Star of the Show, 1

Part of the pleasure of living in Eretz Yisroel for the past two years has been watching my Israeli grandchildren growing up.

A while ago my oldest granddaughter turned 6 years old. But even more important than that at the beginning of the year she began school, which means that she officially became a SCHOOLGIRL. If you please, she is now a BIG GIRL, with a school case …….and schoolbooks …….. and (gasp) …… homework (long may her pleasure in doing homework last!) and even…. and even….. a REPORT CARD, which she received at the end of last term.

Now that really means something. That piece of cardboard personifies my granddaughter’s exalted status and when I came to visit my grandchildren during the school holidays my granddaughter carefully took the report card out of its plastic pocket and handed it to me with due reverence. I of course, being one of the legions of doting Yiddishe grandmothers around the world (I’m not ashamed to admit it) received the proffered card with the utmost solemnity and due awareness of the great honor bestowed upon me, that I was actually allowed to hold and read the all-important report card. I made sure to read it with the greatest concentration whilst making appropriate comments; (in reality the concentration wasn’t solely for my granddaughter’s sake, I was really very curious to see what sort of student she is rated as). Throughout it all my granddaughter stood next to me and studied my face to see if I understood the significance of the event.

And when I handed the report card back to my granddaughter, with hugs and kisses for the excellent marks contained in it, it was carefully replaced in its plastic pocket. (What is interesting is that my daughter-in-law, who is herself a teacher and hands out report cards on a regular basis also seemed to feel that the report card was of significance. It seems that she too feels that this marks a milestone in her daughter’s life and changes her status from that of a ‘little girl’ into a ‘big girl’).

Talking about grandchildren let me pass on to you something I’ve learnt the hard way. I do not anymore show other people the pictures I carry around with me of my adorable grandchildren. I’ve noticed that they can in no way “see” what I see, or appreciate the fact that no other children are as adorable and sweet as my grandchildren are (I’m in no way biased of course).

On the other hand when I’m shown pictures of my friends’ grandchildren I’m at a loss to understand what is so special about the children those grandmothers are oohing about and cooing over in the photos. I presume this difference of understanding is because Hashem has bestowed an enchanting charm on all grandchildren in their grandparents’ eyes only. (Beauty is in the eye of the beholder).

And just to show you that I’m really not biased let me tell you that I know that my grandchildren are not absolutely perfect (because that’s not possible in this world); but they most certainly are the sweetest, cleverest, smartest, prettiest grandchildren you ever saw. And that includes a little granddaughter who goes to a Special Needs school and over whom I’ve shed many tears of joy at every small accomplishment so painstakingly achieved and every milestone so laboriously reached that is taken so for granted with “normal” children.

To return to this wonderful Israeli granddaughter of mine (after all that’s who I was talking about when I side-tracked myself into a monologue on grandchildren) the highlight of the school year, usually before Purim, is the Siddur (prayer book) party where all the ‘big girls’ receive a siddur. Although it’s called a Siddur party, it is actually an afternoon-long celebration held to honor the girls that have learnt to read Hebrew; as this means that they can now daven the prize they receive is a siddur. Whereas learning to read passes almost unnoticed in the boys’ case, with the girls it is a major event; (the celebration for the boys is held instead when they begin to learn Chumash, the Torah itself).

Apart from the actual ceremony of handing out siddurim to the girls, there are emotional speeches by various members of the staff, and a performance is put on by the girls themselves highlighting the significance of the siddur.

The preparations for this major event have been long and arduous; the girls have practiced and drilled, together and separately, their parts in this production. And don’t think my daughter-in-law is any the less excited and involved than her daughter. She has practiced long hours with my granddaughter, going over her actions again and again until she was action-perfect (and her arms and legs ached from over-exertion). (But at least it kept her occupied and out of mischief for weeks, not to mention the awe in which she was held by her little brothers and sister that she was going to be staring in a show).

But boruch Hashem the great day finally arrived, and I traveled from Ashdod (where I now live) to Bene Berak. I even changed all my day’s plans round and gave up my afternoon siesta for this. (And that’s no small thing, to give up one’s cherished afternoon nap, when that’s what I’d been looking forward to since my second tea break at 11.30am).

I had remembered to bring my entrance card to the Siddur party with me; it had been impressed upon me that without that card I would not be allowed into the school where the party was being held. And when I did arrive at the school gates there were two burly guards standing there who really would not allow anyone in without a card. All pleas and excuses that the card had been forgotten at home or lost on the way fell on deaf ears, but when I presented my card (on which my status as grandmother had been printed), I was ceremoniously waved inside and wished much nachas and joy by one of the guards; that’s a Yiddishe heart for you.

Having gained entry I wound my way through a maze of corridors and crowds of excited girls until I finally arrived at the auditorium where a place had been kept for me by my daughter-in-law and her mother.

And as the lights in the auditorium dimmed, a hush fell over the audience and the music began, slow and moving as befits such a solemn occasion. Fifty little girls (because that’s really what they are) filed slowly up on stage, in nearly perfect formation and identically dressed in the sweetest of costumes. Believe me it really does tug at your heartstrings to see so many sweet and innocent Jewish little girls.

To be continued.