibingthe moral, religious and cultural val-ues the parents hold dear, they extendthe spiritual self—the very best qual-ities that the parents embody—intothe next generation. Parenting maynot make for immortality—the selffulfilled unto eternity!—but it is cer-tainly the next best thing available thisside of heaven. That is why even themost narrow advocate of self-fulfill-ment should regard children as an ab-solute good. And obviously—since agreater number of children extends thephysical/spiritual self that much fur-ther—the more kids the better.

Once the recognition exists thatchildren constitute an absolute good—that they are indispensable to the questfor self-fulfillment—everything elseimmediately falls into place. After all,in dealing with an absolute good, onedoes not get hung up over details. Andwithin the category of details, I wouldinclude even such matters as familyfinances, household responsibilitiesand time allowance for "personalgrowth." It is not that these mattersare unimportant; rather it is that theypale into insignificance in the face ofwhat is most important—having andraising children. Thus, if it is neces-sary for the mother, no less so than forthe father, to work full-time outsidethe home in order to support a largefamily, the mother will gladly do so.(My wife Judy—a Ph.D. who worksin the area of educational research—steadily progressed from part- to full-time employment as the size of our

family grew.) On the other hand, ifthe mother is working outside thehome and needs to be relieved of someof her household responsibilities, suchas cooking, cleaning, doing the laun-dry, and so on, the father will notthink twice about rolling up hissleeves, and getting on with the task.(I'm not much of a cook, but I wakeup at 5 A.M. each morning to washdishes and clean up around the house.)Finally, if raising a large number ofchildren requires an almost limitlessexpenditure of time to tend to theirbasic needs—helping with the home-work, breaking up the inevitablefights, organizing countless car pools,ladling out liberal doses of ego-build-ing praise, and so on—the parents willnot feel that they have been unfairlyshortchanged on the leisure/pri-vacy/personal growth front. (Judy andI have not made it to a movie—otherthan the kiddy junk—in more thanfour years. We do get out to a restau-rant once in a while, but only by mak-ing a mad dash from the house after10 P.M.)

Since the organized Jewish com-munity has a vested interest in pro-moting large families—at the momentAmerican Jewry is experiencing notzero but negative populationgrowth!—it should trumpet the factthat parenting is the high road to self-fulfillment. Beyond that, the com-munity should take active steps—e.g., provide day-care facilities, un-derwrite day-school tuitions, and soon—to make the parenting experi-ence, and particularly the experienceof Jewish parenting, that much moreattractive. The truly discerning indi-vidual, however, will know that he orshe has to act whether or not aid isforthcoming from the Jewish collec-tivity. It is a simple matter of enlight-ened self-interest: one does not pass upa unique opportunity when it presentsitself in life. Parenting is unique bothin the form it takes—having and rear-ing children—and in the reward it of-fers—unparalleled self-fulfillment. Tobe sure, there are costs involved aswell—financial, emotional, and whathave you—but these should properlybe regarded as a modest investment insomething that yields giant dividendsof personal gratification. •


BETWEENJEWISH PARENT

AND CHILDBy Blu Greenberg O

FTENTIMES, THE ESSEN-tial truths of life barethemselves to us in themost unlikely settings:

Several years ago, at a monthlymeeting of AMIT Women, a guestspeaker addressed the topic of asser-tiveness training. As introduction toher talk, Belda L. asked a series ofprobing questions, including this one:

"If your house caught fire, and allthe humans and pets were safely out,and you had time to save but onething, what would it be?"

By instinct, I had my answer beforeBelda finished her sentence: the familyphotograph albums. While fire mightdestroy my possessions, it could notdestroy my memories. Photographssustain memories; these albums rep-resented a period of intense joy andsatisfaction to me. I must rescue them.

In the few moments of quiet, whilewaiting for the others to complete thequestionnaire, I began to feel a grow-ing sense of awkwardness, for itdawned on me that I alone would offerso naive an answer. True, I owned nofurs or jewels to speak of, but we didpossess several fine prints, a respect-able collection of silver ritual objects. . . I knew that F. would write, "dia-mond bracelet," a gift from her in-laws for the new baby. E. would prob-ably grab the Agam from her entrancehall. The hostess would surely have thepresence of mind to roll up and runwith the $ 10,000 silk Kashan that layluxuriously beneath our feet. As Ilooked about the room, I felt increas-ingly foolish. Photo albums! Surely Icould have chosen something else, an

Blu Greenberg is the author of OnWomen and Judaism (Jewish Publica-tion Society, 1981) and How to Run aTraditional Jewish Household (Simonand Schuster, 1983).


Iconsider myselfexceedingly for-

tunate to have beenpart of a commu-nity where mar-riage and childrenwere axiomatic tolife itself.

item of bartering value that wouldhelp the family get back on its feet.

To my surprise, not only was I notalone but half the 60 women had cho-sen similarly. Several were women ofmeans, women who could round up in60 seconds enough movables to makea down payment on another house.Even my friend, the hostess, had non-chalantly passed over the most expen-sive item in her house.

"The carpet's insured," she ex-plained matter-of-factly, when I que-ried her later, "and so is my silver."

"But what if they weren't?" Ipressed her.

Long pause. "I still think I'd go forthe photos. The carpet? My grand-children wouldn't miss it."

Were we all foolish romantics,flighty sentimentalists? Hardly. In thelong and short of things, what we wereall saying was that what mattered mostin our lives and was most precious tous were the families we had con-structed, the men we loved, the chil-dren we bore and nurtured, thethousand-and-one special experiencesthat made up the albums of our lives.

I have often wondered: would a mananswer—the family photographs?

Decision Making and CommunityJeremy Moshe Greenberg, our firstchild, was born shortly after our fourthanniversary—exceedingly late in mar-riage by Orthodox community stan-dards of the early 1960s.

How did we arrive at such a maturedecision? Truth is, we didn't, for thematter was a non-issue for two peoplegrounded in the traditional commu-nity. Couples who didn't have childrenwere couples, as everyone knew, whocouldn't have children. And how didwe know this? Simple! They wouldotherwise have had children!

To raise children, then, was thebusiness and beauty of a marriage, ful-fillment of the very first command-ment. The only issue was when tobegin and how many. Yitz and Iplanned to have a large family. Sowhy, I ask myself today, did we waitso long in getting started? Only now,as I write these words, does it occurto me that postponing may have hadless to do with my desire to savor theindependence that marriage brought

than with an unspoken fear of assum-ing this awesome responsibility. Wereit not so many years ago, perhaps Icould peel away the layers and discoverwhether or not, deep down, I wasafraid. But I do know that I considermyself exceedingly fortunate to havebeen part of a community where mar-riage and children were axiomatic tolife itself, and where fear and self-cen-teredness were emotions not openly in-dulged. What if we had lived in adifferent time, and a different place?The thought suddenly frightens me.

The whole issue, reawakened,makes me realize this: in the tensionthat exists between community andindividual needs, more often than not,communal values impel personalgrowth and happiness rather than in-hibit them. One rises to expectationsset by community, and one per-forms—at times even beyond one'sown expectations. For these five won-derful children, I am grateful not onlyto God and to my husband, but alsoto the traditional Jewish communityfor imparting its family ethic to me.This was a particularly valuable gift inthe 1960s, a time when feminism wassounding in my ears a new sweet sirencall that had yet to incorporate thenotion of mothering as a form of self-actualization.

Family SizeOnce we had tasted the sweetness ofparenting, it seemed natural to con-tinue right along. Each child rein-forced the decision to have another—up to a point, of course.

Moshe, David, Deborah, J.J. andGoody were born very close to-gether—less than six years betweenthe five of them. I leave it to the cu-rious reader to wonder . . . Suffice itto say that were we to do it all overagain we would want the same familyspacing. It has worked quite beauti-fully. There was a time in our liveswhen we had five little ones, then fivegrade-schoolers, five teenagers, andnow five young adults. Each agegrouping seemed to be the best, eventhat remarkable species—adolescents.

There are five things about a largefamily that particularly stand out:

1. Overt sibling rivalry is reduced.There is simply no market for it.


2. Because of their close ages, ourchildren always had playmates, teach-ers, models, adversaries, reality test-ers, and best friends—each other. Inthat sense, each child was a gift, notonly to us, but to his or her siblings.

3. What always amazed me was theendless combination of groupings—somewhat akin to a floating crapgame. At any given time, there wouldbe interchangeable intimates or ene-mies. (One of the most difficult thingsfor parents to know is when to enterthe fray, and when to stay out of it.)It wasn't a conscious thing, this re-grouping of constellations, but it kepthappening all of the time and wassomething at which to marvel.

4. No one gets as much individualtime or attention as he or she mightotherwise like or need.

5. The economics of a large fam-ily—that is a story in itself.

The Economics of ChildrenNaively, this was a subject we nevertook seriously as we enlarged our fam-ily at a rapid pace. It wasn't even amatter of saying "God will provide."The issue just never came up. Perhapsthat was a good thing, for had weknown then what we know now aboutthe cost of feeding, clothing, and ed-ucating five Jewish children . . . Onesimply cannot think about it, for chil-dren are not cost-effective.

Moreover, seven cannot live ascheaply as six; nor six as cheaply asfive . . . And it is not the extras orluxuries or the "teenage dole." It isthe basic necessities. You cannot adda little more water to the soup, andsomeone has to pay yeshiva teachers'salaries, for they, too, have families.

Our timing was uniquely bad. Ourmiddle-class children entered adoles-cence (the "I-want, I-need, I-must-have" stage) at one and the same mo-ment as inflation/recession struck.Like much of America, we are justbeginning to climb out from under.It is a testimony to the power of mar-riage that our relationship survived theunrelenting strain.

What on earth am I talking about?"Climbing out from under!" Next yearit will be one law school and four col-lege tuitions; in the next few years,weddings, graduate degrees, a second

car, new households to help establish.No, I have nothing good to say

about the economics of children.So why is it that I feel richer than

anyone else I know, other than myfriend who just had her sixth?

Parent and JewA powerful and multifaceted relation-ship exists here:

In the most obvious way, each Jew-ish child swells the ranks by one andthereby increases the chances of Jewishsurvival. No less significant, childrencreate the need for institutions (syn-agogues and schools) and celebration(rites of passage), which in turnstrengthen Jewish communal life.

But the converse is also true. Jewishvalues, ritual and celebration reinforcethe bonds of family life. When per-formed with children, ritual takes ona special salience. Paradoxically, it be-comes more deadly serious, yet morelighthearted. Ritual and family fit.

Take Shabbat, for example. The lei-surely festive meals, singing zemirot(Sabbath songs) at the table, everyonedressed nicely, time for prayer and forstudy with children, no intrusions ofthe workaday world, entertaining andvisiting friends, time for strolls, forfamily games . . . I cannot imaginewhat our family's life would be like ifwe did not observe Shabbat. Of this Iam convinced: more than any otherpopulation segment in all of Jewishhistory, dual-career couples needShabbat. And holidays: Pesach, Suk-kot . . . it is no accident that muchof Jewish ritual is celebrated withfeasting, for our ancestors knew thenwhat sociologists know now: that thefabric of family life is woven aroundthe dinner table.

Ritual and mitzvot reinforce familyin yet another way, affecting the verydynamics of parent-child relationship.I have come to believe that it is easierto be a parent if one also happens tobe a ritually observant Jew.

A traditional Jew has the respon-sibility to do all things that any parentmust do, yet must also communicatea whole set of beliefs and observancesthat constitute a traditional Jewishway of life. We have to teach our two-year-olds to recite the Shema Yisraelat bedtime, and to say a bracha or two;

a three-year-old learns to wash thehands ritually, and to go to shul onShabbat; a five- or six-year-old beginsto read Hebrew and English at thesame time; at se /en or eight, our chil-dren lit their own Hanukkah candles;ten-year-old bravado was to fast half aday on Yom Kippur. And then therewas the whole matter of teaching kash-rut, of distinguishing permissiblefrom non-permissible foods. It is aprocess that began at a very early age.

It would have seemed like more ofa burden, this extra responsibility oftransmitting tradition to our children;yet it actually lightened the parentingload.

It has worked in several ways:As "authentic bearer of the tradi-

tion," a parent becomes something be-yond himself or herself. Heightenedstature is automatically conferred uponone through whom the collective wis-dom of past generations is transmit-ted. It isn't so formidable oroverpowering that a child crumblesbeneath its weight. Rather, it broad-ens, deepens, and adds to the rela-tionship a measure of dignity.

Moreover, to communicate a systemof dos and don'ts requires a parent toassume an air of authority. It is allquite matter-of-fact; it is also non-negotiable. Explanation, patience, ed-ucational leeway—but no negotiationregarding ritual. CommunicatingJewish values and teaching ritualbrought us closer to our children, butit also helped us create a parentalstance of loving authority. This wasmore helpful for us, for we began ourparenting years in a sociological cli-mate of pal-parenting. I believe it iseasier for children to grow up withparents who function primarily as par-ents rather than as pals.

Another positive spinoff for chil-dren raised in the tradition lies in theformation of balanced self-definition,not always easy to form. A belovedchild ought to properly feel that he orshe is the center of the universe. Buta growing awareness of the centralityof tradition in a Jew's life—i.e., that"there is something else at the centerbesides me"—helps trim the egocen-tric edges. As is true of most thingsin life, the sense of self is a dialecticalprocess. What constitutes a healthy


self-definition? In this pocket, "for mealone the whole world was created";in the other pocket, "I am but dustand ashes."

Our children did something veryspecial for us: they connected us.to ourpast. They accomplished this in asteady, even rhythm, simply by thefact of their lives. They did it as wellin the high emotion of peak experi-ences. Each of them individually andall of them together generated withinus an intense sensation of being partof the Jewish people, going all the wayback through history. I am sure thatevery Jewish parent has experienced,at one time or another, these feelingsof continuity, of connection—emo-tions so powerful that they are oftenunutterable and find expression onlyin a tug of the heart or the brimmingof an eye.

I know not what triggers these emo-tions. Indeed, their timing is highlyunpredictable. Why it happens at asecond-grade chumash (Bible) cere-mony more powerfully than at a familySeder, I shall never know. Why Ifound myself in a state of Jewish eu-phoria at the birth of a second child,who is no more and no less belovedthan any of the others, will foreverremain a mystery to me. Perhaps at amore elemental level, it had some-thing to do with our own immortality:the two of us replacing ourselves inthe world with two new lives. Butwhat I was actually feeling then, andfor the first time at age 26, was a senseof the broad, sweep of Jewish historyand my oneness with it.

Like any peak experience, onceover, life goes back to normal. But youare never quite the same again. Youremain more intimately and lovinglyconnected to the Jewish people.

Finally, there is one other connec-tion—parent as Jew—that is uniqueto this generation. After the Holo-caust, each Jewish child is not only astatement of new life, but a symbol ofthe life-affirming forces within us inthe face of unspeakable degradationand death. Clearly the logical thingfor the Jewish people to have done afterencountering such horror would havebeen to fold up their tents and quietlyfade back into history—and certainlynot to have Jewish children. But life

and logic, to our great fortune, are notalways consonant.

No Jewish child is conceived to"make up" for the Holocaust. Thatwould be crude to state and burden-some for both parent and child tocarry. Nevertheless, whether a con-scious factor or not, the Holocaust hasincreased the urgency to create, ex-pand and treasure Jewish life. To be aJewish parent after the Holocaust is tomake a large series of claims aboutJewish identity, hope, covenant, faithand community. Without uttering asingle word.

Children and CareerChildren can delay, diminish, de-

molish career, or have no impact what-soever. It largely depends on what onewants. Particularly for women in thesetimes, there are many choices.

But the matter is not so simple. . .I consider myself a "transition

woman." By that I mean a womanwhose ideas about self were shapedlong before the women's movement re-fashioned our self-perceptions. Buttransition also means being caught be-tween two value systems, one that de-fined women largely in homemakingand mothering roles, the other—interms of career. Those particularfacts—of timing and of cultural dis-sonance—explain in part the long-standing ambivalences I have felt onthis issue, a string of conflicts, ten-sions, and bipolar pulls that men neverhad, and that women of the new gen-eration have hardly at all.

Proof of my ambivalences? In 30seconds flat I can be persuaded thatcareers and motherhood do/do not con-flict. Proof two?—the knot in the pitof my stomach. I feel it much less now,but I remember it well. Sitting in theoffice at 4:15, knowing that the schoolbus is just pulling up to the cornerand not I, but the housekeeper, isthere to meet them; or sitting in thepark with five adorable children, yetsomehow feeling that life (read: profes-sional) is passing me by.

Today I no longer sit in the park ormeet the school bus, but the tensionsare not altogether gone: three hoursfor writing, or three hours for accom-panying a 17-year-old on a first visitto the dermatologist for a few pimples

that I know will go away on their own,but about which I could not, in kind-ness, convince a distressed teenager.(The teenager goes alone; I stay, butdon't write a line.) Or an afternoon toprepare properly for a lecture; or thesame afternoon to shop—"Please, notthe last minute, Ema"—for a gradu-ation dress. (I go.) Do fathers feel asif they are missing something whentheir children invite them along, butfather is too busy?

And yet, would I want it to be anydifferent? I think not, for surely Icould have had it another way.Clearly, then, I desired the new op-tions for women, but was unwillingto relinquish the old.

Let me start by acknowledging theunyielding constraints: a) there is onlyso much time in one day and so muchenergy in one person; b) a career, incontrast to a job, but like child care,is open-ended—preoccupation is therule and not the exception. Giventhose realities, I was forced to makesome hard choices.

For me, the choice was family first.Which is not to say that anyone, manor woman, who works full- or over-time at career does not also place fam-ily first. What I am talking about isthe allocation and organization oftime, attention and energy. I wantedto be home and available when thechildren were home. Not every singlemoment, of course, but as the normand not the exception. Moreover,given the size of our family, obliga-tions to community, and responsibil-ities to my rabbi-husband, a full-timecareer or a 9-to-5 job was out of thequestion. If I had had to—as manywomen have—I could have done it,and it would have worked; but in thoseyears, life was so ordered that I didnot absolutely have to.

Still, I could not survive as a wholeperson without an independent profes-sional life. Nor, I believe, could myhusband and children, for I know thatI felt happier and more fulfilled andconsequently was more patient andloving. I found switching hats to bemore refreshing than exhausting.Sometimes I wonder, now that it iscommonplace for young mothers towork, whether I would have the samefeelings of exhilaration I had then.


True confessions: My 25-year careerbegs the adjective "checkered." I didnot have the single-mindednessneeded to advance in a chosen career.I kept my eye on flexibility, not onpromotions. I never let my career con-sume me, which might easily have oc-curred given the inner ambition. Part-time academic work was the solutionfor me. For it was both highly satis-fying and suitable to my family'sneeds; and much of it could be doneat home.

Family priorities often affected mystyle as well. Most of my lectures forcollege courses were prepared until 2or 3 A.M. Haifa library of soggy bookstestifies to a somewhat ridiculous the-ory under which I operated: that mymind could be at work while my ex-hausted body rested in a hot tub.

Had I done it another way—fullsteam ahead with career—I know thatI would have had full encouragementfrom my husband. More than encour-agement: When Deborah was born,we moved from an apartment to asmall house in North Riverdale. I wasthen enrolled in City University's clin-ical psychology program, and workingthere part-time. With the new house,the new baby, the longer commute,plus Moshe (age 3) and David (ageIVi), a sporadic baby-sitter was nolonger adequate for our needs. A sleep-in housekeeper was, but we had nomoney for one. Yitz suggested that weborrow money from a bank. Back in1964, however, banks were not sym-pathetic to lending money for house-hold help. So we requested a homeimprovement loan. The bank officerdidn't think to ask whether it was aphysical or psychic improvement, andwe didn't offer the information. I don'tbelieve there were all that many tra-ditional Jewish husbands in the 1960swho would have thought to borrowmoney for a sleep-in housekeeper. Buthe appreciated my career aspirations,much as I did his.

And my mother! Though she led abusy life of her own, she was alwaysthere for emergencies—and muchmore. To know that Savta (grand-mother) was available and close byadded to my peace of mind—and thechildren's.

With that kind of support, why did

I close throttle? Many reasons come tomind: Twenty years ago, there werenot many models of women withyoung children who worked full-time.A husband, five children, a large con-gregation demanded a massive outputof emotional energy, which did notleave much for preoccupation with afull-time career. There was also fear ofsuccess, a phenomenon well docu-mented and experienced by manywomen like myself.

Day care was not available. Even ifit had been, it likely would not havebeen an option for us. To bundle upthree, four, five children on a wintrymorning . . . not possible. Besides, Iwould not have been happy to park achild in day care for most of its wakingday, and I was not willing to turn overto a surrogate the better part of raisingthe children. As it was, I turned overplenty, but there was a limit, and afull-time career would have been be-yond it. Who knew where the missinglinks would turn up—in a decade ortwo, a generation or two? Although Idid have some wonderful housekeep-ers, even among the best, I neverfound one who could tender as patient,loving and firm a hand as Yitz or I.

But his career was beginning to takeoff, and I tried to free him as muchas possible. I would no more havethought of applying the brakes on himthan he would to my career now.Though we never discussed it, thereexisted a sense of partnership in ourrespective tasks. We both workedhard, yet neither of us would havewanted to change our roles. I was for-tunate that his salary covered our basicnecessities. Our priorities were notfurniture, a new car, or a weekend inAspen. Other than a housekeeper, welived quite sparingly. It was a rudeawakening, the day I realized I nolonger had a choice.

I knew that I had the best of bothworlds—on-site mothering and a part-time career. In my more prescient mo-ments, I was aware that my time forcareer would eventually come. Thus,though I often did feel a sense of ur-gency, I did not overly grieve for oc-casional feelings of "life passing meby." I thoroughly enjoyed what I wasdoing. For all the moments of drudg-ery, exhaustion and fatigue, there were

Though I oftendid feel a sense

of urgency, I didnot overly grievefor occasional feel-ings of "life passingme by."


Children cangrow up per-

fectly well withouttheir parents beingaccessible andavailable. But someintimacy is surelylost.

many more of satisfaction and even ofeuphoria. In the trade-off that lifeinexorably demands, I would take tendulleries to one high and consider my-self fortunate. But the odds were farbetter than that.

Curiously, I found the flexibility ofpart-time work equally appropriatepast the childhood years. You can alterthe schedules of small children to suityour own, but adolescents and teen-agers cannot be so easily programmed.Two of our children never liked com-ing to an empty house after school;this is their right and their privilege,even as teenagers. Moreover, living inthese times demands greater attentionto security factors, including a 14-year-old's transportation in the quietsuburbs. Most suburban mothers Iknow spend many hours carpooling,or living with anxieties.

Most of all, I was never a great be-liever in quality time, though I mustadmit it does work for many. Yitz canget right into the heart of things in aconversation standing on one foot inthe hallway. A friend who owns a rain-coat factory and works nine or tenhours a day has a magnificent rela-tionship with her 12-year-old daugh-ter. But I need a great deal of hands-on time. And a big family surely madea difference. With a full-time career,there would simply not have beenenough quality minutes left over forfive growing children. On the con-trary, I had to compensate for the sit-uation as it was. For many years, Iwould keep a child home from school,one at a time, every few weeks, for a"day off": a trip downtown, a fewhours at F. A.O. Schwarz, an ice-creamparlor, a bit of individual attentionwith no one interrupting. I only regretI didn't do these better (without slip-ping in a personal errand or two) andmore often.

Children have incredible adjustingmechanisms. They can grow up per-fectly well and closely connected with-out their parents being accessible andavailable. But some intimacy is surelylost. I wasn't about to delude myselfinto the quality-time argument if Ididn't absolutely have to. I knew thatif I didn't meet the school bus, orwasn't around after an exam or a tryingday, I simply wouldn't hear about it

four hours later. While we can all livewithout these exchanges—and Imissed many of them—too manymisses would affect the quality of fam-ily life. Conversely, being aroundwhen school closed early and a childcame home for lunch, or sitting at theedge of a sick child's bed and feedingit the proverbial chicken soup—thesewere very special experiences. Quiet,slow-motion, but truly the stuff of in-timate relationships.

Moreover, there was one thing Icame to understand about communi-cating with children, particularly ad-olescents: sometimes, the innermostsentiments would come out after asolid stretch of innocuous silence(warm-up time?); sometimes, pro-found insights would be quietly of-fered in a situation of no eye contact—say, when I'd be peeling potatoes orchauffeuring or riffling through a mag-azine while awaiting a child's turn inthe orthopedist's office. On the largerscale of life's activities, these would berated " 1 , " a total waste of time. Buton the scale of opening up potentiallines of communication, of finding outabout friends, and feelings, and won-derful or fearsome imaginings, I'd givethese humdrum settings a "9 ."

As it is, some of our children areextremely private. As it is, I didn'tseparate work and home sufficientlyand was often preoccupied thoughphysically around. As it is, I did notlisten nearly as much as I should have.But it might have been worse. Evennow, grown as they are, they some-times complain that I don't give themenough time. Never mind! Thoughguilt is my second nature, they can'tmake me feel guilty about that one.

Would I do it differently today? In-deed I would!

a) With 20 years of feminism be-hind me, a stronger sense of my ownpotential, and the powerful models ofyoung women who have successfullycombined career and family, I wouldbe much more serious about my careeraspirations. Even women who take abreak from their professions to raisefamilies do so with a sense of purposeand with long-range goals in mind.

b) I would make more demands onmy husband's time—not so much in


terms of child care, because he did agreat deal of that—but in terms oferrands, minutiae, and the details ofrunning a full household. It probablywould have been a favor, for theseopen-ended tasks—"women's work"—are humanizing; they balance and con-trol the demands of the workplace andmake life healthier in the long run.Mastering the logistics and errands offamily life builds survival and orga-nizational techniques that are trans-ferable to any work situation.

Today, more and more couplesshare these roles evenly and it seemsto work well for both. (I must ac-knowledge that for me it would haveinvolved relinquishing power and con-trol over my "turf"—not as easy assome might think.)

c) I would make a more concertedeffort to find highly professional sur-rogate help, though I know it is costly.In 16 years I employed nine house-keepers; I would rate the quality ofsurrogate child care excellent for sevenyears, adequate for five, and poor forfour. Four years is a lot of days in achild's life. During those intermittentfour years, God was kind to me, andtelevision helped a great deal. But Iwas foolish to tolerate a bad situationfor a week, much less for the four orfive months until I made a replace-ment. Twenty years later, it still painsme that I fired Lilly W. for forgingmy checks and not because she let in-fant Deborah cry while I was out.

My advice to any dual-career couplewould be to give this the highest prior-ity: a nanny-type, a relative, or anolder person, one who truly cares andunderstands child care and not swab-bing floors to be the primary task. Se-cure the best, even if that person staysfor only a year or two. Children do notsuffer from these changes, as long asthere is decent closure. We mademany "Good-bye, Mary" parties.

d) I would be more serious aboutearning money. For many years, mygoal was simply to cover the cost of ahousekeeper—leaving Yitz the fullburden of family support and the ac-cumulation of debts that continue toplague us. It would have been muchmore humane and fair had we bettershared the breadwinning role. Our ra-tionale was that with his professional

training he could earn five times moreat any job than I could for comparableexpenditure of time. We have paiddearly for this shortsighted view. Be-sides, it is psychologically healthy fora marriage if women have an inde-pendent income, or the ability andtraining to earn it as time allows.

e) I would try not to let guiltovertake me. There was pressure fromevery side: from relatives ("Your placeis at home with the children"); from"friends" ("It's amazing how nice yourkids have turned out, with all the run-ning around you do"); and from moreliberal feminists ("He should do thecarpooling, laundry . . .").

Starting all over, I would nowawaken every morning, stand beforethe mirror, look myself straight in theeye, and say, "It's my life, my family,my business. I'm doing the very bestI can." It's enough to cope withoutthe guilt.

Now that I've thoroughly contra-dicted myself, let me do it one moretime. I'm not really sure I would do itdifferently if I were starting all over.I liked what I did, and T like what I'mdoing now—working hard at becom-ing a writer. True, had I worked full-time all these years, I might have be-come established, in an executive oracademic position, with a good salaryand a title. Yet who knows, perhapsthese years of waiting, watching, play-ing, working, listening, dabbling,dreaming, juggling, braking, stop-ping, starting, switching—exactly asI did—have brought me to where I amtoday, filling my mind with ideas andmemories, associations, scenes, con-nections and conversations that nowbecome the substance of my writings.

All these contradictions! What canthey mean? That there are no good orbad answers, no right or wrongchoices, no neat decisions; that thetension between parenting and careerwill be with us for a long time, pos-sibly even for all time. Perhaps thebest we can do is acknowledge the ten-sion as a sign of the richness of ourlives, the confusion—a result of hav-ing choices we never had before—asymbol of our love for all the possibleways there are to achieve fulfillmentas human beings.

To paraphrase Yitz Greenberg:

To have a child is a profound affir-mation of faith, hope, and opti-mism. Once you have a child, youare bound to him/her forever.There are a thousand risks you takein having a child. The child can beborn with a chronic illness; even ahealthy child can become ill. It willbreak your heart to see him/her suf-fer. Or a child can grow and rejectyour values, and break your heartthat way. And if all goes well, whenthe child matures he or she willsurely leave you and break yourheart that way.

There is only one thing worse: thechild does not leave you, and breaksyour heart that way.

I now find myself entering a newstage of life—of grown children. Nomore dinners for seven every evening,two loads of laundry per day, thephone ringing off the wall, the endlesslogistics . . . This semester, only twochildren are living at home. In thesummer, there will be five again, butcome fall, only two—a differenttwo—and four on weekends. I love itwhen they're here. To my great sur-prise, I also love it when they're not.Not only shall I not be depressed whenthe nest empties, but I shall be quitejoyful (I think). It will mean they aregetting on with their lives, and I shallbe quite proud of them.

Now there is much else I want todo: a novel, studies to complete, moretime alone with Yitz, resume friend-ships we've let idle over the years . . .

Yes, there is life after child rearing!Having started a family early, I willstill have, with God's help, many vig-orous years. In retrospect, I was for-tunate to be a transition woman.

Family life is by no means over.There are still four college graduationsahead, family vacations, a few wed-dings to plan, grandchildren to waitfor, Seders for 30 instead of 15, andthen all of the life-cycle ceremonies ofour children's families. But increas-ingly, with time, I shall not be a cen-ter player anymore.

But wait. I must go now—I hearGoody calling. I promised to take herdriving this afternoon. Her road testis next Wednesday. Besides, she'sgreat fiin to be with, even if it's onlymaking broken U-turns. •


The William Petschek National Jewish Family Center

The American Jewish Committee165 East 56 Street, New York, NY 10022

Single copy $2.50Quantity prices on request

September 1985

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